Time of Death Book 2: Asylum (A Zombie Novel) (4 page)

Jake kicked himself for taking them when we
landed at Sanibel and never thinking to put them back.

"This one, so deal with it," he chided.
"Okay, we're at a stalemate. We want to go and you want to stay. So
let's compromise. You stay back and guard the boat and we'll go see
what's up."

"I realize you missed a lot of what happened
the last time we tried that plan, but if you remember correctly,
your sister and me were almost raped. Not to mention, I'm sure I
don't need to remind you of the last time you left on a mission
against my better judgment. All of us go, or none at all. I'm not
about to lose you again." My words hit their target and they
cringed from the reminder.

In the end, the boys won the war of wills,
but not before I claimed victory of the battle. If the past two
months had taught us anything, it was to never execute a plan
without working every angle.

With the afternoon well underway, we decided
to wait until morning to hit land, but before that we needed to
come up with a strategy for getting from the houseboat to the
shore, and dispatching the corpses.

The boat was anchored about thirty feet from
the dock, and without a smaller vessel to ferry us to land, our
only option was to move closer. A ten foot ramp was stored inside
the hollow bench seat that lined the outer deck. If we overlapped
two feet on the boat and another two on the dock to account for
swaying, we were left with a distance of six feet between the two
objects.

"As soon as we put that ramp down they'll be
on us," I reported.

"So," Jake thought out loud, "we don't put
the ramp down. Not right away at least."

We looked at him, waiting for him to
elaborate, while he did mental calculations.

"Okay, I've got it. We start her up and drop
both anchors once we're within distance from the end of the dock on
the right side. That way we still have enough room to account for
drift and don't risk getting so close to the seawall that they can
reach us."

I thought about it and revealed the major
flaw in his plan. "There's only six there now, but what about the
sound of the engine? Don't you think it will attract more? What if
they hear it and we get back to find our route to the boat cut off
by a big group of them?"

"That's why"—his chest puffed up, he was
clearly proud of this next part in his hairball of a scheme—"we do
it now."

"Hold on a second. I thought we decided to
wait until tomorrow?" asked Meg.

"We did, and we will, but we move the boat
now and anchor overnight. That way any zombie in earshot will have
all night to show themselves, and we can reevaluate things in the
morning."

Vinny was grinning, clearly liking what he
heard. "And," Vinny exclaimed, "I bet those fuckers already staking
us out will go out of their minds wanting to get to us. I bet most
of them will just walk right off the dock and sink to the
bottom."

He bent down to pick up the long fishing hook
from where he'd dropped it on the deck after escaping Sanibel. "The
ones that don't take a swan dive, we'll offer a little more
incentive."

I had to admit, the plan sounded good,
assuming of course that Jake could handle the delicate positioning
of the boat and not plow straight into the dock or concrete
seawall.

Daphne was on her hind legs, scratching at my
knee to be picked up, and reminding me that we had another problem
altogether.

"We forgot one important thing, guys."

They looked at me questioningly.

"What do we do with Daphne?"

Jake thought my question over for a minute
before the answer came to him. "She stays here." I was about to
protest, and he knew it, so he hurriedly continued on. "We close
her into one of the bedrooms. It makes sense, just think about it.
She's a liability if she comes, not just because she might bark and
get us into hot water, but also because if she's in your arms, you
can't defend yourself."

I couldn't disagree with his logic, but it
still felt alien to leave her behind. What if they get on the boat
while we're gone? Or what if another group of survivors sees the
boat and takes it?"

"We aren't leaving the ramp up." The duh in
his sentence was unspoken, but definitely implied. "No zombies can
get aboard, and we won't be gone long enough for any survivors to
find the boat, get on board, and raise anchor."

Vinny jumped to his feet, ready to put the
plan into action. "Let's do this shit!"

Meg, Vinny, and I grabbed the long poles and
prepared to defend our floating home should Jake screw the pooch. I
heard the anchor winches screech into action briefly and stop;
there was no need to take them all the way up just to drop them
again in such a short distance. Not to mention, it meant less time
to potentially drift. Jake was no Captain Jack Sparrow when it came
to sea vessels, I put him more in league with Captain Ron. The fact
that he was calling Vinny Swab solidified my assessment.

The engine roared to life and the sound
traveled like a bomb in the otherwise quiet coastal neighborhood. I
shuddered, thinking about the attention we were bringing to
ourselves. As the boat began to move forward slowly, my balance
wavered a bit, and I had to grab the railing for support. I heard
the anchor winches groaning in unison again and felt the boat slow
as the heavy metal found purchase and dug into the seabed.

"That's perfect, man!" whooped Vinny. "Nailed
it in one!"

By the time Jake had cut the engine and
joined us, only two zombies remained—an adult man and African
American toddler. The rest had either fallen into the water or were
pushed from behind. I looked into the dark water to find a finger
bobbing like a fishing lure.

The closer we were, the worse they smelled.
The male zombie was still dressed in a business suit, like he'd
been on his way to work when his ticket was punched. The charcoal
jacket and pastel shirt were stained with old blood and caked in
dirt. The front buttons on his jacket were missing, and the faded
material hung on his emaciated corpse.

The once slick ensemble was so loose that it
gave him an almost caricaturelike appearance. Something had
happened to his tie; either someone had been pulling on it or
perhaps it got snagged on something, because it was so tight around
his neck that had he been alive, he would have died from
asphyxiation. The skin on his face and neck drooped, and a lack of
elasticity caused his left bottom eyelid to hang down and reveal a
dried, black socket.

A kitchen knife jutted out of his right eye,
and trails of crusty, noxious, bodily fluids covered his cheek and
neck. His working eye rolled. Lack of lubrication from working
lacrimal glands created a grating sound as the eye and socket
rubbed together. This had to be the oldest zombie we'd come in
contact with, maybe even from the original outbreak.

At his side, the toddler looked virtually
untouched. The only visible mark I could find was a crescent shaped
bite on her upper arm. The wound was clean, well cleanish, and it
didn't take a genius to know someone had cared for this child after
she was bitten. Even her clothing lacked the weathered appearance
of her counterpart’s suit.

Her dark complexion was a sickly gray color,
but her flesh hadn't begun to rot away yet. She couldn't have been
dead for more than a day—two at most—evidenced by my ability to
still identify her as female despite her short haircut. Sad, she'd
made it so long, only to be taken down in the end. What's the point
of fighting the good fight if it's all for nothing anyway?

"Here fishy, fishy," taunted Vinny with his
pole. "Vinny's got something special for you." The male corpse
reached for the pole without coordination, allowing Vinny to easily
get the hook around his back and pull him off balance, like an
actor getting pulled off stage for a bad performance. He toppled
forward and belly-flopped into the water, sinking almost
instantly.

That left the little girl, and I couldn't
bring myself to do it. I looked at her with pity, and seeing Meg's
similar expression, I wasn't surprised to discover she couldn't
either.

Vinny huffed in annoyance and pushed me out
of the way. "Hey, little girl, want some candy?" he asked. I looked
away in disgust and heard the splash as her tiny body hit the
surface.

"You're not funny, Vin," Meg said from behind
me, "Show a little respect, will you?"

Whoever was hiding in the house signaled us
again, and Jake tried to convey our plan using charades. He pointed
to us, then them, and walked in an exaggerated fashion. Then he
tapped his wrist to signify time and laid his head on his clasped
hands, the standard portrayal of someone sleeping, and tried to
come up with an easy way to tell them what time we'd be moving out.
None of us came up with anything usable, so he just shrugged and
hoped they’d understood some of it.

"Now, we wait," he said, and wait we did. We
stayed on deck and waited to see what would stumble out of the
woodwork. Daphne made sure to spend ample time with each of us,
demanding affection, and getting it.

Jake cleared his throat to get our attention.
"Let's discuss the weapon situation. I'm the only one with a
handgun, and I'm not suggesting we leave it behind, but I think we
should focus on melee weapons. It's one thing to make a lot of
noise when we're able to hide behind the safety of the boat; it's
another entirely to do it on land."

"I agree," I replied, and I did. "Let's go
pick our weapons, one by one. I'll go first because I already know
what I'm taking."

I took off at a jog for the bedroom, already
picturing my trusted weapon in my hands, and was back on deck in
less than a minute wielding my crowbar.

"Shoulda seen that coming," joked Jake,
rolling his eyes at my predictability.

Raising the slab of metal above my head, I
said in my best Masters of the Universe imitation, "By the power of
Grayskull. I am She-ra: Princess of Power!"

Jake and Vinny laughed their asses off, but
Meg just looked back at me, clueless.

"Forget it," I told her. "Way before your
time."

She responded with a shrug of her shoulders.
"Okay." She left the word hanging out there for interpretation, and
I chose to interpret it as her thinking I was uber cool. She popped
my delusion of greatness with a follow up: "Dork."

Still holding the crowbar over my head I
declared, "I dub thee The Brain-Biter."

"My turn." Vinny sprinted down the stairs,
not to be outdone by The Brain-Biter, he returned several minutes
later carrying his military-issue Ka-Bar curved blade.

Repeating my declaration he asserted his
chosen name unto the group. "From this time forth, thou shall be
known as The Penetrator!"

"That's what she said," retorted Meg, earning
a laughing fit from all of us that ended in Vinny doubled over at
the waist, gasping for air.

That's what she said was a game we'd been
playing for years. Anytime someone made a comment that could be
construed as sexual, someone would chime in with that's what she
said. No amount of time or repetitive usage had the ability to
diminish the hilarity we found in the game. More often than not, it
would be one of their parents who would say something to spark the
remark. They never quite figured out the game, or the appropriate
timing to use it, which made it that much more amusing to us
kids.

"Oh, shit," panted Vinny, "I needed that.
Nice job, Meg. You're up, bro," he directed to Jake.

Jake wasted no time and was back even faster
than me. He held up a massive flat-head screwdriver and bellowed,
"I give you, The Scrambler!"

Last but not least was Meg. She took her
sweet time hunting before returning with a victorious grin. With
two hands she gripped the handle of a knife sharpener from the
wooden block on the kitchen counter and made stabbing motions.

"This bringer of death shall be known as
Spike."

I don't know why we found it so funny, but we
dissolved into manic laughter again.

We were still laughing when both Jake and
Vinny covered their noses and slid apart on the bench to reveal an
excited Daphne.

"Holy shit, what the hell are you feeding
that thing?"

Jake scooped her into the air. "This wretched
beast shall be duly named The Bringer of Farts."

* * *

The rest of the evening was a nice change in
pace. We joked around a lot, and it felt like old times. Our
circadian rhythms had adapted to life without distractions and we
were early to bed and early to rise. I woke up freezing. We were
only a few days away from the New Year, and the weather had caught
up with us. Knowing that it would warm up in a few hours provided
little solace as we layered on the lightweight clothes at our
disposal.

Daphne was sitting at the door to the bedroom
waiting to go out. "Sorry pooch, you'll have to hold it a bit." I
sat on the corner of the bed and patted my lap for her to jump up.
When she joined me, I gave her a long squeeze and smothered her
with kisses. "Momma will be back soon. Stay safe, little
muffin."

I closed the door as I left the bedroom and
heard her sniffling and whining at the bottom. My stomach clenched
at the thought of leaving her alone, but I knew it was our best
option.

"Moment of truth," Jake said to us. "Let's
see what our little expedition yesterday brought out to play."

I was last in line for the stairs and before
I was halfway up, I heard him utter a quizzical, "Huh." The dock
and surrounding area were empty, not a zombie in sight.

My brain percolated with thoughts of what the
absence of undead could imply. I knew they weren't dying off,
because the one we killed yesterday was rancid. Were they migrating
to more heavily populated areas? Were there any populated
areas?