Timothy Long - Beyond the Barriers

I reached across the back of the seat, grabbed him by the collar and pushed. His precarious position, ass in the air, meant he had no purchase. He flopped off the truck and landed in a heap. I heard the air hiss out of his body when he struck. .

“Go join the dead. I hear they’re recruiting.”

“Coward. Come back here and face me. Come back here! This isn’t over!” he screamed as we drove away. He was on his hands and knees, hand pressed to his stomach.

He was right about that; it was far from over, but that was all later.

We drove for miles until we came to the outskirts of Vesper Lake. The road was blackened and scarred, and the same husks of cars I had grown used to were now faded shadows in the pale light. We needed a place to hole up, but the cabin was too risky this late in the day. The drive would take at least an hour, and I didn’t trust our gas supply to get us there.

Every once in a while, the radio squeaked, but I didn’t take time to figure it out. Scott fiddled with it and changed channels. He listened and sometimes spoke into the old CB speaker, but he didn’t get a reply.

We pulled off on a dirt road, which we followed until we came to an old farm. The house was blackened and gutted, but we found a barn in the back—more a slaughterhouse than anything else. The sign out front informed us that they sold quarter and half slabs of beef. I was so hungry I was pretty sure I could devour one if it appeared. I wouldn’t mind a juicy steak cooked over an open flame.

We did a quick reconnaissance, but the place was long deserted. The remains of a man, or woman, in overalls, lay outside of the building. It didn’t twitch, so we left it undisturbed. There were no animals left, and the gates around the place were wide open. We didn’t bother with the house; it was obviously empty. The roof was partially caved in, and one side had disappeared in the flames.

The place we called home for the night still bore the stench of things long dead. There was a bucket in the corner filled with a dried-out collection of organs and intestines. It was so desiccated flies didn’t even buzz around it. I took it outside and tossed it as far away as I could. Then I slid the long door closed and latched it with some bindings I found over one low wall that was probably used as a waiting room prior to slaughter.

Jack sat in the back of the truck with his head drooped forward, chin on chest, as he snored like a locomotive. He was still covered in blood. I looked over the remains of my own clothing and thought of how much I would give for a change right now. My week in the woods and the cages had not been kind to them. My pants were nearly dry, but they were hard to move in. They were crusted with old salt from my sweat, mud from the woods, and all manner of things that I must have brushed into while on the run. Sniffing the shirt, I smelled my own stench; not a hint of Haley to be found. I hung my head and sighed.

“Yeah brother, I’d cry too. You smell like shit,” Scott said. He had the same quirky grin as always, and I almost embraced him right then and there. It was my fault he was stuck here with me, but he took it in good spirit, just like everything else. I hoped someday I would be able to make it up to him.

“What the hell do we do now?” I said.

“I don’t know about you, but I would love to get some rest, and then call in an air strike on the bastards that kept us in that cage. We left a lot of people back there.”

“I know, but the army and air force are long gone. At least I think they are, unless you know different.”

“I’m not sure. There were rumors of military survivors rebuilding in some cities. I heard the military had a safe city built up around Pittsburgh, but who knows if that’s true.”

I went to the truck and rummaged around. There was a cover over the back, from the seat to the bumper, and there were boxes secured under the seat itself. After popping the latch, I sucked in my breath. Scott came over to look at the contents and whistled at the haul.

“Who the …” Jack jerked up and nearly fell out of the seat. Scott and I chuckled and welcomed him back to the land of the living. He rubbed his eyes as he crunched over the straw-covered ground and joined us. His eyes went wide.

Food!

I found a bottle of Gatorade that had the lid screwed back on. It was full of water—clean, clear water. In a few swallows, I drank it down, not caring that it was warm. There was a case of the bottles, and we made a serious dent in them. There was no question about reserving some of it. We weren’t on a deserted island; we just had to scrounge for our meals, and when we found them, it was in our best interest to enjoy every bite like it was our last.

Then we tore into a box of Cliff bars. I ate three before I came up for breath.

We looked through the other boxes and supplies, stacking and sorting, compiling and discussing. There were enough supplies here for a half-assed plan that was forming in my brain, but we needed to do it right. We needed to plot, and we needed to trust each other implicitly. I needed help, for I couldn’t do it alone. As I stared from face to face, they must have known what I was thinking.

There were boxes of weapons and ammo, from hand guns to fully automatic machine guns. Trying not to grin like a maniac, I ran my hand over the neatly stored weapons. I was familiar with some of them, while others were foreign or had unusual designs, but they all had one thing in common. They were good at delivering death.

As night drew close, we left off counting our haul. We sought a place to rest and pulled loaded weapons close. I found a few smelly old blankets, rotted things that moths had been at, but they were better than nothing. Scott got in the passenger-side of the truck and reclined all the way back, while Jack stretched out in the back. His feet hung over the side. He looked like a big baby bump under the green blanket, and he snored like a train once again.

I withdrew to a corner of the building and curled up on some straw. It wasn’t that comfortable, but it was better than the cage in which we’d been kept.

Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow would be filled with hope. It would be a fresh start for us, or it could be our last day. But it would be new, and it would be filled with death. I was no longer content to be herded and chased, nor would I be compliant to the will of the ghouls. I was no longer at their mercy or at the behest of the dead. I would take the fight to them.

It might have been morning, or it might have been night. I woke in a ball of pain that started at my scalp and ran to the tip of my toes. The smell of the old place assaulted me, as did snoring from across the room. I went to stretch, but my limbs ached so badly I let out a hiss of pain.

The image of Haley flashed through my mind: her head snapping back as the bullet entered, the look of fear on her face. There was something there that I didn’t understand, and I wondered for the first time if Lee had been right. Had she been in the process of changing into one of them? Did she eat from the undead flesh while we were trapped in the cage? While she was out and looking for a key, had she been captured and force fed?

These thoughts made me toss and turn as I tried to come to grips with reality. My mind became a haze of pain and regret, fear and loathing. It became a cesspool of the darkest things in the human nature. It made me bitter, and it made me hate.

It was red hot—a seething mass of energy that lurked beneath my skin, aching to get out. I tried to sleep, to ignore the sounds of the world around me, the smell of death and rot that permeated the air. It was hard, hard to ignore everything that had happened over the last few days and months. The cabin, Katherine—oh my God, Katherine. I wanted to get back to her more than anything, wanted to protect her, to love her. She was scarred, and so was I, but together we could forge a future. I was sure of it.