The King of Clayfield - 01 (7 page)

While I was out there, I removed the child's car seat. There was still a sippy cup in the little cup holder. It made me sad. Once it was out, I brushed out the stale Cheerios and raisins that were in the backseat. Then I went back in to pack my food.

I thought I had been running low on food and had been planning to go to the grocery since Tuesday. But when I got in the fridge and cupboard, I found a lot there. I always had food in there that I forgot about or ignored, like boxed rice mixes or cans of vegetables that I rarely ate. It had become a little like the clutter around my desk, and eventually I didn't see it in there anymore.
 
Some of it was close to or a little past the Use By date, but it was food. It all fit into three file boxes.

I opened a granola bar and ate it. I hadn't realized how hungry I was, and I wound up eating two more and finishing off a bottle of grape juice.

Once the food was in the back of the Blazer with the other stuff, I loaded all the water I had bottled up the night before, which took up half the floorboard in the back seat--two half gallon juice bottles, and six smaller bottles. Then, I went back in for another sweep of anything I might need.

I bagged up a couple of blankets and a pillow, and put them by the door. I put my laptop and the stack of papers I'd printed next to that. I put on my heavy coat, and tied a dishtowel around my nose and mouth. I couldn't think of anything else. If I needed some of the personal items, I could come back for them later.

I loaded the last of the stuff. The back of the truck was crammed. Then I locked the house and opened the garage door. It was so quiet. No car engines. No voices. No hum from the wires on the poles
 
running down the street. Not even a dog barking.
 
There was no one around, and the snow hadn't been disturbed, so no one had been around for a while. The smell of smoke was strong; it had settled low and close to the ground.

I
 
backed the Blazer out then got out and shut the garage door. The driveway was a little slippery.
 
When I got back in, I put it in four-wheel drive.

I saw fourteen dead bodies as I headed south on my way to Jen's house on College Street. I didn't know if they'd been murdered by the infected or
 
had succumbed to the cold.
 
I saw only two people out walking around,
 
but I didn't stop; I didn't want to risk it.

I did see an older tan Ford pick-up truck
 
driving
 
one block over and headed north as I crossed over Walnut Street.
 
The back of the truck was
 
piled with stuff, and there was a tarp tied over it. I just caught a glimpse, and they didn't slow down. I
 
turned at the next intersection and circled around to chase them down, but by then, they were gone.

When I got to 131 College Street, it was
 
after 10:30
 
a.m.
 
Jen lived in a little white
 
house, not that
 
much different than mine. I pulled the truck up into
 
the yard,
 
with the passenger side close to the front porch steps. The front door was standing wide open. I waited a moment to allow
 
her and
 
anyone else inside time to come out, but no one did.

"Shit,"
 
I said. My own voice sounded odd. Then I realized I
 
hadn't said a word since yesterday when I'd screamed at the boy behind my car.

The tobacco stick was still in the front seat. I grabbed it and got out, leaving the engine running. Going up the porch, I noticed footprints in the snow on the steps coming out of the house and headed down the street.

Cautiously, I stopped in the doorway and looked inside. To the left, along the wall, there was a door, and next to that
 
was a couch that had been folded out into a bed. The bed was unmade. On the other side of the room, a lamp lay in the floor. Pictures were crooked on the wall. I could smell feces.

I wanted to leave right then, and I almost did, but I'd promised her I'd come. Just inside, there was an opening to the right, which led into a small dining room, and behind that, the kitchen. There was a laptop on the dining room table, open. Next to it was a coffee cup with the string of a tea bag hanging out of it. One of the
 
chairs was overturned, and there was a pile of human excrement on the floor next to it.

I entered the living room,
 
and tried the switch by the door. No power there either. I went around the foldout bed to the other doorway. There was a bathroom in front of me and a bedroom on either side. All of the doors were open, and there was no one inside.

Both of the bedrooms were a mess, but the one on the left was worse.
 
The dresser was turned over and leaning against the bed.
 
The floor was littered with clothes and cash. I stepped in and looked around. I saw a stain on the wall that I presumed to be blood. I hadn't got there in time to help.

I went over to the dresser and righted it against the wall. The top drawer hung open,
 
and women's underwear
 
spilled
 
over the side. I started pushing them back into the drawer,
 
when I heard movement in the closet.

I held my stick up.

"Hello?" I said.

No response.

I stepped closer.

"Jen?"

Silence.

Then the
 
bottom of the closet door exploded outward, and the lamp on the nightstand by the bed shattered. I peed myself
 
a little.

"Jesus!" I said, falling backward over the corner of the bed.

"Get back!" said a woman's voice from the closet.

"Jen?" I said. "I've come to get you."

The long barrel of a shotgun eased out of the bottom half
 
of the
 
splintered closet door
 
followed by Jen's face. Her eyes were red, her hair was tangled, and she was shivering.

I pulled down
 
the dish towel from my face, so she could see who it was.

"You came," she whispered. Then she lifted her gun at me. "Are you sick?"

"No," I said.

She disappeared back inside, and then the door opened. She stepped out with a shotgun in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other.

Her brow furrowed, "Whatcha doing with those?"

I looked down to see what she was talking about. I was holding a pair of her panties.

CHAPTER 7

I dropped the
 
underwear and looked up at her. She was still staring at me like she was expecting an answer.

"We've got to go," I said, stepping past her to the bedroom window. "That
 
gunshot will probably attract them."

She just stood there swaying;
 
her gaze had shifted to a million miles away.

"It's been hell," she said in a hoarse whisper.

I could see three men at the corner of the street,
 
two houses away.

"They're coming," I said. I grabbed her arm to lead her out, but she wouldn't move.

"I'm so drunk," she said, continuing to stare.

"Have you been infected?" I said.

She shrugged.

I took her shotgun and bottle. She didn't resist. I stepped back to the window. The trio
 
was still at the corner, but they would notice
 
the noise of the Blazer's engine.

When I turned back, she was sitting on the bed.

"I'm so damn drunk," she said again. This time she put her head in her hands and started bawling.

"We can talk about that in the car," I said. "Let's get some clothes for you."

"Zach...oh God...He just lost it," she said through the sobs.

I propped the shotgun against the wall, and set the tequila beside it. There was a
 
duffle bag by the closet. I put it on the bed
 
and started filling it with the clothes from the floor. There were three or four hundred dollars in tens and twenties scattered on the floor, too. I
 
grabbed as
 
many as I could.

"I was trying to pack some stuff after I
 
read your message," she said. "Zach got sick, that asshole.
 
God, he was such an asshole..."

I
 
looked out the window again. They were headed in our direction.

"They're really coming now, Jen, we have to go."
 

She just kept sitting there.

"...as soon as he said he had a headache, and I mean the
 
very second he said he had one, I opened the bottle and started drinking, just like that doctor said. I knew he'd get sick. That was just like him."

"Tell me in the car, Jen," I said.

I put the tobacco stick in her hand. She took it. I pulled my towel up around my nose and mouth, hung the strap of the
 
bag
 
around my neck, and
 
took her by the elbow. I stood her up, and then grabbed the shotgun.

We made it to
 
the living room but had to stop.
 
There was the silhouette of
 
a man in the doorway. Out the front window, I could
 
see the other
 
two by the Blazer.

"There he is," she said. "What an asshole.
 
You
 
hear me,
 
you son of a bitch?!"

She broke away, jumped on, then over the foldout couch and at the man in the doorway. When he stepped inside, she nailed him
 
in the crotch with the stick. He folded up into a neat ball at her feet. The other two men were on their way
 
up the
 
porch.

I got to her before she got outside, and pulled her
 
through the
 
dining room. I could see the back door in the kitchen on the other side of the refrigerator.

"We'll circle around," I said, but
 
I knew I was just talking to myself.

Out back,
 
there were shallow footprints in the snow that had been partially filled in with newer snow. There was a snow-covered gas
 
grill to the right of the steps and a snow-covered garbage can to the left. The backyard was fenced, so we headed for the gate. I realized then that she wasn't dressed for the cold. She was wearing
 
sweatpants, a lightweight sweater, and
 
some
 
house slippers.

I stopped her underneath the kitchen window, next to the
 
garbage can
 
and leaned her against the house.

"I'm cold," she said.

"I know. I'm going back for your coat and shoes. Stay right here."

She looked like she was going to say something, but I left before she could.

I stepped into the kitchen, and shielding myself with the refrigerator, I peered into the dining room.
 
There was no one
 
there. As quietly as I could, I made my way toward the living room.
 
All three men were out on the front porch again. I was about to try sneaking past the open door to her bedroom, when I noticed a row of coats hanging on pegs behind the front door. Beneath them was a row of shoes.

The men were going down the steps toward the Blazer. Quickly and silently, I ran to the coats. I took a bulky brown one from its peg and draped it over my arm, and then I picked up a pair of pink and white running shoes.

I would need to get the men away from the truck so Jen and I could leave.

I went to the doorway, "Hey! I'm up here!"

Their heads jerked up, and they came at me. I ran back through the house. When I got to the fridge, I stopped to see if they were still following. As soon as they entered the dining room, I ran out the back door.

Jen was bent at the waist, leaning on the stick. The snow at her feet was brown and melting.