Winter's Salvation (17 page)

After they had finished their plates, seconds and forced thirds, Mr. Cook stood up from the table.  “If you have to leave take the keys and” he waved his hand in a follow me gesture. “come with me, I’ll show you how to open the garage door.” 

When he opened the door that led to the garage from the kitchen; the sound of a quiet moan stopped them from moving forward.  Mr. Cook put his arm out and stopped them from entering the garage.    

The white aluminum garage door was not closed all the way and the only light
came from the small opening from under the garage door.  The bottom of the door was open about six inches, more than enough to allow room for the generators exhaust hose.  Two pair of feet could be seen walking just on the other side.  The garage was filled with clutter with the exception of a small path that led to the driver’s side door of his blue Chevrolet pickup truck.  Mr. Cook never cared for cleaning the mess because he was the only one that had to get to his truck.  Ms. Cook’s car was next to his, but boxes and garbage bags filled with various house hold knick knacks laid on top of and surrounding her cream colored hatch back; and now a small generator was pilled amongst the debris.  He never got around to cleaning the garage after she passed.  That was one of the many things he said he was always going to do. 

The two pair of feet were walking past the roll up door and then the sound of rustling from a trash bag caught his attention.  The old man walked down the two wooden steps that led into the garage and grabbed a shovel that was hanging on the wall next to the steps.  There was a tight squeeze between the back of the bed of his truck and the aluminum door, but he sucked in his large stomach and moved between them.  When he was half way out from behind the blue truck he could see a bare grey arm covered with dried dirt swinging back and forth
under the garage door, trying to reach for anything it could grab.  The bag it was touching was just out of fingers reach and each time it swung its thin arm, it’s finger tips just barely brushed a black bag in front of the hatch back. 

Mr.
Cook turned to the open door of the house and looked at the two women standing in it.  He did not want them to see, but his truck blocked their vision and it was too dark in here to make out what he was actually doing anyway.  He grabbed the top of the bag and tossed it on the heap on top of the hatch back.  The creature under the door began to moan, as if it knew something was happening.  Another hand reached from under the door and the swinging arm moved its attention to Mr. Cook’s feet.  He stepped back and came down on the new arm with the shovel and the sound of metal against concrete rang out as it cleaved through the ghoul’s arm just below its elbow. 

It let out another moan, but it was no louder than the one before and continued to reach for his feet with it’s now black bleeding stump.  Mr. Cook came down again on the other arm and repeated the process. 

“Mr. Cook,” Sam said and pointed to the opening of the garage. 

Two more sets of hands were reaching under the garage.  The two that were walking away came back responding to the calls
of the first reaching zombie which was still trying to get to Mr. Cooks dirty white shoes.  Instead of squeezing between the door and the truck he stepped on the back tire and crawled over the bed of the truck. 

“Naomi,” he cried out in a loud whisper, “come pull down on that chain!”  He pointed to the chain connected to the roll up door.  Naomi knew exactly what he was talking about and pulled on the two chains insuring she would pull the proper side and not open it instead of closing it.  Naomi could now see the two sets of arms swinging under the door and she tested the chain with a light pull insuring the door was not going to open even an inch.    

Unlocking the chains she pulled as hard as she could without putting strain on her back.  Mr. Cook was off the truck and at her side in seconds taking her spot at the door.  The ghouls constant reaching was putting pressure on the door to open it and it was shifting up slightly with each push of the undead hands.  Mr. Cook leaned back on the chain and pulled down hard.  The door closed and smashed down on the reaching arms pinning them to the concrete.  He leaned back more and then slid the chain onto the latch. 

He walked up to the girls and they both looked at him confused.  “I’m going to take care of them.”  He said. 

They walked through the house and looked out the windows looking for any undead that were in the vicinity of the fence.  Sam pulled the shades back from one of the windows and looked out of it just as a ghoul had passed.  She was startled and immediately let go of the blind.  It was walking in the direction of the distressed zombies.  “I got one.” She whispered loudly, so everyone could hear. 

Mr. Cook walked to the front door passing the kitchen table and grabbed the M1 that lay on it.  He looked to the girls, “So don’t lock me out.  Ok.”  He said jokingly, but deep down inside he was very serious. 

Naomi caught hold of his sarcasm and agreed she would not lock him out. 

With rifle in one hand and the shovel in the other he stepped out of the house.  There was a small group of about six or seven outside the long drive way fence that wanted to get inside the yard.  He scanned the perimeter of his fence and counted six more that were walking aimlessly, but turned toward Mr. Cook now that he had revealed himself.  As he turned the corner toward the garage of the house he heard the sound of his garage door being
beat on.  He could see the zombie that was walking had stopped at the garage and was pounding on it with its bloody fists. 

The ghoul was
pounding with both of it’s fist simultaneously and was moving back and forth spreading smears of black blood across his white roll up door.  He knew he could not get a clean shot, so he took aim and hollered “Hey!”  He used this method often when he was hunting deer to make them stop in their tracks and figured it would work well in this situation.  He spoke just loud enough, so it would hear him and turn to face him.  As soon as he spoke it stopped and looked directly at him.  It opened it’s mouth and Mr. Cook pulled the trigger, dropping the zombie in a heap.     

The other two that were being held down by the garage door crushing their arms, turned to him but could not move. 
He stepped over-top of them, straddled them and drove the shovel into the back of their necks.  It took two chops to each, but their heads were severed.  Now all he could think about was the black blood, leaking from the stumps of their necks, spreading onto his garage floor from under the opened garage door.  The heads moved slightly even though they were severed from their bodies.  He turned over the first head of the zombie he killed and saw the creature’s eyes and jaw were moving.  The jaw moved in such a way that made it appear like it was trying to draw closer to him.   

He picked up the spade shovel and raised it over the first ones head.  The decapitated head opened it
’s mouth reaching out with it’s lips, snapping at the air.  Mr. Cook thought about driving the flat blade into the side of the head, but the thought of it turned his stomach.  Instead he slid the blade under the head, causing the metal end of the shovel to scrape against the cement.  Cook began to walk through his yard to the fence.  The head rested on the blade facing him stretching his broken and chapped lips, trying to take a bite out of his carrier.   

The undead around the perimeter of the yard started to move toward him and crowded
the section of fence closest to him.  Six undead walked the outer edge of the fence with the exception of the horde at the main gate, but while he has been outside the number of ghouls seemed to be growing.  With careful precision, Mr. Cook swung the shovel up and launched the head sending it spinning high into the air over the growing crowd at the fence.  The undead paid no attention to their ally, but squeezed and forced their fingers into the chain links. 

Cook looked across his large multi
-acre property to the front fence and watched as more undead gathered around the perimeter of his yard.  From this distance they looked small and appeared to be moving very slowly, but he knew their sheer numbers would soon be overwhelming.  

**********

The following morning Naomi was greeted to another breakfast, but a little bit smaller.  The smell of instant pancakes made her feel slightly at home until she was assaulted by the horribly bright colored kitchen.

“Good thing we still got water pressure.”  Mr. Cook said turning to her, taking his attention from the propane griddle and the pancakes.  “At least until we still have water up there.”  He pointed
up as if the tower were right over top of them.  “We’ll have breakfast in just a couple of minutes.” 

Sam, kneeling on the couch, was looking out the window that faced her house.  “Is it ever going to move?”  She got up from the couch and sat at the set table ready to eat.  “There is one of those things standing at the window.  Just standing there.”  She paused as Mr. Cook slid a large platter of three massive, perfectly round pancakes that covered every surface of the white plate.  Another smaller dish filled with sausage links was slid next to that.  “It has been standing there since before you started cooking.”  She was taken aback by the size of the breakfast that was placed before her.  “Wow.”  She said responding to the pancakes. 

“We used to always try to make the largest pancakes possible.  My son and I would always make these ridiculously huge pancakes that never turned out right.  They always burnt right on the edge and never fully cooked in the middle, but” He threw his finger into the air in a little celebration.  “I have perfected the largest and best pancake ever.”     

“Is there syrup?”  Sam asked.

Cook looked around and then answered, “No.  I didn’t even think about it until they were just about finished.”

“I’m sure they don’t need syrup and are perfect just the way they are.” Naomi was quick to interrupt and scowled at her daughter.       

Naomi made her way to the window and glanced out at her house.  The broken glass from the kitchen doors window was scattered over the small porch sending shimmers of sun light reflecting at her.  She looked through the window next to the door and a lone figure stood with it’s back to them, standing completely still in the middle of the kitchen.  No defining features were discernible from the figure, but it looked as if it was not wearing a shirt and long stringy unkempt hair flowed from its head.

“What are we going to have for dinner?”  Sam asked after swallowing a large mouth full of pancakes.  She realized the pancakes didn’t need any syrup on them after all. 

“Why don’t you go out to the garage and pick something out?  We got all kinds of meats out there, but the ones on top should probably be eaten first. 

Sam chewed another mouth full and got up from the table.  Naomi watched as she left and followed close behind her.  Sam was hesitant to open the door at first and did so very slowly.  She peaked through the slightly opened door and tried to listen closer than any human could.  She expected to hear the sound of a bag rustling or the claws trying to dig through the concrete floor, but it was silent. 

She opened the door wide and ensured the door was not going to close behind her before going any deeper.  Once again the only light that was shining through was from the three inches coming from under the garage door and from the kitchen that surrounded the silhouette of her mother standing in the door way.

The freezer was old and showed it’s age from the dirt and rust that streaked the once white surface and as Sam opened the freezer, she looked at the rubber seal that was peeling away from the lid.  Like Mr. Cook said a wide variety of meats presented itself, but some of the meats and poultry looked as old as the freezer.  A turkey was buried under a mountain of boxed fish sticks and packaged ground beef.  She poked at the ground beef and the tips of her finger tips dug into the red meat.  She pulled the package out then grabbed a box of fish sticks and felt the cardboard go limp in her hands from the moisture. 

She looked to her mother.  “I don’t think this meat is going to last much longer?  I think the freezer is no good.” 

“I was thinking we should probably test the generator out today anyway, so we’ll let it run for an hour or two just to refreeze the stuff
that is thawing.”  Cook said approaching the garage as they were talking.  “It looks like it is going to rain, so as soon as she opens up, we’ll run her.”

The rain didn’t come for
many long and boring hours.  Mr. Cook talked about his son who died during Operation Desert Storm and his lovely wife and all Sam could think about was what her friends were doing.  For the first time in her life she missed school and actually would prefer to be sitting in her class room right now.  Every once in a while she would glance at the lone figure in her house and then look out the windows at the fence line.  The ghouls that were surrounding the fence appeared to have moved on and at the southern end of the property she was able to make out a few figures.  They looked to be moving and would soon be away from the house. 

For lunch they ate the thawed fish sticks and then at dinner while forming the thawed ground beef into hamburger patties they heard the first sounds of rain tapping
on the roof.  They looked at each other with mild excitement and Naomi quickly realized how sad it was that they were looking forward to the rain, so they could do something different.