Fountain of the Dead Read online

  “God, I miss hunting,” Frank said. “Hours alone in a tree stand in the middle of the woods, you become one with nature.”

  “Yeah, and then you kill nature,” Williams said.

  “Yeah but nature tastes so good,” Frank said.

  “Anyone ever have deep fried alligator?” Williams turned to Pierce and shook his head. “Little nuggets, strips of meat, little fishy, not much taste, have to depend on the seasoning. I had an alligator corndog once before the storm. That was odd.” Williams shook his head as they passed a sign for Morgantown.

  “What do we know about West Virginia?” Gerry asked.

  “Not much,” Williams said.

  “A lot of outdoors stuff, good camping. Be a good place to hold up if we were going to stay...”

  “But we’re not. We’re not staying,” Pierce said. “We have to go to Florida.”

  “We don’t have to do anything, Pierce. Never forget that, I could leave you here with a bullet in your head then we could rest up and go home. I lost two friends on this bullshit trip of yours, one of whom I killed,” Frank said.

  “You think the cure to the Night Storm is bullshit?”

  “No, Pierce. You’re the bullshit.” The radio blared to life.

  “Can we stop?” Catherine asked. Pierce slumped back into the seat, a look of pure panic crossed his face. He dug under the seat for his pack and tore into it. At the sight of his book, everything calmed.

  * * * * *

  “There’s a lake ahead we can stop at to rest. Problem is we don’t have any blankets and we really only have road snacks for food.”

  “You said you wanted to hunt,” Gerry said.

  “I could try to get a deer, but that’s going to take some time. Face it, we stink. Deer catch our scent, they won’t come near us.”

  “Can we fish?” Sam asked. “Though fishing won’t the same without my dog.” He patted Micah on the head. His mind wandered to a small boat, a cooler of beer, and a dog.

  “We still don’t have shelter and even if we unload all the vehicles, there’s not enough room for all of us,” Beverly said.

  “Man, I’d kill for a roadmap,” Frank said.

  “The lake is on a state forest; I think it’s called Cheat Lake. It was a stocking lake back in the day,” Gerry said. The others turned to look at him. “I used to camp a lot.”

  “Maybe, if we’re lucky,” Catherine said. “We can find an old hunting cabin.” She turned to Frank and Sam. “Let’s go fishing.”

  * * * * *

  Frank turned the trout on the spit. They’d caught over a dozen and after gutting and cutting, they were now cooking away over the fire. Behind them was the Cheat Lake Visitors Center, the building’s door kicked in and rooms scavenged long before they got there. Frank read the map via the setting sunlight and the fire. Micah sat on a cinder block and sketched the fire with the fish on it. When he deemed the drawing complete, he flipped the page and started sketching the tourist center, broken door, broken windows and all.

  “If only we had some butter and garlic,” Catherine said.

  “Trout is too mild for garlic. But some melted butter and sea salt would be amazing,” Sharon said. The memory of the food truck brought a smile to her face. Until the memory of Nathan dead on the street filled her mind. Frank turned the makeshift spit again. The fish sizzled.

  “Why are you always drawing, kid?” Pierce asked.

  “So no one forgets what happened and what we went through.”

  “Want to draw me?” Micah threw the pencil at him, hoping it would stick in his head then took a new one from his pouch.

  “Why aren’t you cooking, Mom?” Micah asked.

  “I wanted to let Frank have some glory since I caught most of the fish,” Sharon said.

  “I would have caught more but the women folk were very chatty by the shore,” Frank said. Beverly sat on the ground near the fire, a far-away look in her eyes while she ate.

  “If we had my truck, I could crisp up this skin something nice. I miss my frying pans some times.” Sharon looked around at the fire, the night sky and her friends gathered, listened to the crackle of the flames and sighed. Nathan loved to camp the few times they had gone. She never had the chance with Micah. But he had grown up with the village’s bonfires and stars overhead. Pseudo camping at best.

  Micah set the book down when he was handed a fish on a stick. He tore into the meat as if he hadn’t eaten before. Bottles of water were handed out. Frank passed around the trout and set the extras aside. As he ate, Frank remembered all the survival shows he used to watch on TV just to see what hosts would end up eating.

  “Camp fire stories anyone?” Catherine looked person to person. “Guess not.” She picked a piece of fish from the stick and popped it in her mouth. “Almost feels like home.”

  “What about tonight?” Gerry asked. “We’re going to need people on watch.”

  “The visitors center is clear, we checked that.” Catherine said. “Granted it’s not the MGM Grand, but it’ll be out of the cold and the elements. There are some old sweatshirts and tee shirts in there. We can use those to sleep on. Take any extras for winter or for trade.”

  “We keep the fire going all night that way whoever is on watch can stay warm and know what’s going on,” Gerry added.

  “We’ll decide a watch schedule and then gather some wood,” Catherine said and finished her fish. She tossed the stick on the fire. Micah reached for a second fish. Sharon smiled at him.

  “Micah, when you’re done, we’ll go inside and gather up supplies.” Traces of the dog’s blood were dried on his shirt. He plucked the fish off the stick and dropped it in the fire, putting the fillet in his mouth. Frank tossed him a flashlight and Sharon followed him inside.

  “Tony, you’ll take first watch. Sam, you’re next. Williams, if you’re up to it?” Williams nodded and smiled; he wiped his hands on his pants. “Gerry that leaves you for last. Take two hour shifts. Frank you and Pierce gather some wood. Beverly, let’s find some containers and boil some lake water.”

  “We have over a case of water left, Catherine,” Beverly said.

  “Emergencies and what not,” Catherine smiled. “Come on,” she said standing up. “I saw some camping gear inside the lodge.”

  * * * * *

  Micah rummaged through the storage room. A lot of the boxes were empty. There were several plastic totes filled with shirts and caps under a set of stairs that lead to an office area and employee lounge. He slid the totes out to Sharon, who took out the sweatshirts.

  “You’d think there’d be some blankets in here with the state logo or maps sewn into them,” Sharon said.

  “There probably were, years ago, before this place was busted into.”

  “Why did it take you so long to talk to me, Micah?”

  Micah stopped digging through a box for a moment. He took a deep breath feeling pressure in his head and chest. He knew this talk was coming and part of him wanted to run, another part to sit and talk, and the other part to faint.

  “I guess I was afraid.”

  “Of me?”

  “Maybe. The last time I spoke my parents died. I didn’t want the same to happen to you.”

  Sharon wiped at her eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid of that, Micah. I pro...”

  “No, don’t promise it.”

  “Ok, I’ll try. That better?”

  Micah smiled. A floorboard creaked overhead “Did anyone check out upstairs?” Sharon asked. Sharon turned to the front of the stairs; there was nothing coming down. Still something had moved above them.

  * * * * *

  Frank’s footfalls crunched loudly on the fallen leaves and sticks. He picked up the bigger ones and stacked them on the growing bundle in Pierce’s arms. Pine cones were stuffed in his pocket. Pierce sighed loud and followed Frank.

  “What is it now?”

  “I never thought that after all that time in school and all the field work, I’d be gathering fire wood in a zo
mbie ravaged country.”

  Frank smirked at him. “Ten years ago, before the shit storm, I was delivering mail. I would have been able to retire soon. Was going to retire early, collect 70%, live off my savings and travel the country.”

  “Pretty simple, Frank.”

  “That’s me. Fishing, hiking, and hunting from time to time. That was me. What you do, counting alligators, gathering their eggs, raising them in hatcheries? Catching pythons seems pretty pointless to me.” Frank stopped and turned. “How the fuck didn’t the astronomers and scientists see this coming?”

  “It’s a big fucking sky, Frank.” Frank trudged deeper through the woods.

  “You have no idea on the invasion of foreign animals and impact on the swamp. Or the impact it had. It’s been running out of control for years.”

  “Honestly, Pierce. I don’t care. It had no effect on me, then or now. Snakes and alligators mean nothing to me. I had a job, I didn’t live off college grants or hugging trees and making hats out of swamp grass.”

  “You’ll appreciate me when we get to The Glades.”

  “I doubt it,” Frank said and dropped some more sticks into Pierce’s outstretched arms. “Four or five more trips and we’ll have enough.”

  * * * * *

  Beverly and Catherine entered the lodge. The main floor was an open area. A map of the state hung on one wall; the other side was a small snack bar, long since empty. Lying on the floor in back of the counter was an overturned Pepsi fridge. The door with the “Employees Only” sign above it was open. They could make out Sharon from behind it.

  An almost picked clean brochure rack was near the map. Beverly walked over to it. A large plastic covered map of the state was attached to it, with a large red “O” drawn on it and an arrow next to it “You are here.” Beverly plucked out a map and some of the brochures and stuffed them into her pocket. Animal pelts hung up on the wall, high enough to stay out of reach, each one labeled bear, deer etc. Below the pelts was a fake camp scene, posed mannequins, camping gear on the floor, with faux green carpeting, supposed to be grass.

  Catherine reached over the small fence made to keep children out and grabbed the firepot. She banged on the bottom of it; dead insects fell out. There were more small containers, which Beverly gathered up. Sharon and Micah backed out of the storage room, Micah’s arms laden with shirts.

  “What is it?” Beverly asked.

  “Either we’re ransacking someone’s house or there are zombies upstairs,” Micah said.

  “Go get Gerry, leave the shirts on the floor.”

  Micah dropped the shirts and rushed outside. They heard him scream something barely coherent and run back followed by train of people.

  “What’s up?” Williams asked. Catherine pointed upstairs in response to another creak. “I thought they cleared this place.”

  “They missed a spot.”

  Williams and Gerry drew pistols and went into the back room. They listened to the squeak of the stairs as they ascended.

  “Why didn’t I go up?” Sharon asked.

  “Because you left your gun in the car,” Catherine answered.

  “No excuse.”

  * * * * *

  “Yes, a for real mailman. I had a walking route in the spring, summer, and fall and they put me in the CSR window in winter, selling stamps to old people and handing out lollipops to snotty kids in snowsuits.”

  “My parents were hippies. Doing the nature thing was the only way they would pay for my tuition.” Pierce shrugged and dropped another armload of wood on the ground. He kicked it into a loose pile while Frank dropped pinecones on the pavement. Frank looked around at the lack of people outside. Through the door of the lodge he could see the group.

  “More wood?” Pierce asked. Frank looked at the pile.

  “Yeah, one more load.” He walked backwards towards the trails, looking at the people-clogged entrance to the lodge. He heard Pierce ahead of him, not trying to be quiet. He shook his head, feeling something wrong and followed Pierce. Bat shit crazy or not, Pierce was the focal point of this quest. And inadvertently was the cause of death for two of his friends.

  * * * * *

  The stairs led to a raised platform over the storage area. Small rooms had been built against the wall, one into an office and the other into a bathroom. A worn carpet was stretched across the floor and on it, several couches. Williams’ eyes lit up. Standing center stage was a zombie, one foot planted firm on the floor like it was nailed there, the other leg a twisted wreck. Bones stuck out through rotted pants. One of its arms was a bent mess.

  “Looks like a hiking accident, poor fuck’s been here forever,” Gerry said.

  “Let’s pity him later,” Williams said and stepped out on to the landing. The dead reached for him with a clawed hand. He looked out the window; it led to the back of the lodge, where several sheds had been ripped apart. ATVs had been vandalized for spare parts. Williams opened the window. Gerry took aim with his pistol and when Williams out of the way, put two bullets in its head. The thing crumpled to the floor. With a hand from Gerry, they lifted and chucked the corpse out the window.

  * * * * *

  Frank threw the stick in his hand to the ground and ran for the lodge when he heard the gunshots. The others were gathering around the fire, putting on sweatshirts. They looked like a poor advertisement for Cheat Lake and West Virginia. Frank stopped short leaving trails in the dirt.

  “We missed one upstairs,” Williams said.

  “There’s an upstairs?” Frank asked. Pierce appeared from the forest out of breath.

  “What’d I miss?” Pierce asked huffing for breath.

  “Nothing, nature boy,” Frank said.

  “There’s an upstairs with a few couches,” Gerry said and looked at Pierce. “Which Catherine, Beverly, and Sharon will be sleeping on. You’re on the floor between them, kid.” Pierce’s expression dropped.

  “Sorry you disagree, Pierce,” Beverly said. “Feel free to go to the lake and fill this pot with water.”

  * * * * *

  Tony’s watch came and went without incident. He paced around the small parking lot trying to stay warm while making sure the fire was still going. He thought back to his days in the casinos, bordering on addiction, trying to remember how he stopped. Once the water boiled, he set the pot on the porch to cool.

  Sam spent most of his time on the porch in a wooden chair watching the water cool, taking moments to stoke the fire and load on more wood. When the water was cool, he poured it into containers from the camping display. He remembered his dog and how now matter how long it’d been, he’d always had a canine near him. In his house or barbershop, there was always a dog. Williams came out interrupting Sam’s thoughts, and stomped his feet for warmth.

  “Got cold out here,” Williams said.

  “This will be the most boring two hours of your life. I literally watched water cool.”

  “Boring is good, hordes of roaming undead, are bad.”

  Sam clapped Williams on the shoulder as he walked past.

  When Sam was in the building, Williams went for his radio and noticed it was gone. He looked over at the Jeep with the tarp stretched across the top and dug around for it. There was nothing there. But sitting on the front seat of the Explorer was the caravan’s radio. He changed frequency.

  “You there, Crowe?” He waited for a moment and then switched it off, and tossed it back in the Explorer. He took out his gun and sat near the fire and waited. Gerry came outside to see Williams near the fire. Williams waved and stood up, stretching his back.

  “Anything exciting?”

  “Watching paint dry is more exciting.”

  * * * * *

  Crenshaw tossed the framed picture across the office; the glass shattered and rained down on the tiled floor. He watched the picture flit to the ground, torn from the violence. The door burst open Waters stood there, guns ready. Crenshaw glared at him.

  “Did I call you?”

  “I heard somet
hing break,” Waters said, his eyes darting around the room looking for a target.

  “Okay, you’ve been there all afternoon?” Crenshaw drummed his fingers the desktop.

  “Except when I was in the garage.” Seeing no threat in the office, Waters lowered his guns.

  “And?” Crenshaw felt his blood pressure rising and IQ dropping talking to the stooge.

  “And no one else was here?”

  “So how could anyone,” Crenshaw held up his hands. “Or anything get in here, with someone outside the office door?” Waters paused for a moment trying to think. “If you say window washer’s rig or human flies, I will throw you off the roof myself.” Waters shrugged and slid the guns back into the shoulder holsters. Crenshaw looked over at the shattered glass on the floor.

  “Moron, have someone clean that up.” Crenshaw dropped back down in his desk chair, his mouth drawn tight. The photo of Catherine and him lay framed in sunlight from the window. He drank whiskey from the bottle. Slamming it down hard on the desk, the dark amber liquid sloshed out the top.

  “Boss?” Waters paused at the door. The phone on the desk rang, an antiquated cell phone ran on the fumes from far off towers and one of the few remaining functioning satellites. Crenshaw wiped the whiskey off it and motioned Waters towards the door.

  “What is it?” Crenshaw said into the phone.

  “Williams’ lost the radio. I found fragments all over the road.”

  “You’re sure it was his?”

  “Yes sir. It’s the one I gave him.”

  Crenshaw gripped the phone in a fist, his hands shook with rage. “Why is this little recon adventure turning into a cluster-fuck?”

  “They met a murder squad in Pennsylvania.”

  “Anymore of them die?”

  “Just the two so far.”

  “I think I need to step up the body count, Crowe. Keep that fucking phone charged and get your ass to Florida.” Crenshaw dropped the phone on the desk. He wanted to throw it against the wall and watch it shatter like the picture frame. He took another long drink from the bottle, setting it down easier this time.