A Very Good Man (10 page)

  There were six of them and all in the open. After a few seconds they all started to close on him for some reason. He smelled like food most likely. Yummy fresh Jake ready to be eaten. Like fast food. Looking at the situation he knew how very bad it was. He had to start shooting and not call out first. Because if he did, they'd be on him even faster. If any of them were runners just shambling for fun, he was dead.

  Goody.

  Terror ripped through him, but he didn't stop just because of that.

  He aimed carefully, hands steady as far as that went, and took the first one in the head, missed on the second and had to shoot twice. The next two ran at him, but not that fast, thankfully, he used up four bullets on them, his aim horribly off from the slight swelling of his hands, which was annoying. Not that he'd normally do much better, flailing around in the dark like this. That left two in the clip and two more coming, slowing only a bit when they hit the fallen bodies. Taking the fifth one, smaller than the others, so probably a kid or woman, took two shots.

  Crap.

  That one had been hunched over eating at the time too.

  That meant the last one got to him before he could reload or even get to his backup weapon.

  What saved him then was the noise from the house. That and the stairs. Zombies can take them, but the lack of coordination meant that it takes them time and they basically have to crawl up. A smart one could walk them, but even they didn't take them fast. Jake ran to the right along the wonderful covered porch, trying, fighting really, to stay calm and not wet himself as he got out the forty-five. Which wasn't there. Suddenly he remembered that he'd left it off for dinner, since sitting with it made his butt hurt.

  Brilliant. He was going to die.

  Because of his ass.

  Taking his time, moving in that fast-slow motion that happens when you know you're going to be killed, he tried to reload the nine blind. If he fumbled he'd be dead.

  Or would he?

  Looking around he noticed the porch railing. Ah. With a sudden grin, holding on to the gun in his right hand and the clip in his left, Jake ran to the far right and jumped over the railing of the porch, twisting his ankle as he landed, a sharp ripping sensation running through his groin. It wasn't even high, about a six foot drop. Things like this were always so much easier in video games. He reloaded just as someone poked a head out of the back door. Someone short. Sammi? Whoever it was made only a soft gasping sound.

  “Hey mother fucker, I'm over here!” Jake yelled, trying to attract it away from the girl, praying that there weren't six more coming up from behind. It wasn't backlit now, so he had to guess where it was by the clomping noise it made on the porch. That and the low groaning.

  Whoever it was at the door didn't make another sound, they just pulled back and slammed it firmly. No human sounds at least. The shambler did its thing and came for him then, it took three shots before the noise stopped. That didn't mean dead, just inoperable.

  Possibly.

  Functionally you couldn't kill them at all. He repeated it as a mantra. They'd just get back up if they could. Forget that and you died. Jake waited, just in case he'd only knocked one or two down. It was dark and he could miss. Better to assume he had and be ready than to pretend he had some kind of super-skill with a gun and die for it. Especially now. His right hand ached enough to remind him of the day's work even now, after all the distraction.

  Nothing happened for a minute, then as he sat, crouched and silent, fear and adrenalin still coursing through him, another ten. No one came out either. Whoever had come to the door would have told them about the zombie. That meant it would be safer to wait for daylight now. If it were a human attack they'd have to fight, even in the dark, since humans wouldn't be stopped for long by mere doors or lack of noise. Nothing stirred on the ground, not that could stand at least, so carefully, pain shooting through his right leg, Jake walked around to the steps and then knocked on the door. A complicated “secret” rapping, signally him as an actual person at least. After a minute four raps came back, slowly. Jake copied that pattern, which got the door to open. Before going in he spoke softly.

  “It's Jake. Six dead ones down outside. Not standing, but I can't check any closer in the dark. We should all stay in until light.”

  “Jake?” The room had only a single candle going, and the voice came from the corner, a woman he didn't really know, called Cisco or something. An obviously fake name, but a lot of people used those now. It didn't matter as long as they answered to them, did it?

  “Did you... get bitten?”

  That question had to be asked, since a bite meant turning one hundred percent of the time. In this case though he wouldn't have come in if that had happened, just killed himself.

  “No. They didn't close with me. No bites, no scratches. Twisted ankle from jumping off the porch, but probably not broken.”

  The night watch had extra people after that, because no one wanted to sleep in particular. Jake did, and so did most of the wood cutting crew. It meant that only about two thirds of the normal bodies lay in the small bedroom with him as he slept. About twelve. The house had eight bedrooms, and this one wasn't the largest by far, but it had the stairs right out front. Convenient to find in the dark, so people crammed into it pretty tightly most nights.

  Besides, Nate was in this room, and a lot of people wanted to be close to him, since it made them feel protected. That was a psychological thing, but who could blame them? A person was never more vulnerable than when they slept, so staying by the leader then made sense on a deep level. For all he knew that's why Jake did it too.

  That night he slept like a brick, barely noticing when daylight came. He struggled up, because someone had to check on the zombies littering their yard, and that meant one of the cleaners. Well, at least someone with a gun.

  Tiredly he wondered if getting Carley to go would be asking too much. The idea made him smile, if a bit grimly.

   Since he'd done the shooting, it made sense that the risk be his. The reloading of clips got done sitting in bed though, using the dim light through the window. Everything went well until he stood up, then his right leg nearly buckled beneath him. Well, that was nice. The rest of his body ached fiercely, just to remind him that he had more work to do that day and for a long time to come. He limped out as quietly as possible, since a few people were still trying to sleep. About half of the normal amount now. Everyone else sat by the doors on the first floor, looking afraid.

  That seemed a good enough reaction. After all, six shamblers didn't feel right, did it? Not way out here away from the town and not moving as a group. That had the feeling of a set up. Like someone had collected them all together and pointed them at the house. It had happened before, once, about the third month, right after they'd found the abandoned farm to live in. The group that followed that attack died though. All men. All losers that thought they could just steal what they needed instead of working for it.

  Jake had killed most of them himself. Dave, Vickie and Tipper had gotten the other four. This had a similar set up, except that the zombies did a lot less damage. They didn't have any runners with them, which made a huge difference. Plus, luckily, he'd been sitting outside. If someone had simply opened the door on them in the morning things might have gone differently.

  The undead lawn ornaments had moved in different directions, crawling and rolling slowly, without purpose. Five of them at least. Getting a machete from Burt's shed and a cloth to cover his mouth, just an old and oiled piece of gray t-shirt no one had wanted, Jake took their heads in place and started looking for the last one. It tried to “rush” him when he found it, hidden under the white lattice of the porch somehow. The lurching movement was slow though. It crawled in its attack, head horribly damaged but not enough it seemed.

  Well, it had been dark. Still, that meant he could stand back and just shoot it once. Then he took that one's head off too and started making the rounds in a spiral pattern, limping the whole time. Getting wood was going to be a thrill a minute. His hands felt swollen and throbbed in time with his right ankle already.

  It had to be done though, uncomfortable or not.

  That took about three hours, which was a pain and meant he'd be late for breakfast, if he got any at all.

  Whee.

   Nothing like a full day's work ahead on an empty stomach. He'd done it before and probably would again. When he got back the headless things on the ground were gone and Jose was walking the fields, holding a shotgun.

  “Hola Senor Jake!” He called out in a solid whisper. Jose didn't know a lot of English maybe, but the man knew not to yell, even when he sounded happy or excited. Right now he seemed pleased enough. The guy wasn't a fighter maybe, but it occurred to Jake that he was out already doing his work. Alone. No one else was.

  It kind of spoke of a certain kind of mental toughness, didn't it?

  “Hola, Mr. Jose.”

  The man pointed to the field, something green with red shot through the center of the little plants, his right hand sweeping out over the field to the right.

  “New morning?” The small brown man smiled and bent down to pull out a fat root. Smallish still, but Jake thought he understood. The first beets could be harvested the next day. They had a lot of them growing, so, like the potatoes, they'd be able to use these to supplement their diet.

  Jake nodded. That meant they'd need pickers out, and that their farm boss would be needed to do that instead of get firewood. With some pantomime and holding up of fingers he found out the Jose wanted twenty people for the job. Well, they had the bodies, if they could just get them to work.

  “Alright, I'll see to it.” Jake nodded and tried to smile.

  It wouldn't be the world's most fun job getting the homebodies out to work, especially after this last attack. They always got scared for days after anyone even saw something dead. Six of them on their doorstep... Gah.

  In the house, Lois, bless her, had saved him a bowl of cereal, cream of wheat. If she hadn't been with Burt, Jake would have asked her to marry him on the spot. It had gone cold and sticky, but beat starving all day by far. He ate it a little greedily, just sitting in the kitchen with her and the kids as they did the morning dishes.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it. You know Lois, I've been meaning to mention...” Compliments were hard for him, because they always sounded phony to his ears. Social skills had never really been his big thing after all, had they? Still it was deserved here so he went forward with it anyway and hoped it wasn't just cheesy.

  “Um, well, you and the kids all do a really good job and I wanted to thank you for it. Not everyone works as hard and, well, it makes a huge difference to everyone's life here. People don't get it yet, not all the time, but I do. Um, thank you.” He looked at the kids too and nodded. Yeah food prep and washing dishes wasn't glamorous, but it mattered. Everything did now.

  Lois, gray hair over her thin frame smiled at him and patted his back in a motherly fashion.