Fountain of the Dead Read online

  “Just needed to stretch and to get away from Pierce for a few minutes.” Frank nodded and turned his attention back down the road. “What are the options?”

  “Any insight is appreciated,” Catherine said.

  “Can I see a rifle?” Sharon held up her rifle and showed it to him. “Thanks. I need the scope more than the rifle.” Sharon disengaged the bolts and handed it to Williams. He peered through it at the bridge.

  “Top, left in the metal work, there’s something up there.” Tony pointed at the object, but Williams didn’t pay attention. Williams moved the scope looking down the road and the bridge.

  “Tire shredders,” he muttered. “Police grade.” He pointed down the road. “Whatever is in the bridge frame is dead. It’s definitely a person.” Williams changed the magnification and took a step forward. The car moved a little. Everyone turned to look at the trunk. Gerry drew his sidearm.

  “What’s in the trunk?” Frank stepped back, lowering a pistol at the door; the sun reflected off the green enamel paint. Catherine stepped back feeling very exposed looking between her friends and the short length of road to the bridge.

  “Medical supplies, blankets, some extra food,” Beverly said.

  “Did you check the trunk before we left?” Beverly shook her head. Frank took off the safety.

  “Wait,” Williams said. Everyone turned to look at him. “You shoot it and you’re going to kill the medical supplies, if the bullet goes through.” Frank nodded and stepped to the side. “Gas tank, bullet could pass through, in theory, hit the pipe that leads to the tank, any fumes in there will ignite.”

  “Well what the fuck are we supposed to do?” Tony asked.

  “Pop the trunk, see what runs out at us and fill it with lots of holes,” Williams said.

  “We’ll lose the food and the blankets if anyone misses,” Beverly said.

  “Williams can open it and step to the side,” Frank said. Williams nodded. “Sam can bait it out of the trunk.”

  “Hey now, how did I get volunteered for this?” Sam asked.

  “Two weeks ago, I saw you outside the fence, checking out cars on the road. You out ran and lapped a group of zombies twice. You’re faster than us.” Sam nodded. “When it’s away from the car, I shoot it in the head, rinse and repeat.” Frank said.

  * * * * *

  Micah rolled over in the trunk, kicking the wall. He tried sitting up and banged his head on the trunk lid then unwrapped himself from the blankets. Sweat rolled across his forehead, the picture he’d been holding stuck to his damp palms. He groaned and grabbed his crotch, the pressure was dam-busting painful.

  “Move some more and knock and get out? Or piss all over the blankets?” He thought. Muted voices from outside. He squeezed his crotch tighter and banged on the trunk lid. Something outside knocked back.

  * * * * *

  “Did you hear that?” Beverly said and knocked on the trunk.

  “To hell with this. Everyone get back,” Williams said reaching for the lock, the trunk key in his hand. He silently counted down from three, looking at the others for approval. Three, two, one. Sam moved in close, Williams popped the trunk and stepped to the side. Micah leapt from the trunk as Sharon hit Frank’s hand. The shot went wild, hit the pavement in the breakdown lane.

  Micah ran for the side of the road after getting his bearings and all but got his zipper down before his bladder exploded. A wide smile spread across his face as the pressure lifted. He shook and zipped up. Micah turned not sure what to expect.

  “You people sort this out.” Williams said. “I’m going to the bridge.”

  “What if there are people up there, people with guns?” Beverly asked.

  “I’ll take the risk.” Williams tossed the scope back to Sharon, who nearly caught it in the temple, still dumbfounded by the appearance of her pseudo-son. Sam snatched it from the air and handed it to her. Frank tossed Williams a pistol. “You keep that scope trained on me,” Williams said. Williams turned up the collar on his coat and headed down the road. He reached into his coat and switched on the radio.

  Sharon followed him in the scope, her attention half trained on Micah who walked back slowly. Micah came over and stood next to her; he looked at the road and then stuffed the photo in his pocket.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” Sharon growled. Beverly put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him backwards a few steps. Williams stopped at the tire shredders and squatted down to inspect them. He ran his finger tip across one of the barbs and pulled back a bloody finger. He stuck in his mouth quick, before the scent got out. He stood, reaching into his coat.

  “You there, Crowe?” Soft static for a reply. “We’re on the bridge to Hartford.” Hissss “That Pierce guy is crazy, but mumbles in his sleep. Something about the cure.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Where are you?” static “I’ll contact you again when we’re through.” Williams silenced the radio. He took the gun in his hand and took the clip out, keeping a round chambered. He held both hands in the air and approached the bridge. “I’m friendly,” he called. “Please don’t shoot me in the face or any other part.” Williams walked to the barricade, there were no persons hiding behind or next to it. He looked up to the figure in the structure. It was a corpse, unmoving and long dead. Was it a warning or something else?

  “That’s Jenkins up there. Who the hell are you?” Williams turned to see the silenced rifle barrel pointed at his nose.

  * * * * *

  “He’s talking to someone,” Sharon said.

  “You have a shot?” Catherine asked.

  “No, he’s clever. Williams is blocking it.”

  “Did he come down the super structure?” Sharon looked the bridge over.

  “There’s a painter’s rig over the side we missed.” Sharon panned over the bridge again so there’d be no more surprises.

  “And they’re chatting?” Beverly asked. Sharon nodded and watched the cross hair bob up and down.

  * * * * *

  “My name is Williams, I’m from Boston.”

  “Crenshaw send you?”

  “Sort of. Look I’m escorting a crazy man and some villagers to the Everglades. I’d appreciate you lowering that rifle.” Williams lowered his hands as the rifle no longer pointed at his face he slapped the clip back into the pistol. “I had a bullet in the chamber just in case.”

  “I got a sniper across the bridge, just in case. What do you want?”

  “I want you to move those barricades and for my people to pass through Hartford without getting shot, fucked up, raped, or molested.” Williams swiped at the sheen of sweat on his head, felt the stubble on the back of his hand. He needed a shave.

  “You’re asking for a lot. What do you have for barter?” Williams looked at the man, dressed head to foot in tattered green camouflage. Aside from the rifle he had two pistols, a taser and a bandolier of knives. He was broad shouldered, probably bigger than Crowe. But he guessed not nearly as deadly.

  “I could tell Crenshaw what a little bitch you are.” Williams tried to stare the man down; he didn’t budge.

  “You got women? I’ll let you through for a woman.”

  * * * * *

  “He’s coming back.” Sharon watched through the scope as Williams moved the shredders. “He’s clearing the path.” On the bridge several men clambered down the metal superstructure; they climbed over the rails, and moved the barricades. The initial point man stayed put and kept watch. They heard Williams’ footsteps.

  “Alright, I’ve got us through,” Williams said and turned down his collar.

  “What’s the catch?” Frank asked and eyed him suspiciously.

  “They want some water,” Williams said.

  “You told them we had water?” Frank asked.

  “They guessed, since we’re on a mission. How did the kid get here?” Williams asked.

  “How much water?” Frank asked.

  “Six bottles. They wanted one of the women. I talked the
m out of that.”

  “Six bottles of water... seems small, doesn’t it? Guarding a bridge, might want ammo, some food or more weapons,” Frank said.

  “He only wants enough for his men on the bridge. And while we’re standing here with our thumbs up our asses, we’re losing time.” Williams looked back to the bridge, wondering how long they had to get through. Crenshaw carried a lot of clout. Down in Connecticut he was feared, but didn’t wield the same power he did north.

  “Open the Explorer,” Catherine called.

  “No. You kid, climb in there and get six bottles.” Micah nodded and crawled in through the open door. “We show them how much water we have and they’ll want all of it, and the fuel.” Micah handed Williams the bottles. “Let me ride shotgun in the Jeep, until the pay off.”

  “This doesn’t feel right,” Sam said.

  “I told them I work for Crenshaw.”

  “But you don’t anymore, right?” Beverly asked and narrowed her eyes. “Tell me right now, you don’t work for him anymore.” Frank dropped his hand near the pistol tucked under his belt. Williams saw the movement and nodded.

  “I don’t work for Crenshaw anymore,” he said looking into her eyes. She searched his gaze, looking for any hint of a lie. “But they don’t know that, do they?” Williams met her eyes, returned the glare. She turned away first.

  “What else did you agree to?” Catherine asked.

  “I might have said we’d clear out Pope Park some on the way by.” The spot man fired a shot in the air. Micah jumped at the noise. Time was running out.

  “Micah, Sam, hop in the Explorer. Williams, you have shotgun and point. Try not to kill Pierce before New York, please,” Catherine said rounding the Monte.

  “Catherine, what about Micah? We can’t take him,” Sharon said.

  “We’re not turning around. And we’ll discuss it when we hit Danbury. Now get that fuel and the extra water covered up.” Catherine climbed into the Monte and slammed the door. Beverly slipped past Sharon, closing the trunk and getting in. Sharon was last in the car.

  “We’re losing minutes,” Williams called as the Jeep rolled forward.

  * * * * *

  The caravan stopped on the bridge. Williams jumped out and reset the shredders. While he was gone, Micah handed out bottles of water through the window. Williams hopped in the Jeep; Frank had it moving before he was seated. He turned to face the point man as they sped off, pointed to his eyes and then him.

  * * * * *

  “Where we going?” Pierce asked. He clutched his pack to his chest, his fingers almost white-knuckled. “This sun is going to kill me.” Pierce turned his hands looking for sunburn.

  “Burger King,” Frank said.

  “For someone who spent so much time in a swamp, you’re a pussy,” Williams said.

  “We’re still on 84, we should be long past 84,” Pierce said ignoring Williams.

  “We’re still in Hartford nutbag. Deal with it. Frank follow 84 to the park, you won’t miss it. We’ll need to get off on Park Street and go through the center of the park,” Williams said. His patience with Pierce was as thin as Frank’s. Gerry sat next to Pierce and wondered why he was being punished.

  * * * * *

  Frank turned off 84, the lanes remarkably clear of vehicles and bloated half chewed up bodies. He drove onto Park Street to the intersection of Laurel and Pope Park Drive. Frank turned right into the park and stopped the Jeep dead. The dark shopping center across the road loomed in the rearview mirror. Ten years ago that place would have been perfect to hole up in. Now it had most likely been ransacked and stripped of anything useful, assuming it wasn’t full of squatters. The other two vehicles blocked the view when they pulled up.

  The road in front of them was clogged with the dead wandering aimlessly, waiting for the next warm snack to walk or drive by. Williams cursed and spit out the open window. He handed Frank back his pistol and took out his own. Pierce leaned forward to get a better view.

  “Everyone be careful. They’re all over the place,” Frank said into the radio. “I need Sharon, Gerry and Tony up here with me.” Sam and Tony pulled up next to Frank. They opened the doors to create a barrier. The two lane road was now blocked, one side by the walking dead, the other side by three vehicles. It was a high noon stand-off, waiting for the chime of a clock for the gunfight to begin.

  “This is crazy,” Gerry said looking around. “This is going to eat our ammo.”

  “It was the deal,” Williams said. “We don’t clear it, they follow and kill us.”

  “It’s not just the road, it’s everything past it, and into the park.” Sharon said getting ready for the fight. She looked through the scope, far as she could. “Place looks clogged with them.”

  “Can we get through and not use all our ammo?” Catherine asked. “We made a deal, we have to do this. I’d rather not have all the murder squads hot on our tails.”

  “How do we know they aren’t watching? Waiting for us to be low on supplies?” Sharon asked. “They could wait till we’ve done this and then murder the lot of us and take whatever’s left.”

  Frank growled and stepped forward.

  “We took almost everything from back home. We blow through this ammo, we’re leaving our home defenseless too.” Frank was shouting by the time he finished. Some of the dead turned and staggered towards them. “We didn’t sign on for this. This side trip is bullshit.”

  “Then hop in your jeep and go the fuck back, Frank,” Catherine said poking him in the chest. “I made this decision, you are a volunteer.” She stared into his eyes, unwavering and unblinking until he backed down. She took several deep breaths to get her own anger back in check. Frank stalked off to his jeep, rubbed his fingers across the steering wheel and looked at the road leading back to the town.

  “Now let’s kill some of these things and get back on the road,” Catherine said. Frank turned, pulling his guns.

  “Fill the road with them, make a roadblock out of bodies” Frank said. “We’ll pull off the road and go around them after they’re all down.” Frank ran the numbers through his head; this was going to kill most of their ammo. They’d need a recharge in the supplies. Sharon fired the first shot; the head exploded, showering the others. Then they turned at the noise and lurched forward. The dead pushed forward through the hail of bullets, stumbled over the fallen, slipped in blood and organs that lay splayed across the pavement. Williams fired his last shot and dropped the gun on to the seat. While Frank reloaded, the midsection of a zombie exploded from a shotgun blast. Sam shrugged and took his pistol back out. The abdomen-less dead continued on its path forward sensing only fresh meat. It dragged its insides behind it in a gory trail, crawled over its own guts.

  Sharon took it down. They had won the moment. There was a wall of bodies across the road that blocked both lanes of traffic - if there were any. A giant, fucked up, gory hedge; instead of branches and leaves, it was limbs and digits. It was high enough that the dead in back couldn’t get over it and wide enough that it would take the brainless husks some time to get around. Sharon reloaded the rifle. “Everyone back in,” she said. The caravan left the road, to bypass their barricade and get around the ones still standing, leaving tire trails in the moist earth. Catherine sighed looking at the carnage on the road and then reds, oranges and yellows, which clung to the trees. The caravan hit the pavement, went past the pond with the defunct water fountain. Dead bobbed in the water, some strained for purchase, others falling apart, shedding dead flesh from too much time in the pond. Where families and friends used to have picnics and play Frisbee was now little more than a pauper’s field.

  “There’s a ball field and playground we need to clean,” Williams said. “That was the deal. Most of the field is empty. There are buildings near the playground; I don’t know about them.” Williams felt the weight of the radio in the inside of his jacket. He checked the roads and wondered where Crowe was. The bastard was sneaky, but there’s no way he could have gotten past th
e bridge. Frank handed him a full clip and ground his teeth; the waste of ammo was infuriating. Williams tapped it against the side of the Jeep and slapped it into the gun, and fired as they rode past the ball field. Shots rang out from the vehicles behind; Frank glanced into the mirror to see Micah cover his ears and lie down on the seat.

  They put the stragglers down and stopped at the first base foul line. The path around the bases was muddy with splotches of brown grass; a small stand of bleachers stood rusted and crumbling. The pitcher’s mound was little more than a ball of mud, the well groomed grasses overgrown. The skeletal array of the playground was in front of the small buildings. Chains that used to hold swings dangled like emptied intestines from rusted poles. Blood smeared the slide from top to bottom.

  “We go through that stand of trees near the dugout and that will get us to the front of the building and a better vantage point,” Frank said looking through a rifle scope. They pulled around the trees, and over a small hill. Frank waited for the Monte to clear the trees and stopped.

  The playground had a large jungle gym; plastic and rope bridges led from small houses on metal poles. Plastic tube slides with jagged holes had long strips of old clothes hooked on them. The basketball half court was covered with pot holes and all throughout the maze of swings and climbing poles were the dead. They turned towards the cars.

  “Can you people just kill these things so we can get out of here?” Pierce said and turned away. He rifled through his bag to read his notes and stopped at the book that he kept hidden away and stroked the spine lovingly.

  “They’re all spread out,” Williams said and pointed at the activity buildings. “Look through those doors. They’re inside too.” Through the scratched, hazy Plexiglass, the dead moved around the building, unable to get the doors open. Rusted links of chain were looped through the outside handles held together by an unlocked padlock; the key lay on the ground in front of the doors.