Joseph Love - Kill Town, USA

Claire and Matthew went to work lighting an ancient wood stove, measuring out flour and sugar, and carrying in trays of food from a snowdrift outside. Audrey and I rested on the bed, squeezing our heads together on the tiny pillow.

“You ought to take a bath later.”

“You don’t smell so great yourself,” she jabbed my ribs.

“It’ll make you feel better. We need to clean that wound.”

“I’d like that. But…”

“But?”

“I can’t move my arm much. It feels asleep like Claire said. But it burns.”

“I’ll help you.”

Claire and Matthew brought us two steaming plates of pork and cornbread with strawberry jam and a puddle of butter.

“We’ll need some water put on while you’ve got the stove hot.”

Claire backed out of the room. “I’ll put on two pots. The water’s awful cold.”

“Thank you,” Audrey said. “For the food, too.”

Matthew had a cup of coffee. He stared into it as he leaned against the counter.

“You happen to have any more ammunition for that Winchester?” I asked.

“I do. I’d be happy to give it to you,” he swirled the coffee mug.

“I’d be happy to barter for it. I don’t expect it free.”

“We do plenty of raids. We don’t need to trade. I’ll set you up with those nine-millimeters and the Remington, too.”

“How long did you plan to keep the county quarantined?”

“Until one side wins. We don’t have a plan.”

“What about food?”

“Everyone for themselves.”

“Just give up the barricades. Let it go.”

Matthew nodded. “They think they’re keeping it out. One crew goes around putting up fences. Another crew is in charge of a containment area. Another patrols the county roads. Lots of crews. A job for everyone. Most of these people haven’t felt half this useful their entire lives. People want to work.”

“What do they do when they find someone who’s been infected?”

“Shoot them.”

“All of them?”

“If they’re infected, yes.”

“Just out on the streets.”

“Partly.”

“Partly?”

“Some in houses.”

“They’re going in houses?”

“Of course. They take a bus and load it up with people who might be infected, drive them to the high school.”

“Why the high school?”

“It’s big. The football field holds lots of people.”

“You’re penning up people who might be infected?”

“They don’t take chances. If they picked up you two, you’d wind up there,” he pointed at me. “Her bit the way she is and you with her. They’d just as soon kill you to be safe.” He gulped the remainder of his coffee and dropped the cup in the sink. He stepped into the doorway. “I’ll get you that ammunition. Give you a fighting chance.” He wandered out of the kitchen and Claire took his place.

“I believe your water’s about ready,” Claire said.

AUDREY CLOSED HER EYES as I ran the warm water over her head, rinsing the dingy suds from her hair. Her hand, arm, and part of her shoulder had turned light purple. Pressing against the wound with the rag, it oozed a black ribbon that bobbed like thread in the water.

I was sad to see her naked. To bathe her. The body is a strange thing. Her breasts, hips, smooth and flawless skin. Just flesh. It is a revelation of life when the body loses its sensuality.

“What do you think of death?”

“What?”

“About all this. Those people aren’t alive, but they’re walking.”

“They’re dead inside. They don’t breathe. They don’t think.”

“They seem instinctual. Like they want to eat. It’s very animalistic.”

“They’re just wandering.”

She stood up, took a towel from the lacquered shelf and crimped her hair. She wrapped herself in the towel and leaned into me. We stood for several minutes in the flickering candlelight, glad to have each other. I helped her put on her bra and shirt. Then, I helped button her pants. She smelled like the bar soap. Faintly of roses but mostly lye.

We laid in bed, her wet hair against my face. I pulled a few strands from my mouth.

There was an embroidered cloth over the doorway I hadn’t seen before. I read it aloud:

“He who pours contempt on nobles made them wander in a trackless waste.”

“Battle hymn of the poverty stricken,” Audrey said. She leaned across me and blew out the candle on the bedside table. We were wrapped in darkness and alone. Wandering in the trackless waste.

If I wandered, I did so alone. Audrey was not part of it. Soon she wouldn’t be part of anything. Same with Sewell. And Claire. The vigilantes and the infected locals. I couldn’t get the scripture out of my head. The house was long asleep, but the embroidered cloth echoed.

I carefully slid out of bed and walked to the kitchen. I felt for the rifles in the dark. Then, the ammunition. Blindly, silently, I loaded the Winchester. I loaded the Remington and the Glocks. There was a mountain of ammunition on the table.

I held a Glock in each hand. They felt like bricks.

I pulled the slides.

The house shook with gunfire. Not my gun. Surely not my gun. I felt the barrels. Cold as night.

Another shot shook the air. An earthquake of the ether.

The hallway flashed. I saw Georgie’s tiny outline behind it firing straight into an open door. Audrey got out of bed, bed springs popping and I heard her hand working the knob. Georgie tiptoed down the hall and passed right in front of me, the butt of his rifle caressed the back of my hand. I watched him raise the rifle to the bedroom door. To Audrey.

Click. Slide. Click.

When the world ends, survival is the right and all else is the wrong.

I shot the boy in the back of the head. The rifle clattered to the floor. I set the Glocks on the kitchen table and eased into a chair.

“Get the flashlight from the pack,” I said coldly.

“Jack? What happened, Jack?”

“Just get the flashlight. Don’t turn it on.”

She did as I asked. Carefully walking around Georgie’s body, I took the flashlight from her in the doorway.

Claire and Matthew were curled together. Mai had a pillow over her head, a .22 rifle leaned against her nightstand. I went back to the kitchen and pointed the light at the boy. Audrey didn’t react. Maybe she thought it was a dream.

“There is nothing here for us,” I said. “We cannot stay in this house any longer.”

We filled the backpack with ammunition, leftover cornbread, and a few jars of preserves. In a clay dish by the door, we found two Ford keys. I took both. We stole Matthew’s truck, camouflaged and outfitted with mud tires and a steel bear cage.

The console held maps of Marshall, bordered by the French Broad River and a highway. The master map showed substations, water towers, dams, warehouses, schools, surveillance locations, crews, meeting points, and patrol routes. More importantly, it detailed blockades, shift changes, radio frequencies and pass codes. Carefully, I backed out of the driveway. We headed slowly toward the first checkpoint.

“So,” Audrey sounded upset. “We’re heading to the river?”

“We can’t drive out of here.”

“We’ll swim?”

“We’ll find a boat.”

She shook her head.

“This is unreal, Jack.”

“I know.”

“No. Not this,” she pointed out the window. “But this idea. We don’t have a boat. We don’t know where to find one. We’re liable to drown. To get shot. To tip over. I don’t trust you.”

We rode in the gentle hum of the exhaust. The truck was finally warm. I turned on the heater and held my hands up to the vents. “I didn’t ask you to trust me. I didn’t say I had a great idea.”

“I thought you had all the ideas,” she was serious.