The Undead Situation (19 page)

“I know,” she replied, “but don’t make any rash decisions.”

So far there was nothing apparent to be afraid of, so I didn’t feel like making any “rash decisions”. All we’d seen was a white-trash house and an old woman. An old woman! We were on edge because we were letting the surroundings get to us. Oddly colored carpet and shadows under the porch…what was I? Six years old?

Unable to help myself, I noticed another strange thing to add to my list. The house smelled positively foul. It smelled like the undead—rotten, musky, and overtly disgusting. Paired with the scent of old house and cardboard, I was overwhelmed. I made the right turn and found myself standing next to a staircase. The scent wafted down the steps and was stronger there.

What did she have up there? Dead bodies? Ah, there I was again. A ludicrous thought process allowed my imagination to go wherever the hell it wanted.

“Excuse me, but please don’t dally,” came Judy-Beth’s voice. Startled, I found her standing right in front of me, teeth bared in a yellow smile. The crevices in her mouth and teeth were browned and decayed. Now that I was up close and personal with her, I noticed how papery and fuzzy her skin was.

As I looked passed her I noticed a kitchen. Blaze and Frank were sitting at its only table. Forcing myself to smile, I squeezed passed her, taking a seat next to Frank.

“You have a mighty fine home here, Judy-Beth,” Frank said as he glanced around the kitchen. “You keep a nice house.”

The stained and scuffed table stood upon yellowed linoleum tile that looked as though it hadn’t been washed in its whole existence. Puke-green paisley wallpaper peeked at me from the edges of cupboards and appliances. Sarcasm dictated I should have said it was a quaint kitchen. Perhaps the only redeeming quality was a bubbling pot on the stove, emitting the rich smell of stew.

Judy-Beth didn’t acknowledge Frank’s comment, but made her way around the cramped space by the stove, where she stirred whatever was in the pot. We traded looks, but remained silent.

“You’re lucky you showed up when you did. I’ve been cooking this all day,” she whispered like she was talking to herself rather than us.

“If you’d rather, we could just take a few canned goods and leave,” Frank said.

The snarly woman spun around, waving a spoon at us, and spat. “Don’t be foolish! I’m hospitable.”

Something was wrong with her. I didn’t want to stick around. What I wanted to do was kill her and take whatever we could use in the house. However, that seemed a little too violent and unnecessary, even for me.

Too violent for me, but what about her?
Blaze sat across from me and caught me looking at her. Her face remained passive, but I felt as though she knew I was thinking about her. Blaze would kill Judy-Beth.
Did she kill Gabe?

That idea hit me like a brick. We never talked about what happened to Gabe or how Blaze knew she was gone. Blaze hated her, and Gabe happened to leave in the middle of the night without an explanation? If that wasn’t suspicious, I didn’t know what was.

There was a thump upstairs and all of us, including Judy-Beth, looked up at the ceiling. She mumbled and turned to the sink, twisting on the faucet.

“You have running water,” I said.

“I’m off the grid, you hear? I don’t rely on no one.” Judy-Beth dropped a plate into the sink. It clanked but didn’t break.

After many unbearably quiet minutes, the woman placed cleaned bowls in front of us and ladled stew into each. It looked unremarkable—like any other brownish beef stew I’d ever had in my life.

But it tasted off. Not terrible, but off. It dredged up memories of freezer burn on TV dinners, when I first started living on my own. TV dinners were all I ate then. If I could’ve replaced the refrigerator with one giant freezer, I would’ve been a happy camper.

Judy-Beth watched us intently, then lifted the pot and shimmied around the table to the kitchen entrance.

“I’m going to feed my grandchildren. They’re sick and can’t come down. You, Mr. Cyrus, can get a couple cans of food from the basement.”

Before she left, she gestured toward a door adjacent to the refrigerator. I hadn’t noticed it before, since it was covered in the same wallpaper as the rest of the kitchen.

“All right. Thank you,” I said as I placed my spoon on the table.

We heard the creaking of steps as she made her way upstairs, then nothing. I glanced to the door, then at Blaze and Frank.

Blaze leaned in and whispered, “This stuff tastes nasty. I say we get out of here.”

Frank nodded vigorously and motioned to get up.

“No, you stay here. I’m still going downstairs to see what I can get.. I’ll be quick,” I promised, as I shoved my chair back and stood up.

The two of them sat back in their chairs, looking restless. Their bowls of stew remained untouched.

I hurried to the door and opened it to find a steep, wooden staircase. A coolness washed over me, and I peered into the darkness fleetingly before heading down.

Normally I never got “feelings” or “spooked” or anything like that. Every situation was the same—just a situation—so why get bothered? But this house, in the middle of nowhere, was unpleasant, and I wasn’t afraid to admit it.

Windows along the top walls lit the basement, letting in natural light. Down there was the same as upstairs and outside: packed with junk. I maneuvered my way around jumbles of metal objects and boxes until I came to full-wall shelving near a giant freezer.

Crazies always knew how to stock up. Judy-Beth had the shelves lined with canned fruit, vegetables, and meats. It was practically a shopping center. I searched the area for something to put the cans in, and found an old scratchy potato bag. Lately I couldn’t afford to be picky, but today I took my time and filled it with my favorites.

Hallelujah! There were a few cans of godly goodness, otherwise known as sweetened condensed milk, behind a stack of peas. I put one in the bag and another in my pants pocket, just in case. It was a tight fit, but it was comforting to have it on my person. The potato sack was bursting at the seams it was so full of sustenance. Carefully, I lifted it from the cement floor and threw it over my shoulder.

The bag broke just as I turned to leave. Cans clunked as the hit the ground and rolled away. Irritated, I crouched down to pick them up, but quickly withdrew my hand. The scowl on my face disappeared. Even through my gloves I felt a slickness coating their exteriors. A can of corn slipped right through my hands as I brought it up to investigate. Instead I concentrated hard on the floor, and once my eyes adjusted to the darker areas, I saw dark splotches circling the freezer where the cans rolled under.

Old blood
, I thought. Once I concentrated, I picked up on the coppery scent of it.

My pulse quickened as I rose, eyes fixated on the freezer. There were no noises coming from it, or movement. No threat. Had I been smart, I would’ve left right then, but I couldn’t bring myself to it. Curiosity grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go.

I grabbed the edge of the rectangular box and lifted. Cold air slithered out and down the freezer’s metal sides. A frost-burned meat scent assaulted me as I opened the lid fully.

A dead man resided inside. Ice crystals covered him entirely, filling in his old wrinkles and thickening his hair. He was crammed in with his knees drawn close to his chest and his arm around them, a pained look on his face. There was a hammer sticking out of his forehead.

“Oh.”

And chunks of his arm had been filleted off. The butcher knife still rested in the bottom of the freezer.

Canned food forgotten, I rushed upstairs, feeling nauseated.

I’d never eaten human stew before. I guess there’s a first time for everything.

* * *

“She’s got little kids up there. Fucking dead ones.”

Before I even got the chance to speak, Blaze was right next to me, mouth up against my ear. Frank was still at the table, looking sallow and ready to go. Blaze’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

“What?” was my stupid response.

“Her grandchildren are undead, Sinclair. We need to get the hell out of here!”

“How do you know? Did you go up?”

“I was curious. This whole situation is screwed up. I couldn’t help myself. They’re chained up. She’s trying to feed them that stew.”

I didn’t need to ask further questions, such as how Blaze got up there unnoticed or why she felt the need to go check things out to begin with. I would’ve done the same thing.

Frank looked at my empty hands. “Where’s the food?”

My stomach lurched. The human in my intestines wasn’t sitting well anymore. I shook my head, unwilling to tell them what was in the culinary delight served to us.

“Let’s go.”

Somewhere upstairs, a floor creaked loudly. I slid my .40 out of its holster and took point quickly, moving back through the box maze. The smell from the staircase, which I now identified as rotting human flesh, seemed even stronger the second time around. We took a left and beheld the front door. Our escape.

“Where are you all going?”

I spun around and found Judy-Beth staring at us, pot of foulness in her hands. She had a mean scowl on her lips and a wicked glint in her eyes. There was a dark, smeared handprint on her blouse that wasn’t there before.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Blaze said first, since she was closest to the lunatic, “but we realized we need to get going.”

Judy-Beth turned and set the horrendous pot atop a high stack of boxes. “You don’t know what hospitality is, you fucking dyke!”

I’d backed up to the front door and reached behind me to turn the knob. I didn’t bother checking my back, which was a terrible decision, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. Stone still, I pointed my gun at Judy-Beth, waiting for someone to make a move.

She made her move first. I didn’t know an old lady could move so fast, but she did. Judy-Beth snatched up a double-barrel shotgun from the depths of junk littered around us and shot.

I put a bullet in her right shoulder, knocking her back and into a pile of boxes. They descended on top of her, which eliciting a long screech from her. One shot wasn’t enough for that crazy bitch. Aiming in the general area of her torso, I pulled the trigger four more times until no more noises came from under the landslide of crap. I had to know she was dead; after pulled a few boxes off her, I pointed at her head and unloaded the rest of my clip.

The rage that overtook me was powerful, but I had to come back down to earth. Shaking my bloodlust off, I regained focus and saw Frank leaning against Blaze for support. Blood stained his army-green pants near the left thigh. His face was contorted in pain.

“Buckshot! I’m hurtin’ bad.”

“Go, just go!” I shouted, motioning for them to pass me.

The moment Blaze and Bordeaux passed me, I slammed the door shut and took hold of Frank’s other side. We hobbled along to the gate and I swore. There was no way he could climb over. It wasn’t extremely tall, but he was losing blood and energy fast.

Then I spotted dryers and washing machines stacked up to our right. I guided us to them, and let go of Frank so I could climb up. The makeshift structure brought us right up to the tip of the fence. Blaze pushed while I hauled him up. Frank’s blood seeped onto the grimy appliances, causing him to slip as we got him to the top. Blaze gave him one last shove and he was on the top with me.

“Get on the other side. I’ll jump,” Frank ordered through clenched teeth.

I obeyed and maneuvered to the other side easily. Frank slung one leg over, screamed, and then fell. I managed to break most of his fall, but things weren’t looking good. Blaze landed right beside me and brought Frank’s arm over her shoulder, leading him to the Mustang.

Once he was in the backseat, Blaze took the driver’s side and I went into the back, furiously searching for anything to tie around his leg to stop the bleeding. The car rumbled to life and Blaze spun out, gravel kicking up everywhere.

“What’s the damage?” Blaze yelled back to me, loud enough to overcome Frank’s groans and shouts of pain.

Just as I was about to respond, Frank turned to her and said, “Not fucking well, girlie. I’m going to die.”

Blood covered the backseat. We were hot-boxing in the tinny scent of it. No one thought to unroll a window during all the chaos. Frank breathed deeply, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Little birdies started their singing again, probably because that Judy-Beth, whore of Satan, was dead. Trees covered in bright, summery light flashed by us as we sped to our unknown destination.

And probably our demise
, I thought.

I reassured Frank many times, as I wrapped a makeshift tourniquet around his upper thigh, that he would not die and that the wound wasn’t as bad as he thought.

But I knew better. His face was washed and rung. The amount of wet red everywhere confirmed a huge loss of blood. We needed to stop and assess his chances and what we would do.

Did I want to? Certainly not. Nothing was worse than acknowledging a messy, rat’s nest of a problem.