Chad studied the last playing card cupped in his palm,
fighting the smile pulling at his lips. He
did not want to taunt the fates. His
older brother Drake, a notorious bad winner, had already crushed him during the
evening's two previous games. Another loss
would cement Drake's victory, and then he would spend the rest of the night rubbing
it in. Everything rested on probability
and a queen of hearts—Chad hoped the odds were on his side.
The large vanilla scented candle flickered, casting
shadows across Drake as he scraped the side of a can of deviled ham with a bent
spoon. Though irritated, Chad held fast.
"I hate when you do that," Chad said.
"It's almost gone," smiled Drake, again
raking the spoon against the bottom of the can.
"You can make all the noise you want to when it's my turn."
Chad snorted, making eye contact with Drake.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Drake
asked his younger brother. "It's
all you got left. Call."
"Do…you…," Chad began slowly, savoring the
moment, "have any…queens?"
"Go fish," said Drake, tossing the can and
spoon aside before picking up the last three cards lying face down in his lap.
"Damn," snapped Chad as he reached for the
pile between them. "I thought I had
you that time."
"Guppies can't catch tigers," Drake said,
looking at his cards. "It's one of nature's laws."
Chad drew a two of spades from the deck and sighed.
Drake had uncanny luck, dominating whatever video and
board games he touched. Neighborhood
kids losing their lunch money and baseball cards while gambling with him had
stopped coming over long before the world ended. After the power went out for good, candlelit
backgammon's appeal waned early on, and playing chess was a nightmare. Drake always snuck in for the kill with his
knights. Even if Chad took out the
horses early, Drake would checkmate him with pawns and then gloat about winning
with the game's weakest pieces. There
was no question who Lady Luck preferred the moment dice, spinners, and controllers
became involved.
Chad, on the other hand, excelled at athletic
activities. Drake would be breathing
heavy long before Chad ever broke a sweat.
He could knock baseballs to the next block from the neighboring roof where
they often swung golf clubs and wooden bats scavenged from empty garages and
sheds. Most importantly, Chad was a
better shot with a gun.
"I'm getting tired of this game, Drake. Why don't we go out?"
"This is just an excuse to get out of losing." Drake leaned back on his elbows. "What do you need?"
"I could stand for some lighter fluid." Chad
said, flicking open his chrome Zippo with his thumb. "How about you? Need anything?"
"No, I'm good.
I wouldn't mind looking at the stars, though," replied Drake as he
set his cards down. "The view is
great on top of Old Lady Scott's house."
"That place still smells like cats."
"Could smell worse."
"How so?"
Drake snickered.
"It could smell like your bedroom."
They sat, watching the flames flicker a moment.
"Ready?" asked Chad.
"Let's go," said Drake.
Chad blew out the candle and they rose, turning on
flashlights. The beams pierced the dark room,
reflecting dust motes floating in an invisible sea. In the hallway, Drake reached for a dangling
thread and pulled down the attic door, unfolding a ladder.
"You first," he waved.
Chad grabbed the handrail with his free hand and
climbed, the ladder squeaking under his weight.
Drake followed, pulling up the trap door behind them.
Upstairs, Chad swung open a plywood flap attached by
hinges, flipped off his flashlight, and poked his head through a jagged oval
hole in the roof.
Suspended like a gem among the cloudless, starry
night, a waxing moon illuminated the pavement and overgrown grass below. Thankful for the clear visibility, Chad
tucked the flashlight into his pocket.
Though they had stockpiled plenty of batteries,
conservation was crucial. Finding high
priority supplies randomly buried in the hundreds of houses dotting their South
Lagoon neighborhood sometimes took weeks.
Lately, it seemed like the brothers' systematic searches took longer and
longer before paying off, forcing deeper treks into the surrounding blocks.
Chad wasn't naïve.
One day there would be nothing left to pillage. They would have to leave the nest and find another
home, but outside of family vacations to Disney World and school field trips to
Tallahassee's soaring capital building, Chad had never left Panama City Beach. The thought of leaving their sanctuary behind
for good and striking off into the world frightened him as much as the rotting
creatures shambling throughout the streets.
For the most part, small numbers of reanimated corpses
were easy enough to kill, but there was no telling how many decaying,
flesh-hungry hoards wandered the abandoned streets. Equally dangerous, a starving traveler might kill
for supplies as fast as the creatures could strip the skin from your bones.
Chad looked at the night sky, grateful for its
serenity and calm.
"See anything?" Drake asked.
"Just Orion making a run at the sky again,"
Chad said. "The lawn needs a mow."
"That's not happening. It matches the rest of the block anyway. Come on, climb up."
Chad pulled himself out of the window, his blue jeans
scraping softly on the shingles.
Standing on the hipped rooftop, he scanned the dark, tightly packed
houses lining Hilltop Avenue and adjusted his holster's belt buckle. A southern wind wafted in the peaceful sound
of the Gulf of Mexico. A second later,
Drake was standing beside him, checking his revolver's bullets.
"Where do you think we'll find fluid?" Drake
asked. "The Robinsons'?"
Chad sighed. He
was close with Timmy Robinson before things went to hell. An only child, Timmy knew a million dirty
jokes and was the first kid Chad ever saw smoke a cigarette. There was no counting how many afternoons
they wasted watching cartoons or the times they camped in the backyard. Chad shot Timmy while searching for Robotech comic books in the Robinson
house, once in the chest before putting him down for good with a shot between
the kid's clouded red and yellow eyes. Drake
disposed of Timmy's parents in their upstairs bedroom.
"No," Chad said. "Think we cleaned it out."
"Stop and Shop?"
"Beach Mart is closer."
"Stop and Shop has more left," said Drake as
he walked to the far left of the roof and knelt, picking up one of three metal
ladders from a pile on the roof's edge.
Chad grabbed the other end of the ladder and pulled—a sharp click echoed down the street as the
ladder opened and locked. They paused,
scanning the empty street again. A single
sheet of newspaper twisted along the pavement.
Five blocks away, rhythmic waves crashed against the Gulf's shoreline. The noise of the ladder didn't arouse any
unwanted attention, so the brothers bridged the six-foot gap to next door
neighbor's mansard roof.
"We should ditch the bikes and boost a car,"
said Drake holding his end of the ladder in place with his legs as Chad got on
all fours and began crawling across the ladder.
"Drive?" asked Chad as he crossed the
catwalk. "Can you even operate a motor vehicle? No one ever showed me how."
"We'd figure it out."
"And where would we go, smarty pants?"
"I don't know," Drake said. "Anywhere. Nowhere."
"Doesn't sound fun to me."
Chad turned around and held the ladder's end for Drake,
beginning his crawl. Chad looked at
their collection of bats, golf clubs, and tennis rackets. Balls filled several plastic milk crates, and
he noticed they were running out of tennis balls—something to keep an eye out
for. After Drake reached the flat summit,
the brothers carried the ladder to the other edge and repeated the process,
this time creating a bridge between their neighbor's house and Old Lady Scott's.
The breeze stirred and Chad shivered.
"Next time, I'm wearing a sweater. You can really feel fall coming in," he
said. He wrapped his sleeveless arms
across a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt,
covering Donatello's faded face. "I
bet it snows this year."
"It never snows here. You should be thankful we're not someplace like
Philly or Chicago. I bet whoever's left
is balls deep in snow right now."
"Think they freeze up there?" Chad asked,
wondering if anyone really was left.
"Those places are probably overrun with all the
people who used to live up there. If
they did freeze, it'd look like a statue garden."
"It would give people a fighting chance. You could walk up and blast them. They could sweep in and clear the streets
with those big machines they use to plow snow."
"Jesus, the smell when they thawed… Remember when the fridge broke and all the
deer meat went bad?"
Drake knelt down and started across the
ladder-bridge. Once over, he secured
Chad's crossing. They pulled the ladder
on top of Old Lady Scott's flat, L-shaped roof and sat a moment, looking at
their beach cruisers and listening for movement in the streets.
"I tell you, this house stinks," whispered
Chad. "Cats. I smell cats."
Drake chuckled.
"It's all in your head."
"No, it's not."
"We can make a plan, spend a day down there,
cleaning it up."
Chad shot him a look.
"Are you serious?"
"Hey, you're the one acting like a pretty, pretty
princess."
"I was just saying."
"Yup," Drake said. "I heard ya."
"Just look at your stars."
Drake stood up, strolling over to their bikes. When they started making runs four years ago,
the brothers attached a pair of hemp ropes to a red brick chimney on the
right-hand side of the roof. Drake
picked up one of the loose ends and tied it around the frame of his green beach
cruiser and lowered the bike over the edge of the house. Chad affixed his end to a matching black
bike. Drake's bike touched ground, and
he used the rope to climb down after it.
After he was safe, his brother joined him, making as little noise as
possible.
They untied the bikes and wheeled them to the street,
looking again for any movement.
Nothing.
After exchanging a glance they mounted their beach
cruisers and peddled towards Treasure Circle, a winding, crescent-shaped road
leading to Thomas Drive and the Stop and Shop.
The riskiest leg of the journey, dangerous shadowy areas blanketed feral
trees and shrubs taking over the tall, tightly spaced houses. The brothers peddled harder, putting as much
distance as possible from the edge of the pavement by riding single file on the
double yellow lines.
"There hasn't been too many of them lately,"
said Chad after they made the curve. "Even
less than three months ago."
"Doesn't mean anything. Remember Wal-Mart?"
Chad choked, his mind snapping to the almost-fatal
supply excursion. The hairs on his arms
tingled. Looking towards the inky road's
shoulder, the shadows suddenly seemed more ominous.
The brothers reached the end of Treasure Circle and
took a left on Trelawney Avenue, following it a quarter of a block before the
road emptied onto Thomas Drive. At the
bent stop sign on the corner of Thomas and Trelawney, the two stopped a moment
and admired the Treasure Ship, a towering galleon rising high above one of the
many marinas on St. Andrews Bay. In
another time, the immense building served as a restaurant, gift shop, and bar. Chad's tenth birthday party was held in the
third floor's main restaurant. A man
dressed as a pirate twisted two hot-dog balloons into an orange sword and a red
parrot that sat on his shoulder.
The memory played out in his head as a series of faded
sepia photos. He couldn't remember how
Mom's voice sounded anymore.
"One day, we have to go in there," said
Drake. "I loved watching the boats
pass under the fishing bridge from the upper deck."
"Still looks like a giant trap to me. Once you get in, there would be no way out."
Chad sighed, turning the bike's handlebars
and digging the front tire in the sandy gravel.
He looked left towards the two-lane bridge bisecting the Grand Lagoon from
St. Andrews Bay. "Instead of
casting lines from the fishing bridge or the Dolphin Pier, we need to find some
kayaks and fish in the bay and lagoon."
"What happens if we hook a shark that wants to
eat us?" Drake asked.
"We'll get a spear or a harpoon or
something. Stick it in one of its eyes."
"Pfft," Drake said, rolling his eyes. "A hammerhead would pull you in."
"I could take him."
"Whatever." Drake looked over Chad's shoulder and narrowed
his eyes.
"It would be easy," Chad said, his words
growing faster and louder. "We
could—"
Drake shushed him and pointed towards the shadows
underneath the fishing bridge.
A lone figure staggered towards them.
Chad clenched the handle bar's rubber grips.
"We need to get to the Stop and Shop before it
does."
"Yeah," Chad said, and the two peddled as
hard as they could in the opposite direction of the approaching creature. Slow and awkward, the things took a while to
cover any real distance, but Chad knew they didn't have all night to shop. It wouldn't be long before it was pounding on
the shop's windows, hungry and relentless.
Two blocks later they skidded into the Stop and Shop's
parking lot.
Frozen in time for over four years, the rectangular
convenience store's broken neon cigarette signs dangled behind dark, cracked
windows. An overturned trash barrel
blocked the front entrance, Drakes solution to prevent intruders—living and
dead—from climbing through the front door's missing windowpane.
Dismounting, they leaned their bikes against a white
Chevy Malibu rusting at the gas pumps. The
first time the brothers raided the store, they found a skin mag in its glove box—Drake
won the issue after a three day game of Monopoly. They huddled against the car, panting.
"What are we going to do now?" Chad asked,
catching his breath.
"I don't know, man," Drake said.
Not visible from the road but parked next to the
building, a beat up truck waited, motor idling.
