"Good idea. Mort, you and Joan see if you can findthat generator and put some gas in there. Me and Clara will see if we can findthe others." They nodded their heads, and Lou watched as they disappeareddown a side hall, using their ears to lead them to the generator. He turned hishead to look up at the large staircase. The second floor. That's where theywould be. Rick, J.B., Katie... the boy and the mom. Huh, he thought, Inever stopped to ask what their names were. He supposed he had knownsomewhere in the back of his mind that this whole place was temporary, a dreamshrouded in promises that couldn't be kept. This place was the past, and thoughit hadn't shown any signs of decay when they had first arrived, it was nowhere.
The death of the world was not a sudden thing. It wasslow-moving, creeping, spreading out from Portland. Even if they made it to thecoast, he had no doubt that it would show up there eventually. The rot, thedeath, they were on the march, and there was nowhere that was going to be safe.
All he could do was keep moving. He gripped the woodenhandle of the machete tighter, and with Clara behind them they ascendedunderneath the strobing electric lights. Their footsteps were soft, masked bythe expensive carpet they treaded upon and the knocking of the noisy generatorout back. He knew where to go first. The boy was sick. He wasn't going anywhereon his own. They walked through the hallway, not saying a word. Lou could feelhis pulse quicken.
They reached the door, and Lou leaned his ear against it,hoping to hear something on the other side. There was nothing. He grabbed thedoor handle and threw the door open. He caught a glimpse of movement just beforethe lights went out.
****
Mort and Joan moved through the hallway, trying to findsome way to get to the back of the mansion. The house was big enough that,running outside and around the entire property could cost them precious time,so through the house they went. Mort tried to ignore all of the expensive itemshanging on the walls. Just one of the paintings could have provided enoughmoney for his entire life... back before money had ceased to have any value. Hedidn't know much about art, didn't know much about anything, in fact, but hewas sure the paintings were expensive, and here they were just hanging in somerich dude's mansion, in a part of the house that the owner probably never evenvisited.
They could hear the engine of the generator dying out,fading away. They hurried through the hallways, looking for a way out back.
"Which way?" he asked as they came to anintersection.
"That way," Joan pointed, and they hustledthrough a hallway and into a large living area. Daylight streamed in throughfloor-to-ceiling windows that looked outward onto a lush forest space thatbutted up against the back of the house.
They moved to a sliding-glass door, and tried to open it.It was locked, and it took them a second to figure out how to slide the thingopen. They removed a metal bar from the track of the doorway, turned the latchon the handle, and slid the door open. The sound of the generator grew louder,and then it died.
They stood, shocked by the silence. Only it wasn'tsilent. There was noise. In the dark of the forest, they could hear movement,as if something were plowing its way through all of the underbrush. They couldsee nothing, but they knew they needed to act quick. Whatever was coming out ofthose woods was not going to be something that they wanted to see.
Mort stepped outside, his boots sinking slightly in acarpet of old pine needles. The trees in the back were tall, and they castshadows that, mixed with the sunlight, made it hard to see anything for sure.It was mid-afternoon, maybe three o'clock, and the humidity from the forestgave the air an unwelcome stickiness.
They stuck close to the house. "Better take thatsafety off," Mort whispered to Joan, as the sound from the forest becamelouder and more distinct. It didn't sound like one thing moving through thewoods. It sounded like multiple, as the sounds seemed to be coming fromeverywhere.
The back of the house was filled with windows, and theeaves loomed over them. In the distance, sitting about ten feet from the housewas a large shed, the same maintenance shed they had grabbed the machetes fromearlier. Mort heard the click of the safety, and as they approached the shed,the tension grew. Mort slowed up when he reached it. The door was already open.Slowly, he peered around the side.
The inside of the shed was dim, but there was a formmoving around in there. It swayed back and forth among the garden implements,its arms hanging by its side, as if it had become lost inside the enclosedspace. Mort could see the red and black generator sitting behind it. It was abeast of a machine, mostly quiet when it was running well, but apparently, whenit ran low on fuel, it began to sound like a chainsaw cutting through concrete.
Mort didn't know how far away the generator could havebeen heard as it continued to run on fumes, but it had been far enough to drawthe dead to this particular slice of heaven.
The dead thing had to go. It was plain to see. Theydidn't have time, not with who knew how many of the dead making their waythrough the forest. He stepped into the shed, and rushed at the dead thing. Itturned lazily in his direction, but by the time it had thought to raise itshands, Mort had already severed its head. It slumped to the ground with athump, and black blood poured out of its neck.
He paid no attention to the severed head's still workingjaw as he stepped up to the generator and picked up two ancient lookinggasoline cans, shiny red metal, all covered in dust. The first can he pickedup, felt light. He unscrewed the cap, which was attached to the
