THE ODD WALKERS: By Garrett Ashley
Tuesday, August 24th, 2010“Old dogs go to the woods when they die,” said Grandmother Celia. “That’s what happened to Mambo. And that’s what’ll happen to you if you let a creeper catch you.”
Thomas remembered her words carefully. Lucy, he cried, clicking his tongue three times for persuasion. A tall husky ran into the living room and barked. “Careful,” he said. “Stay with me this time.” He pulled a shotgun off the mantel and loaded eight shells into the casing.
Lucy barked. “We’re going to see grandma,” said Thomas. He shucked a round into the chamber and put on the safety. His fingers shook. He ran them through his matted hair and looked out the window. “Clear day,” he said. “The car’s close. Don’t think we’ll have much trouble.”
Lucy whined. Thomas eased open the front door and let the dog go out first. Then he raised the barrel and followed suit. The air was stale and the sky was gray. He walked Lucy to the Buick and let her into the passenger side. “Be still. Sit.” He looked all around at the woods surrounding his home. Westeria wasn’t far from the trees. But if the roads were crowded with creepers he would have to turn around and wait another day. He propped the shotgun in the backseat.
“She’s waiting for us,” said Thomas. He rubbed his fingers through Lucy’s thick fur and started the engine. It had taken months to restore. The sound attracted guests. Three tall men came slowly out of the woods and gazed in Thomas’ direction. Lucy growled.
“They’re just curious,” said Thomas. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He pulled the Buick out of the drive and watched the house disappear in the rearview mirror. “Say bye bye,” he said. “I doubt we come back here.”
He found himself constantly looking into the rearview for any tall men who were following. It had been more than a year since he driven a car. It had been longer since he left his home. A feeling of emptiness overwhelmed him. He thought of Grandmother Celia. He thought of Sam. She’d be with Celia still.
He’d longed to have someone to talk to. The odd road ahead of him was his only hope of survival. There had been a time where he would say to Lucy again and again, “Hiding is not survival. It’s just not living.”
The highway was clear. No walkers for miles. They must have gone south for the winter. Or did they all dry up and blow away? That’s what his grandmother used to say. When you don’t eat you’ll get skinny, dry up and blow away. The thought of her musings and mannerisms made him laugh. Lucy tilted her head. “It’s something people do when they’re happy,” he said. He turned onto a dirt road. There was a little bridge leading over a creek and into the Nightclouds. It was always dark in the old country. But when Celia’s house came into view everything was the same again.
Sam sat on the porch swing. She aimed her rifle at the Buick and waited for the stranger to show himself. Thomas lifted his own shotgun after easing shut the car door and called her name. He’d blow his own sister’s head off if he had to.
“You alright?” she said, and lowered the rifle.
“A new man,” said Thomas. He lowered the shotgun. Sam met him halfway and squeezed his body so tight he thought he might collapse. He felt something warm and moist on her face pressing against his neck. The feeling shook him.
“Where is she?” he said.
“We can’t talk here.” She brought him to the door and let him in. “The dog stays outside,” she said.
Thomas examined the foyer and the den. Everything was the same. He remembered playing near the fireplace when he was a child. “What’s wrong?” he said. Sam sat on the biggest dusty sofa.
“It’s been bad,” she said. “Things have gotten worse since you left. It isn’t safe here anymore.”
“Is that a fact?”
Sam didn’t speak. She closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead.
“Where is she?” he said again.
Sam swayed her head from side to side. Thomas went to the window and looked out through the blinds. It had become a compulsive habit. He counted seven tall men standing near the edge of the rough drive. They were covered in mud and looked wilder than most.
“Worse,” he said. “They haven’t attacked you at night. They’re still at night. Have you slept?”
“They have attacked at night,” she said. She forced a smile. “I’ll be glad to get away. Mimi wants to get away. That’s what this is all about. She’s been acting strange.”
“Strange,” said Thomas. He thought about his uncle Otto. Bitten one morning by a creeper when he had gone out to take a piss and smoke a cigarette. “They’ve gotten better at hiding.”
“I said she’s just been acting strange,” said Sam. “That’s all. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”
The Buick was still there. Lucy had disappeared. The dog never stayed around when there were too many creepers. “I’d like to forget about it all,” he said. He thought of the Buick. About riding it out to a beach where there were no people and no risks. He’d once heard rumors that they hated water but that kind of talk is only in science fiction. “We can all leave out together,” he said at last. “You me and Mimi. We’ll ride until we run out of gas. By then it won’t even matter.” He bit his fist. “I’m glad to be home.”
They heard Lucy barking. She’d never sounded so angry. They went out to the back to watch what was happening. The world was a blue haze. In the distance there was a forest. Walking slowly towards the trees, like a dead thing, was an old woman. “We can’t love her forever,” said Thomas.
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©2010 Garrett Ashley
Garrett Ashley lives in MS and studies English at The University of Southern Mississippi. His work has been featured in several online and print magazines including The New Flesh and Short Fast and Deadly. You can find the author here: http://www.myspace.com/alden360
