Arcadia (Book 1): Damn The Dead (10 page)

“But we’re not living, Char. This is no life for you.”

“For me?”

“I say we go into town tomorrow. We bury the guns, the supplies, like you suggested, but we go in and we see what it’s about.”

“You’re scaring me. You know that, don’t you?”

“Don’t be scared, honey. Just keep your eyes open. Be ready.”

“Be ready for what?”

“For anything.”

#  #  #

They stood side-by-side on the trail after burying their weapons and supplies in a small clearing by where they’d camped for the night. They placed a pile of fallen leaves and twigs over the freshly dug earth so it appeared less conspicuous. They each kept a knife as a meager means of protection for the walk from the burial plot to the town. Just because they were checking out a town didn’t mean the infected weren’t still sniffing around.

Thick morning fog rolled over the ground like clouds passing across in the sky on a windy day. Somewhere a fire burned. It might be coming from Arcadia. It smelled wonderful, the way a hearth fire in the middle of winter did. Char assumed it might even be coming from a fireplace, a controlled burn. It had been a while since fires raged out of control. That happened all of the time years ago, not so much anymore.

“I feel naked,” Tony said. “I don’t like not having my bow.”

Char knew what he meant. She felt awkward without the weight of the sword on her hip. It had been strapped around her waist for years. It was the first thing she touched when she woke up from any kind of sleep.

She held onto Dispatch’s reins. They’d talked about freeing the horses. Tony let his go. Char couldn’t.

“It isn’t right to bring him in. We have no idea what we’re walking into. I’m not going to tell you what you should do.”

“Can I take a minute with him?”

“Of course you can,” he said.

Char walked her horse along the trail, away from Arcadia. She stayed close to his head to pet his nose. “You go and find Tony’s horse. You two stay together.”

She knew she shouldn’t be crying. She wiped tears away with the back of her sleeve.

“We’ll meet up again, I promise. This isn’t goodbye.”

She kissed the side of the horse’s face, and it neighed as if it understood what was happening. She stepped toward the back of the horse and slapped its hindquarters. “Go on! Git!”

Dispatch sprinted away.

She stood silent, watching until he was no longer visible before joining the others.

Ahead, they saw the posted Welcome sign.

“Think they’re watching us?” Char said. The joy she felt brushing her teeth after breakfast was short lived. Her conversation with Tony prior to dawn continued to replay inside her head. She didn’t like knowing he was afraid or that he was losing hope. Her courage and confidence fed off his. She felt rocked now, off kilter, and she didn’t like it. When on her own, she was strong and took care of herself. It just made things easier when the energy was shared between two or more people.

“You can bet on it,” Tony said. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they followed you last night, and watched us bury everything.”

“You really think so?” Sam said.

“It’s why I said it,” Tony said.

“Then let’s not keep them waiting.” Char started walking and did not stop when they reached the Arcadia sign. She glanced at it out of the corner of her eye, but kept pushing forward.

“I just want it noted, for the record, I’m still not comfortable with this,” Sam said. He shook his head.

“I don’t think any of us are,” Grace said. “Winter’s coming. We haven’t really found a safe place to settle down, to grow some moss. It could start snowing any day now. Winter in the mountains is a harsh thing. I had family in Colorado. They’d get drifts against the house that kept them from even getting outside to clear a path.”

“They get a lot of snow up here?” Sam said.

“Perfect ski conditions,” Tony said. “Yeah. It snows.”

Char thought about the Mexican heat. She’d hated it, sweating all the time and thirsty. Winter wasn’t much better. They were the extremes, she supposed. Spring and Autumn were her favorite times of year, even before the apocalypse. “We’re going to have to learn how to skin animals and make coats and boots and stuff,” she said. “You know how to do that, Tony?”

“I do not.” He laughed.

Ahead of them was a ten-foot high wall that appeared to be made of cinder block.

“Will you take a look at that,” Tony said.

They stopped.

Char looked right and left. “It just goes on forever.”

“The place is fortified,” Grace said. “I see it, but I don’t believe it. Did you know something like this was here?”

“No,” Tony said. “It sits down in the valley kind of hidden from everything. Makes me wonder if they built it recently, or if it’s always been here?”

“It’s got a Lord of the Rings feel to it. You don’t think there are Orcs in there, do you?” Sam said.

“Nerd,” Char said. She spun around. “Mountains are all around us. I mean, we are deep down in a valley. I can’t help but feel a little claustrophobic about it. It’s like they are closing in on us. Does anyone else feel that way?” Char remembered taking a ride with her father and brother to New York City. The Holland Tunnel went under the ocean and brought them out on the other side, where it looked like they’d landed on another world. Giant buildings and flashing lights. She would never forget how difficult it was to breath under the tunnel. Her dad teased her at first. When she started to cry, worried the walls might cave in and they would drown, he stopped, realizing perhaps that she was truly suffering from a panic attack. It wasn’t as significant right now, but she felt it in her chest, a slight tightening as her breathing became a little more rapid.

“It’s beautiful,” Grace said.

It was beautiful. The blue sky and fluffy white clouds moved slowly over red, orange, yellow and green leaves. Add to that the aroma of several fireplaces burning wood, and it was nothing shy of picturesque, if not confining and overbearing. Char shook her head as if that might clear the steadily mounting fear that grew inside her mind.

“Anyone see a doorbell, or do we knock?” Tony said.

As if voice activated, they heard a latch release. The large double doors swung open.

“I do the talking,” Tony said.

No one argued.

Char’s breath caught in her lungs for just a moment. In that moment a wave passed over her. It was a sudden sense of dread and hopelessness. It was complete and enveloped all of her. She had never felt such a powerful push of emotion before. As quickly as it came, it passed. It left an empty and hollow sensation in her heart. “Is it too late to go back?”

Three men with assault rifles greeted them.

Tony reached for her hand. He squeezed it. “We’ve got this.”

PART II
Arcadia

Chapter 12

Arcadia, North Carolina

Vincent Forti sat behind a large desk. A small stack of papers set in the In Box required his attention. The work days were long. The things that needed doing increased day by day. The people of Arcadia had elected him to the position of mayor nearly two years ago. It was an election year. Although no one was running against him, he still wanted to run a strong campaign to reassure the community that their choice in a leader was not a mistake.

The barter system worked well enough for now, but Vincent wanted to reinstitute money. Getting such a program off the ground proved more difficult than expected. Decades ago, paper money had value because it was backed by silver and gold. People could exchange their paper for the exotic minerals. President Nixon changed that system in the early 1970’s to something known as Fiat Money. This was how money worked from the 70s until the zombie apocalypse, but made little sense. Paper money had no value except the
belief
it was worth something. Gold and silver no longer backed the paper. There was no reason why a twenty-dollar bill should be worth more than a single, except for the fact that the number twenty is nineteen numbers bigger than the number one is.

The people of Arcadia had their own money from before everything crumbled. It was more worthless now than ever before. Perhaps it was because there was no belief that the money held any value. It would be archaic to declare that paper money was once again worth something. The playing field would not be level. The best bet was to create new money, and distribute to everyone an equal share. Before that could be done, the government would need to assign weight and value as a means to establish a code of cost for things like vegetables, poultry, housing, medical needs, electricity, repairs, clothing, and so on and so forth.

For the time being, government had their hand in everything from farming, livestock and education, to religion, engineering and law enforcement. He preferred the term Peace Officers to Police Officers. Crime has been minimal. There was the occasional fight at the Bent Elbow, and the domestics that required an officer to intervene. As far as burglaries and murder, it didn’t happen.

The stiff penalties might be considered harsh, but they worked as an effective deterrent.

Vincent sat back and closed his eyes. His thumbs massaged the bridge of his nose. Tension grew behind his eyelids. There was a dull steady throb, and it was barely nine in the morning.

He welcomed the knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Gary Priestly stuck his head into the office. “Sir, they’ve returned.”

Gary was the Deputy Mayor. The two were exact opposites. Gary was in his late fifties, thin, had a full head of grey hair and a neck like a turkey. He wore round glasses that made him look every bit like an elected official or a C.E.O. Vincent was forty-two, and beefy. Dark thinning hair and a thick, flat nose made him look more like a mobster than a mayor. He’d often been told he should wear bowling shirts, because if he did, he’d be the spitting image of James Gandolfini from that old HBO show.

“They?”

“Four people. Two were spotted last night. Gathering Patrol came across them, offered a chance to come in, but they declined. It was in the report,” Gary said.

Vincent didn’t miss the dig. The Sheriff's department filed three reports a day. One per platoon. The end of shift reports detailed an hour-by-hour log of activity, even if there was nothing to report. The executive order brought to attention anything at out of the ordinary, or that required highlighting. “They in the Hall?”

“They are, sir.”

“Weapons?”

“Couple of knives. They had swords and machetes last night. Must have ditched them between then and this morning. It was in the report, as well.”

Vincent was surprised when Gary didn’t announce intent to run against him this fall. Every indication was there, especially the seething animosity the deputy mayor often forgot to mask. “Your initial take?”

“Two men, two women. All seem generally fit. If they are welcomed, we’ll have medical give them physicals. I haven’t talked with them. Just saw them led to the Hall. We’ll have them complete an assessment for work assignments
if
we get to that point.”

Vincent leaned forward, set his elbows on the table, hands folded in front of him. “I’ll be there momentarily. Make sure they’re comfortable. See if they want anything to eat or drink while they are waiting,” he said, treating Gary more like a butler or servant instead of the deputy mayor.

“Of course,” Gary said, and closed the door.

It wasn’t often that new people showed up to Arcadia. There was room for growth, but space was limited. While no labor laws existed, everyone put in more than eight hour shifts. There was much that needed to be done, especially in the fall. Winter’s in the mountains could be crippling if enough food was not gathered and stored in preparation of four to six months before the spring thaw. “Gary?”

The door opened. “Yes?”

“Who’s with them?”

“Sheriff.”

“Okay. Give me two minutes, I’ll be right over.”

Gary closed the door.

Vincent put his face in his hands and tried to wash away the pain ebbing inside his skull. He took a bottle of aspirin from the center desk drawer and swallowed three maximum strength pills with a glass of water. It would be at least a half hour before the medicine kicked in. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that long.

While bowling shirts might wear more comfortably, Vincent retrieved his suit coat from the rack behind his desk. He shrugged his arms through the sleeves, adjusted his shoulders and the knot on his tie, fitting it against the buttoned collar. He gave himself a once over in the full length mirror on the back of his office door before he headed downstairs to the Hall, as ready as he’d ever be to greet the strangers.

#  #  #

Arcadia’s City Hall was a three-floor brick structure. The outside steps led to four Greek pillars in front of the entrance. Vincent and Gary had offices on the third floor. The D.A. and defense attorneys kept offices on the second, along with the municipal court judge and her clerk. The sheriff and his team used offices in the back on the first floor, where holding cells were located.

New people were escorted to the large conference room on the first floor. Vincent gave a respectful knock on the closed door before pushing it open. He surveyed the people briefly, taking in as much as possible without staring. First thing he noted was the lack of hygiene. The collective group required a bath, complete with serious scrubbing and delousing. He wished that could be done before he met with anyone. The flip side was if they were not allowed access, or chose to leave, the use of water and supplies proved a waste. He ran a palm down the front of his tie, as he stretched to shake hands and introduce himself to each of the four people standing across from him.

“Please, please, have a seat,” Vincent said. He moved to the front of the table and sat in a high-back chair, Gary sat at the opposite end. “Sheriff.”

“Mayor,” Gus Huber said, nodding his head. He was beefy, roughly thirty-seven, and loved to boast about his 20-15 eyesight. Gray touched his temples and whiskers when he neglected to shave. The bright blue eyes turned cold as ice if he wanted them to, transitioning him from something of an older GQ model, to more of a dangerous looking man. Gus had been the town sheriff prior to the beginning of the end. He ran a tight, no-nonsense community. When Vincent became Arcadia’s mayor, one of his first actions in the role was to appoint Gus back into the law enforcement position. He had not regretted that decision. It was a four year term, but Vincent did not foresee anyone, or any strong potential candidates running against his man. Still, nothing much surprised him anymore. It could happen.

“First,” Vincent said, clasping his hands together, setting them down on the table folded in front of him. “I want to extend to you a warm welcome to Arcadia.”

“We are not sure we are staying,” Tony said.

He must be the one in charge. Vincent merely smiled. “I can understand that. I am sure you have questions—”

“How do you have electricity?” Tony said.

Vincent needed to remind himself that for three years, people have been living like scavengers, doing what needed to be done just to survive. The fact that these four had made it living beyond Arcadia walls amazed him. “We have something of a generator that runs twenty-four seven.”

Char shook her head. “A generator? It powers the entire town? How can you possibly have fuel for something like that?”

Vincent knew he’d pursed his lips. He preferred to deal with one person. “It is not an actual generator. It does not run on fuel like you might be thinking. The resources we have are limited, and there are rules to using the electricity. People here are very conservative with the luxury. Usage is monitored closely, trust me. We can’t have lights on in every house all day and all night. In fact, people in homes are encouraged to burn candles. Some of the businesses, like our medical center, diner, and City Hall, we use more electricity than most any other place. You’ll forgive me if I am not comfortable answering more specifically at this point of our interview.”

“Interview?” Tony said.

“It’s what it is, isn’t it? You are trying to decide if you want to stay in Arcadia, and to be frank, we’re also here to decide if we want you.” Vincent leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other. “This has become a close knit community. Self-sufficient. We pride the progress we’ve made on maintaining order, expecting civility and compassion. Everyone has a job to do, and everyone works hard at the job assigned. We have doctors, and garbage collectors. We have farmers and factory workers. There are firefighters and school teachers. No task is unimportant. Without functions being performed, this —all of this— won’t work, it can’t work. If people slack on their responsibilities, Arcadia falls apart. I know this must sounds like some kind of political spiel, but I am giving it to you straight.”

Vincent watched their reactions. The small group remained silent, perhaps letting sink in the information just shared. It was a bit overwhelming, he supposed. Seated before him was a different breed of survivors. He might not know their backstories, but just by the looks of them the last several years have taken a toll. He knew he was fortunate, having been part of Arcadia from the beginning. The land was purchased by preppers more than two decades ago. The wall that turned the town into a fortified city took years and countless dollars to erect. “Questions?”

“How are people compensated for the work they do?” the young woman said.

“And you are, Charlene?”

“Char.”

“
Char
. That is an excellent question,” Vincent said. He stood up and walked slowly toward one of the windows. The mini-blinds were closed. He parted them with a finger and peeked outside. People moved about, on the way to work, on the way home, headed to and from the marketplace. “Currently, it is something of a socialist economy. Everyone performs their job to the best of their ability and everyone shares in, well, everything. Most of the food is grown and harvested. We have canned food and bottled water, as well. We use that sparingly. Eventually, the goal is to reinstall a common currency and transfer from socialist to democratic, toward making things more like the way they were.”

“So a doctor performing heart surgery is going to earn the same as a guy picking up trash?”

“Mr. Dibella, is it?”

“Tony.”

“Tony, I’m not going to lie. Sometimes I wonder if the direction we want to head in is the right path. Pretty soon you will get a tour of the town. What I believe you will see is not just content, but happy people. To answer your question, yes. Someone who is in the O.R. all day is going to receive the same each week as someone who picks up garbage. There are no wages being paid. There are staples that everyone gets, regardless. Your break a shoelace, you receive a new shoelace. If a light bulb burns out, you are given a new light bulb. Unfortunately, other items are allotted. We call that allotment
chips
. For example, you want to serve chicken breasts and garden salad for dinner. That’s fine. You are allotted x-amount of chips per month. If you elect to use chips for one meal because maybe your family is celebrating a birthday, then so be it. The Mercantile keeps detailed records of who earns and uses what. Same goes at the Bent Elbow.”
“I’m Sam. Sam Gerringer. What is the Bent Elbow?”

“That is the one and only watering hole in Arcadia, Sam,” Vincent said. He made his way back to the table and sat down.

“And how exactly does that work?”

Vincent pointed a finger at the black woman, and cringed. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “Grace?”

She nodded.

Smiling, Vincent said, “People work hard. Day in and day out. While we don’t have an unlimited supply of alcohol, we do have alcohol. These mountains were also once very popular for moonshining operations. I won’t confirm or deny that outside the walls there might or might not be a few distilleries distilling. And it works exactly the same as the food and water. Each person, of age, is allotted x-amount of chips for recreational purposes. People
are not
permitted to commingle allotments, though. This way a person can’t spend food chips on moonshine. Does it happen? I’ll bet it does. I’ll guarantee it’s not from poor book keeping, but nothing in our laws prohibits people from trading the two different types of chips. A guy who lives alone, eats very little, but is more thirsty than most, might end up working out a trade so he can spend more time at the Bent Elbow than the Mercantile, if you follow what I’m saying.”