The Red King (Wyrd Book 1) Read online

  Play it cool, thought Holiday to himself when he heard the invitation exchange between Frank and Ash. Then he wondered why he felt he suddenly needed to “play it cool”. They’d just met.

  Holiday had brought over half a case of beer. Over the course of the previous hour, he’d taken a shower and had a few bourbon and cokes, trying to forget most of the day and especially the field of burning corpses in the Walmart parking lot.

  Almost time for another supply run, he thought to himself as he fixed himself another bourbon and coke.

  Now, standing around the grill in the evening dark watching the steaks begin to sizzle, Frank, Ash and Holiday watched the night as each in their own way wondered what the shape of the world was now.

  “I don’t know how hungry I’ll be after seeing everything I’ve seen in the last few days, but we gotta eat, right kids?” said Frank to break the silence that seemed like a blanket, made even more so by the almost total absence of human life in the immediate vicinity.

  “I’m always hungry,” mumbled Ash.

  “Then that’s good,” said Frank. “So while we wait for the steaks to finish, we should begin to talk about what to do next.”

  Frank waited for them to respond.

  No one spoke.

  “The way I see it,” he began after a moment, “is that we could try to make it to wherever it’s safe. There’s got to be somewhere secure because whoever’s flying that A-10, they’re probably somewhere safe right now. Problem is, we don’t know where that’s at. So we could take our chances out there, and as evidenced by your escapades today, we could go a block in any direction and get in way over our heads. So here’s what I’m thinking.” He paused and flipped the steaks once.

  “As I was saying, I think what we need to do is dig in. Like we did back in ‘Nam. We build us a firebase right here. Then we wait and see what happens. We try to find out where it’s safe to go. If the government pops its head back up, we get in touch and see what we’re supposed to do. Whaddya guys think?”

  Holiday killed his beer and grabbed another from the ice chest.

  “I don’t see why not. But…” He stopped.

  “But what?” asked Frank.

  “I don’t think this place can stand up to those… things.”

  Frank thought about that.

  “I like mine rare,” interrupted Ash, clutching her plate, watching the steak on the grill. Then, “Sorry, I’m just really starving. It’s been days since I’ve had a decent meal.”

  “Me too,” said Frank and moved the steaks around as the flames jumped up and charred the meat and sizzling fat.

  “I’m not all that hungry,” said Holiday, taking another long drink of his beer.

  “Ya gotta eat, buddy,” said Frank. “Got to.”

  Holiday nodded and grabbed a paper plate, sitting down at the picnic table they’d dragged out from someone’s yard.

  Ash and Holiday cut into their steaks as Frank laid out some butter, sour cream, and salt and pepper for the potatoes.

  “You’re right,” said Frank through a mouthful of red meat. “This place won’t stand up without defenses. But we couldn’t ask for a better place to defend. The whole neighborhood is already shaped like one of those medieval castles. It’s a giant rectangle with the outer ring of unit buildings making up the outer walls. We’ve got two main streets running the length and two little side streets connecting the north and south ends. If we fortify those gaps between the buildings, then board up the windows and lock the doors along the outside perimeter, we should be able to keep them out.”

  They ate. Chewing silently. Drinking.

  “What about a gate at the main entrance?” asked Ash as she swallowed a thick piece of meat she’d stabbed with her fork.

  “We can use a bus… or a big RV, like they did in the Road Warrior. You ever seen that movie?” asked Frank.

  Neither had.

  “Well, I guess it was before your time. But that was how they made the gate. A few other touches and we should get a nice fit, and here’s the beauty of it all. If we can make a run over to the Home Depot and make sure it’s all clear of zombies, we can have all the building material we’d ever want. We can string fencing between the gaps. They’ve got rolls and rolls of the stuff over there.”

  “Why here?” asked Holiday putting down his knife and fork, reaching for a fresh beer though only half his steak was finished.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Frank. “Like I said, we couldn’t ask for a better place. We’re backed up to the edge of Viejo Verde. North of us is the orchard and the Irvine Company lands. All unincorporated wilderness. Foothills we could escape into if we need to. The fact that it’s burned up makes it even better. Anything comin’ out across that blackened wasteland will be crossing through our kill zone. We’ll see ‘em a long way off. To the east is the hill above us and what’s left of the ritzy houses that burned down there last night. On the other side of that hill is the Cleveland National Forest all the way out to Riverside. If these things… okay got to start callin’ ‘em zombies. Do you think these things are your classic, George Romero Zombies, Night of the Living Dead? You guys see that one…? No, I didn’t think so. Well, if these things are your classic zombie, then they’re looking for people. Out that way, toward the east in the Cleveland National Forest, there’s no one, so in all likelihood we’re safe from that direction. To the south and west are other neighborhoods that should provide some cover from those things. Finally, we’re at a higher elevation than the rest of Orange County. Those zombies seem like… like water… like children. I bet they’re more likely to go downhill than up, unless they’ve got a reason. So, once we clear out this area and hunker down, we shouldn’t get too much traffic.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Ash through a mouthful of meat. “You gonna finish that?” she said looking at Holiday’s steak. Holiday pushed his plate over to her. Without hesitation she started to work on what remained of his steak. Holiday grabbed another beer, sat back down and said, “Okay, I think you’ve got a good plan, Frank. Just tell me what to do next.”

  “I’ll have to make an actual plan, have to think about it. Make some drawings, y’know,” said Frank rubbing his chin.

  They sat for a while and enjoyed the night.

  “It seems odd doesn’t it,” whispered Frank as the embers in the barbecue turned to a soft ashy red. Their faces were shadows in the night.

  “What seems odd?” asked Ash.

  “The world ends and here we are having a great time. I mean, this is a great time to me. Steaks, beer, friends. Don’t you think? I was in ‘Nam for thirteen months. I used to dream about cool nights and barbecue, beer and good people. Cool breeze we used to say.”

  “How do you know we’re good?” asked Ash quietly.

  Frank was silent for a moment. Finishing the last of his beer, he set the can down on the bleached wood of the picnic table.

  They could see Holiday’s cigarette tip moving in the dark.

  “I just do,” said Frank.

  Chapter Twelve

  For the rest of the night, Holiday cleaned his house. It was a good thing, he reasoned, that Ash was staying with Frank. If she’d walked into my house, she’d have known exactly what kind of monster I am, he thought. A monster who drinks a lot.

  Around midnight he finished.

  Why do you care? Holiday asked himself.

  She’s cute, was the only answer that came to him in the silence. But he knew there was more to it than just that.

  Then he thought about the end of the world. That the world was ending, had ended, and that he was looking for someone to love. Standing at the refrigerator door, basking in its solitary light, he thought aloud, “Even I realize my priorities might need adjusting.”

  He closed the door, cracked the beer he’d taken from the fridge and sat in the dark, smoking.r />
  At dawn he heard a quiet knocking downstairs. He threw on jeans, stumbled down the stairs and answered the door.

  Ash was standing there, washed, clean, scrubbed, hair up, work gloves on her hands, resting on her hips.

  “Frank’s walking the perimeter, trying to sketch out what we should build. He said you and I might go find a truck so we can start hauling back materials. You know where there might be a truck we can borrow?” She smiled.

  “Perimeter?” asked Holiday, fumbling for a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. The pack was empty.

  Supply run, he thought to himself, thinking of the grocery store.

  “Yeah,” replied Ash not missing the sarcasm. “You’re in the army now, soldier boy.” Then, “Were you ever in?”

  Holiday laughed. Then snorted out a, “No. I don’t think they’d have me.”

  Ash made a quick face, as though she was reconciling a set of numbers. Re-evaluating some long held position. “Huh,” she said. “I don’t know why… but I had the feeling you had been in the military.”

  Holiday turned back to the morning darkness inside his townhome.

  “Well, I wasn’t.”

  She followed him in as he found his maroon Doc’s and a t-shirt.

  She scanned the décor. Nothing matched. But it worked in an odd eclectic sort of way. Like the library of some late British Empire explorer with all its odds and ends from around the world.

  “Nice place,” she called out, hearing him bang around upstairs.

  “I like to check out the consignment stores every time I get a nice paycheck. I like furniture,” he shouted down from the landing above.

  “So d’ya know where we can find a truck?”

  “Yeah. I saw one up at the grocery store in the parking lot. If we can find the keys, it’ll probably do the trick.”

  Outside, Frank was coming down the street with a clipboard in hand.

  “Hey, buddy. Not too early for you, is it?”

  “A little,” mumbled Holiday.

  “Well you’ll be fine. Listen, we’ve got sixteen walkways we’ve got to barricade. I need to make a count of the windows that look out on the perimeter, but I’ll do that while you guys find a truck and see if the Home Depot’s clear of zombies. If it is, grab a bunch of mesh fencing material. It should come in big rolls. We’ll need metal poles and the wire twist fasteners, which should be somewhere nearby wherever you find the mesh fencing rolls. That should get us started. Oh, and don’t forget to pick up some bags of dry cement.”

  “You think a mesh fence will keep them out?” asked Ash.

  “I think it’ll do for now. I’d hate to actually have to build a wall between each walkway but… if it means our survival then I guess we’ll have to.”

  “Have you seen any of them around this morning?” asked Holiday.

  “No, and I like it that way. So be as quiet as possible and whatever you do, don’t lead them back here.”

  Holiday and Ash arrived at the supermarket parking lot and pulled up next to the flatbed truck far out in the parking lot. There were two dead bodies on the other side of the truck that Holiday hadn’t seen on his last supply run. A flock of crows picked at the corpses.

  “If there are keys,” started Holiday, then paused. “We might find them in…” he pointed toward the bloody and shredded rags that had once been clothing and someone. Where the crows cawed and feasted.

  Ash picked up a large dry palm frond that lay on the hot blacktop. She waved it back and forth as she approached the cantankerous crows, shouting, ‘Hyaah, Hyaah.” Only at the last second did the crows reluctantly scatter, crying angrily and circling, before flying off to a nearby palm tree to glare down on them sullenly. Ash turned to Holiday. “Well, I did my part. Now it’s your turn.”

  Holiday looked at the bloody clothing.

  He opened the cab of the truck first. He checked the ignition. No keys.

  “I guess I’m not getting out of this that easily.”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” laughed Ash.

  Holiday got down on all fours. He picked up a pair of bloody pants. The blood was still warm and thick. The pants were stiff.

  No keys.

  Then he went through the remains of a shirt. He found some unidentifiable organ inside its crusty bloody folds. He threw it aside, not wanting to be honest with himself as his eyes and mind screamed the news that it had been half eaten.

  No keys. He crawled over to the other…

  What, he thought. The other what?

  Remains.

  No keys there either.

  “I don’t want to put any pressure on you Holiday, but I think either I or the crows managed to attract some attention.”

  Holiday looked up. He was sweating. He could smell the alcohol coming out of his pores. He looked up and saw that Ash was looking toward the far end of the parking lot.

  A woman stumbled forward from the shadows of a fast food restaurant that occupied that corner of the center.

  “You think it’s one of them?” But he didn’t need to ask. Even at this distance he knew she was one of them. Her mouth was crusted in black gore. Her hair wild. Dress torn. She wore flats, and they could hear their slow uneven slap against the blacktop as she wobbled toward them.

  Holiday stood up.

  “C’mon. We’ll lead her into the store and get rid of her. Then we’ll wait and see if there’re any more.”

  They retreated into the supermarket and were instantly greeted by cold air-conditioning and more Aerosmith from the market’s never-ending playlist. Holiday heard Ash whisper a silent, “Wow!” as she stared at the massive store still filled with pristine products and goods.

  Holiday watched the woman outside as she changed course and followed after them, her stick-like arms hanging limp at her sides as she stumbled across the burning parking lot.

  “Hey, keep an eye on her,” said Holiday as they stood near the gumball machines and newspaper racks. “I’ll see if I can find something to get rid of her with.”

  Holiday left Ash and immediately went to the beer aisle. He grabbed a Sapporo and drank thirstily as he scanned the store for something to use.

  To use for what, Holiday? He heard himself ask inside his own head.

  Well, you know…

  His eyes kept going up as he finished another thirsty drink of the Japanese beer. As though on top of the shelves he might find an axe or some other appropriate zombie-killing weapon. But there were only barbecues and Styrofoam ice chests. On sale now that summer was over. Gone.

  He finished the last of the import beer and thought of Taylor and all those days of salt and sun and sea by the beach.

  “Summer’s over,” he whispered to himself.

  “She’s almost here,” yelled Ash over the last of the fading Aerosmith blare.

  There’s nothing here I can use, thought Holiday.

  Ash came running up as he stood in front of the meat case.

  “She’s inside the store now,” whispered Ash. “Probably coming up that aisle back over there.”

  There’s something I’m missing, thought Holiday desperately. Then, maybe she’ll want some meat. And just as he was dismissing that for a stupid idea, he remembered the butcher.

  And butcher knives.

  He led Ash behind the meat counter and through the plastic divider curtain that separated the store from the cutting room.

  It was cold. Spotless. Clean and freezing.

  Holiday scanned the polished metal cutting tables and counters for a knife. He’d forgotten his Guy Fieri flame knife back at home.

  Nothing.

  Ash grabbed a long pole with a hook that leaned against the corner.

  “Good,” said Holiday. “We can use that to pin her.”

  Through the glass partition they saw the bedraggled woman
stumble into view. Her head turned slowly, her eyes malevolent. She ground her teeth and snarled soundlessly.

  Just as Holiday put his hand on the freezer door handle and flung it open, he had a fleeting thought. Maybe one of these… one of them… a zombie is inside the freezer. Someone else might have locked one in there.

  But it was too late.

  Holiday flung the door wide open, charged through and came face to face with the butcher. He wore a long white coat with a bloody hole that opened up into his abdomen. He had gray hair. A pencil mustache. Clear blue eyes. Gray skin. His snarl must have once been an easy smile.

  “Holiday, do something!” shouted Ash. He could hear the rasp of the bedraggled woman entering the cutting room.

  The butcher was frozen solid.

  Probably happened when everything started, thought Holiday as he watched the immobile meat man and his once lifelike face for any sign of movement. He was frozen in undeath. Still angry at the living, a timeless snarl carved into his frosty face. At his belt hung a sheathed meat cleaver.

  Holiday pulled the cleaver from its sheath, feeling the numbing cold on his palms as he grasped the hilt. And just as he turned away from the frozen butcher, he watched one blue eye move just a tick. Following him as he left the walk-in ice cave.

  “Holiday, now would be a good time to…” he heard Ash yell at him as he flung the freezer door closed behind him. “Do something!”

  Ash had hooked the bedraggled lady in the throat with the meat hook. The thing gurgled and waved its arms wildly at Ash from the other end of the pole. The hook was tearing through the flesh of the thing’s neck. In a moment, if it kept wriggling violently, it would be free.

  “Go for the head!” screamed Ash. “Do it Holiday!”

  Really, he thought to himself. Am I really about to do what I think I’m about to do?

  He swung in a wide arc and buried the meat cleaver in the side of the bedraggled woman’s skull. It stuck and she jerked away wildly and suddenly, tearing herself from the hook, stumbling back into a metal cutting table, knocking over stainless steel trays with a loud clatter.