Rot & Ruin

7

TWICE MORE TOM PULLED BENNY OFF THE ROAD SO THEY COULD CIRCLE around wandering zombies. After the second time, once they were clear of the creatures’ olfactory range, Benny grabbed Tom’s arm and demanded, “Whyn’t you just pop a cap in them?”

Tom gently pulled his arm free. He shook his head and didn’t answer.

“What, are you afraid of them?” Benny yelled.

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why? You afraid a zom will come after you? Big, tough zombie killer who’s afraid to kill a zombie.”

“Benny,” said Tom with thin patience, “sometimes you say some truly stupid things.”

“Whatever,” Benny said, and pushed past him.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Tom said when Benny was a dozen paces along the road.

“This way.”

“I’m not,” said Tom, and he began climbing the slope of a hill that rose gently from the left-hand side of the road. Benny stood in the middle of the road and seethed for a full minute. He was muttering the worst words he knew all the while he climbed up the hill after Tom.

There was a narrower road at the top of the hill, and they followed that in silence. By ten o’clock they’d entered a series of steeper hills and valleys that were shaded by massive oak trees with cool green leaves. Tom cautioned Benny to be quiet as they climbed to the top of a ridge that overlooked a small country lane. At the curve of the road was a small cottage with a fenced yard and an elm tree so gnarled and ancient that it looked like the world had grown up around it. Two figures stood in the yard, but they were too small to see. Tom flattened out at the top of the ridge and motioned for Benny to join him.

Tom pulled his field glasses from a belt holster and studied the figures for a long minute.

“What do you think they are?” He handed the binoculars to Benny, who snatched them with more force than was necessary. Benny peered through the lenses in the direction Tom pointed.

“They’re zoms,” Benny said.

“No kidding, boy genius. But what are they?”

“Dead people.”

“Ah.”

“Ah… what?”

“You just said it. They’re dead people. They were once living people.”

“So what? Everybody dies.”

“True,” admitted Tom. “How many dead people have you seen?”

“What kind of dead? Living dead, like them, or dead dead, like Aunt Cathy?”

“Either. Both.”

“I don’t know. The zombies at the fence… and a couple of people in town, I guess. Aunt Cathy was the first person I ever knew who died. I was, like, six when she died. I remember the funeral and all.” Benny continued to watch the zombies. One was a tall man, the other a young woman or teenage girl. “And… Morgie Mitchell’s dad died after that scaffolding collapsed. I went to his funeral too.”

“Did you see either of them quieted?”

“Quieted” was the acceptable term for the necessary act of inserting a metal spike, called a “sliver,” into the base of the skull to sever the brain stem. Since First Night, anyone who died would reanimate as a zombie. Bites made it happen too, but really any recently deceased person would come back. Every adult in town carried at least one sliver, though Benny had never seen one used.

“No,” he said. “You wouldn’t let me stay in the room when Aunt Cathy died. And I wasn’t there when Morgie’s dad died. I just went to the funerals.”

“What were the funerals like? For you, I mean.”

“I dunno. Kind of quick. Kind of sad. And then everyone went to a party at someone’s house and ate a lot of food. Morgie’s mom got totally shitfaced-”

“Language.”

“Morgie’s mom got drunk,” Benny said in way that suggested having his language corrected was as difficult as having his teeth pulled. “Morgie’s uncle sat in the corner singing Irish songs and crying with the guys from the farm.”

“That was a year, year and a half ago, right? First spring planting?”

“Yeah. They were building a corn silo, and Mr. Mitchell was using the rope hoist to send some tools up to the crew working on the silo roof. One of the scaffolding pipes broke, and a whole bunch of stuff came crashing down on him.”

“It was an accident.”

“Well, yeah, sure.”

“How’d Morgie take it?”

“How do you think he took it? He was fu-I mean, he was screwed up.” Benny handed back the glasses. “He’s still a little screwed up.”

“How’s he screwed up?”

“I don’t know. He misses his dad. They used to hang out a lot. Mr. Mitchell was pretty cool, I guess.”

“Do you miss Aunt Cathy?”

“Sure, but I was little. I don’t remember that much. I remember she smiled a lot. She was pretty. I remember she used to sneak me extra ice cream from the store where she worked. Half an extra ration.”

Tom nodded. “Do you remember what she looked like?”

“Like Mom,” said Benny. “She looked a lot like Mom.”

“You were too little to remember Mom.”

“I remember her,” Benny said with an edge in his voice. He took out his wallet and showed Tom the image behind the glassine cover. “Maybe I don’t remember her really well, but I think about her. All the time. Dad, too. I can even remember what she wore on First Night. A white dress with red sleeves. I remember the sleeves.”

Tom closed his eyes and sighed, and his lips moved. Benny thought he echoed the words “red sleeves.” Tom opened his eyes. “I didn’t know you carried this.” His smile was small and sad. “I remember Mom. She’s was more of a mother to me than my mom ever was. I was so happy when Dad married her. I can remember every line on her face. The color of her hair. Her smile. Cathy was a year younger, but they could have been twins.”

Benny sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees. His brain felt twisted around. There were so many emotions wired into memories, old and new. He glanced at his brother. “You were older than I am now when, y’know, it happened.”

“I turned twenty a few days before First Night. I was in the police academy. Dad married your mom when I was sixteen.”

“You got to know them. I never did. I wish I…” He left the rest unsaid.

Tom nodded. “Me too, kiddo.”

They sat in the shade of their private memories.

“Tell me something, Benny,” said Tom. “What would you have done if one of your friends-say, Chong or Morgie-had come to Aunt Cathy’s funeral and took a leak in her coffin?”

Benny was so startled by the question that his answer was unguarded. “I’d have jacked them up. I mean, jacked them up.”

Tom nodded.

Benny stared at him. “What kind of question is that, though?”

“Indulge me. Why would you have freaked out on your friends?”

“Because they dissed Aunt Cathy, why do you think?”

“But she’s dead.”

“What the hell does that matter? Pissing in her coffin? I would so kick their asses.”

“But why? Aunt Cathy was beyond caring.”

“This is her funeral! Maybe she’s still, I don’t know, there in some way. Like Pastor Kellogg always says.”