Fountain of the Dead Read online

  There was a ripple like a rock in a pond. The center of the group collapsed, the outer ring were pushed forward and knocked down. Organs, limbs, and blood rained down and covered the road. Frank howled in joy and shook his fist in the air. He stopped in front of the Explorer.

  “Hell of a plan, kid.” He smacked Micah on the back. Sam threw the bag of guns back into the Jeep. They heard muffled screams from the Monte. Beverly banged on the trunk in response.

  “We got some, not enough. But we did some damage,” Frank said.

  “We can’t waste more of the fuel,” Catherine said. Frank turned to her, a strange glimmer in his eye.

  “Let’s use the Monte. Rig it up like the gas can. The tank is mostly full.”

  “Nice postal attitude, Frank,” Pierce said.

  “You have any ideas, Captain Tree-hugger? Feel free to speak up any time.” Frank took a step towards him, fists clenching.

  “You two need to stop, we still need a plan,” Catherine said. “There’s still a shitload of them coming towards us.” Catherine looked towards the blast zone. They were coming, stumbling and crawling and burning.

  “Why don’t we switch lanes?” Beverly asked. “Cut across the median drive south on the north side. Go as far as we can. Rinse, repeat.”

  Catherine kissed her on the cheek.

  “It’s not like there are any state police waiting to pull us over,” Catherine said.

  “I was hoping for an Earth shattering ka-boom,” Frank said. “Something to knock me back and rattle my teeth.” They got back in the vehicles. Sam tossed out bottles of water; he looked at Catherine and Sharon popped the trunk. Sam ran over and handed one to Williams seeing his hands and feet were free.

  “You’re a sneaky bastard, Williams.”

  Williams winked as Sam closed the trunk on him again. “You have no idea.” Sam slammed the trunk as Williams saluted him with the water bottle.

  The cars lined up as the dead loomed. Frank popped the Jeep into gear and ran across the grassy median into the opposite lane. He stopped for a moment as Gerry shone the flashlight on the carnage. The twisted wreck of three or four dozen zombies, maybe more, lay ruined on the road, still grasping and reaching, trying to get the next mouthful of warm flesh. Frank flipped them off and headed deeper into South Carolina. Less than a quarter mile down the road was a convoy of overturned tourist busses. In front of the wreckage was the accident that caused it. The husk of a motorcycle stuck out from the undercarriage of a truck.

  * * * * *

  Frank crossed the border from South Carolina to Georgia. They stopped at the base of a bridge to read a massive bank of signs by the headlights. Gas stations, restaurants, hotels, Alligator Alley tours. An ad for Paula Deen. Pierce came up and snorted at the sign

  “Alligator Alley,” he smiled and turned around. “They don’t know gators.” While the others read the signs, Gerry reached into Pierce’s bag and scanned the spine of the book.

  The lowest row of sign panels, all hooked to the same pole infrastructure had been vandalized. Large black letters were spray painted across: “Abandon all hope.” Frank shivered and looked back at Catherine.

  “What choices do we have?” Sam asked looking at the faces.

  “How long will it take us to get through the city?” Catherine asked.

  “I suppose Peach Pie and hush-puppies are out?” Frank nodded at a felled post with restaurant signs bolted to it.

  “Barring anything ‘special’ maybe 45 minutes,” Sharon said she reached for Micah and squeezed his shoulder.

  “Then what?” Gerry asked.

  “Follow the coast go to Darien,” Frank said pointing at the maps. “Then we got about an hour to Florida.”

  “It’s dark as hell and as quiet as it’s been the past little while; we’re not going into the city in the dead of night, ” Catherine said. “Give me options?” She said and looked to the others.

  “Skip the city all together. I might be able to get us around. Have to go further inland. We’d be doubling back into that mess behind us. Without a roof for protection or lots of ammo, I’d rather not drive through that,” Frank said.

  “Leave the Jeep here?” Sam said. “No one is following us. We would have seen someone.”

  “I’m not leaving my vehicle,” Frank said.

  “Doesn’t give us much choice then,” Beverly added.

  “Let’s do this,” Frank said. “Sam, take point. You’ll be lead. Gerry get in the car with him. Pierce, Micah you’re with me in the middle.” He turned to look at Beverly, stifling a yawn. “You ok to drive a little longer?”

  “I can try.”

  “I’ll drive if she gets too tired,” Sharon added. She looked back at the Monte and the noise coming from the trunk

  “For fuck’s sake,” Frank spat. “Let him out of the trunk.”

  * * * * *

  Frank growled staring over the wheel; tail lights blazed ahead of him. Williams was in the Explorer, riding shotgun, literally. He held on to the stock and barrel, ready to fire.

  “Why’d you let him loose?” Micah asked.

  “We need the extra gun right now. We’re short some people.”

  “Where am I going, Frank?” Sam asked through the radio.

  “Once we cross the bridge, look for signs of friendlies. They should be close once we hit the city proper,” Frank answered. “At least if I remember.”

  They crossed over the bridge. Abandoned vehicles littered the road, at first spaced apart and then clogged together. Sam slowed and stopped.

  “The road ahead is blocked, Frank.”

  “Something we can move?”

  “No. Looks like it was an accident, a pile up.” Sam peered through the windshield at the blockade of cars in front of them. On the shoulder of the bridge, near the walkway was an overturned police car. An ambulance blocked one lane totally, the back doors open and gurney halfway out, the other lanes blocked by a fire truck. In front of the emergency vehicles was the crumpled husk of a sedan, a mangled corpse, rotted and long dead pinned beneath the wheel. The sedan had been t-boned, by a pickup truck, its grill still touching the fallen car, the driver of the truck long gone.

  “What do you think happened?” Micah asked.

  “Going by the skid marks, the car up there switched lanes abruptly. The truck hit it and then the pile up. The road was probably closed to let the emergency crew through and they blocked the road so they could get to them. Then the survivors and others panicked and abandoned their cars as the dead moved in. Doesn’t look like anyone was ever pulled from the wreckage though.”

  “I hate it here,” Micah added.

  “You and me both kid,” Frank said. “Do we forage for supplies in the cars or double back?”

  “I have a feeling there’s something, someone in there,” Catherine said. “But I’m not going through this to find it. We double back across the bridge and work our way around. And we can find a place to rest.” Frank walked to the shoulder of the bridge and looked into the police car. The shotgun was gone. He triggered the trunk latch; everything of use had been taken, flares, jack, spare tire. He went back to the Jeep and waited for the Monte to back out of the way. He took lead of the caravan again; as they left the bridge, Catherine looked out the window while an overturned row boat bobbed in the river.

  The walkway was clear, as far as Frank could see. There was no way he was going to have everyone abandon their vehicles and walk into the city. Even if there was a safe zone, everyone would be at risk.

  * * * * *

  “I need gas right now,” Sam said. “That little go round sucked up my fuel.”

  “We’re close to Darien,” Frank said. “We got about thirty miles.”

  They rolled into the city; historic signs marked the entrance. Frank glanced at them as they passed them. The headlights lit up the small town.

  “Not a big place,” Gerry said.

  “Looks like someplace I could have lived,” Frank said. “Get a small house and
a boat.” Frank glanced at the maps. “Maybe one big road going through town; it leads to the highway. Look for a gas station, or a marina, might be a chance for some non-diesel fuel. Look for some stores, anything we can take with us for back home.”

  “Why don’t we just ask those people over there waving to us?” Gerry said. Frank slowed the Jeep and turned on the high beams. A group of people stood on the side of the road, waving frantically at the caravan. Frank stopped the Jeep and got out; Gerry took aim, just in case. He motioned for the others to stay put. He approached them and let his guns be seen.

  “No need for that son.”

  “Evening, Preacher.”

  The elderly man smiled, his wrinkled skin stretched tight. A horseshoe of white hair on top of his black skin. His black shirt and white collar were neat and clean. A large silver cross hung around his neck from a silver chain.

  “What’s your business here, folks?”

  “Passing through, looking for fuel for the vehicles.” There were five of them, various ages that stood behind the pastor. Frank motioned for the others to come up. “We could use some directions out of here too, if you don’t mind.”

  Catherine moved through her people to the front. “My name is Catherine,” she said, stretching out her hand.

  “Call me Randy. That’s my church in back of me. There’s not too many of us left here in town. We spend most of our time in there.” Catherine looked around at the small houses. It reminded her of their home back north. She missed what they had built up.

  “This is my flock, Randy,” Catherine said. “We’ve been driving for a long time. We don’t have a lot, but we can trade some supplies, for a safe place to rest.”

  “I live in a house of God, Catherine. I could never turn away those in need.” Randy turned and headed for the church steps.

  * * * * *

  Randy opened the doors to the church so everyone could step through. It was simple, painted white. It opened into the worship hall. Some of the pews had been converted to beds. A small staging area was erected behind the podium and altar. The visage of Christ hung from the ceiling above the podium. Frank took lead for the group, keeping an eye out, just in case.

  Survivors populated the church, tired and hungry faces, that looked at him and then quickly away, with a few forced smiles. Randy swept open his arms and offered them seats in the front pews. He pulled a stool out from the podium. Micah took out his journal and started to sketch and take notes.

  “This is a fine place you have here, pastor,” Catherine said.

  “Thank you, ma’am. We try and there’s not too much left out there. But we don’t see a lot of the dead here. Savannah is barricaded at both ends. It’s tough for them to get out. That city is a death trap.”

  “We were headed through there. Heard rumor of safe havens in the city.”

  “There ain’t nothing in that city,” a woman said standing up. “We was in there not too long ago. I lost my boy. He was trying to get into a store. Didn’t know anyone was alive inside they shot him down, like an animal. We couldn’t bring him back for a proper Christian burial.”

  “I am truly sorry,” Catherine said. “We’ve lost some friends of ours on our journey here.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Randy said. “What is your purpose?”

  Pierce shook his head; Catherine dismissed him with a glance.

  “We’re following this man,” she said looking at Pierce. “Going into the Everglades.”

  “You’re following that psycho?” the woman said. “Look at his eyes, look at them bite marks on his arms.”

  “Betty, please.” Randy said. She went to a rocking chair and sat down, talked softly with some of the other folks there. Her eyes kept wandering to Pierce. “Why the Glades?”

  “Let me ask a question,” Frank said and stood. “How do you all survive here?”

  “We have a sweet fishing spot on the end of the docks. People say they’re sick of fish, but with what the Lord’s been providing has been keeping us alive. Used to be a hardware store in town; we’ve taken what we needed and tried to make it look abandoned, boarded over the doors and windows and such. There are some fruit trees in back of the church and we have gardens. We save our seeds for the next planting season.”

  “Our turn now,” Catherine said. “That crazy man claims to have research that will put an end to the zombies.”

  “No, not to them, the bite and the infection,” Pierce said.

  “We’re traveling, trusting this man, risking ourselves so maybe some kind of cure can be found.”

  “Well God bless you sir,” Randy said and took his hand. The pastor glanced at Pierce’s arms before letting go.

  “What did you do with the zombies? I hate that word,” Micah asked.

  “The ones we killed, we buried. We try to leave them alone and hide when we see them. They walk right through town. We know how to keep quiet and hide. We also have a farm on the outskirts of town, used to have hay rides and corn mazes. Now we keep some of them corralled up there.” Randy turned to look at his church; more than half of the strangers were asleep.

  “Can we stay here tonight?” Catherine asked. “We have medical supplies and Beverly over there, snoring away is our nurse. She can help if anyone is injured.”

  “Our pews are taken, but there’s more than enough room on the floor.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Catherine smiled. Blankets were spread out on the floor and a child came round with a bucket of water and ladle to drink from.

  “We catch the rain water in barrels and then boil it. Be nice to have a tall glass of cool sweet tea, when the night gets hot,” Randy said.

  “How long have you folks been here?” Micah asked.

  “Since the storm,” Randy answered. “Ten long years we’ve taken sanctuary here. When people panicked and fled, we trusted in God and stayed. People left in droves, in cars and boats. A few locked themselves away in their houses. Before the storm, we used to get our fair share of tourists, kept the town alive. No one comes anymore.”

  “I’m going to get some of our supplies and bring them in. I’m still paranoid about not being able to get to them,” Frank said and nodded to Gerry and Sam to follow. They opened and closed the doors silently to not disturb anyone. Frank paused to look at Pierce who sat in the corner of the church and muttered to himself.

  * * * * *

  “What do you two think?” Frank said. He looked back at the church silhouetted in the moonlight. Frank leaned back over the hood of the Explorer and moaned when his back popped. “If this was a tourist town, there might be some supplies on the ‘Main drag’ if there is one,” Frank said. “I’ll tell Catherine, see what she wants us to do. I’m sure no one in this town is going to say boo to us. We check any shops and look for anything interesting. They obviously have supplies.”

  “So now we’re turning to thugs and looters?” Sam asked.

  “We’ve killed our friends on this trip and there’s much worse we could be doing,” Frank added. “It’s obvious there’s not a department store here and I’m not saying take their last hammer. Besides what have we been doing for the past 10 years? Raiding stores and homes taking what we needed.”

  “I don’t care for the idea,” Gerry said.

  “These people seem genuine, feels more like theft,” Sam said.

  “Undecided,” Gerry said. “I always figured my first real visit to the South, there’d be some grand feast, ham, grits, sweet potato pie.”

  “In another world, Gerry,” Frank said. “Get the medical kit and the bag of guns. Make sure everything is locked up tight. Let’s bring one radio inside and put the other two in the Monte.” Gerry stopped them on the stairs of the church and spun around.

  “What do you know about Ponce De’ Leon?”

  “The explorer?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t mean the car,” Gerry answered.

  * * * * *

  Smoke flitted in through the open church doors. Frank bolted up
drawing his guns. He looked around a moment, not sure of where he was and realization set in. Something was cooking. He got up quiet as he could, careful not to wake the others, and went outside. A small campfire blazed in the churchyard. The congregation was gathered around the fire. Randy waved at Frank as he descended the stairs.

  “Hope you folks like bass; we caught some nice ones this morning.”

  “Any hot meal is welcome, sir. Thank you,” Catherine said.

  “No need to call me sir. I’m just a man,” Randy said.

  “I’d like to be a man with a giant mug of coffee,” Frank smiled.

  “That I can’t do. We had a couple coffee shops in town. Best pie and scones this side of Dixie. Do me a favor Frank?” Randy asked, laying a hand on his shoulder. “We have some folks here not happy anymore, I’d appreciate it, if when you come back from the Glades, you take them up north, if you have room.” Frank excused himself and took Catherine by the arm over to their cars. They talked in whispered while people busied themselves for the meal. The morning was cool and clear. The expression on Catherine’s face changed and she nodded and walked back to the fire.

  “How’d you know we were from the north?” Beverly asked.

  “You have a God awful accent,” Randy said then laughed.

  * * * * *

  They feasted on bass and root vegetables. Before the meal started, everyone took hands while Randy said grace; he prayed for his flock and for the strangers new to town and that they had a safe trip. When the meal was over, good-byes were said; Beverly and Micah helped to clean up.

  Randy handed Frank a bundle of folded papers. “Take these, they’re old but I reckon you folks can use them more than I can.”

  “I can’t take your maps Randy. Someday you and your people may decide to migrate or something,” Frank said looking at his shoes.

  “I was born in this town and I buried my wife in this town. I have no intentions of leaving. There’s a nice patch of earth over in the graveyard with my name on it. Even when the dead are knocking at my church’s doors, I’ll be staying.” Randy held up his arm and pointed for emphasis. The doors to the church were crowded with people staring out of the safety of the hall.