Engineer Benson - 3. Engineer Benson - Chapter 3 - July 13, 1993

July 13, 1993 Tuesday, 1010 AM
Hey, book. It's me again, Mark. Wayne couldn't write about what happened with the girl, so I offered. I figure it might help someone else if we're gone, and they find this. Wayne agreed, so here we are.

Over the morning, more of those things migrated to stand around Wayne's house. Not right on us, but close enough that we'd be seen or heard if we tried leaving for supplies or to scout around. By my count, just from what I could see at the windows, at least a dozen shambled nearby. If they stuck around, we'd be trapped here and slowly run out of supplies.

I had been planning with Wayne about making myself a distraction and leading them away, then losing them before returning. He hated the idea. While we argued about it, a noise behind the bedroom door where we'd kept the girl made us both turn.

"Hello?" Her weak voice shook from behind the door.

We opened it, and she stood, wavering on her feet. Her skin had paled, and sweat beaded on her face. Wayne brought her out and helped her sit on the couch.

"Let me make some broth for you," he offered.

She shook her head and looked at the thick mittens taped to her hands. "You think I'm going to be one of those things."

Wayne hesitated, so I spoke up. "It's just a precaution."

She absently tried to scratch her face but was prevented by the hockey mask she still wore. The poor girl looked like death warmed over. I wasn't sure how long she'd last, but she was about to take care of that.

"But you're pretty sure." She tapped the mask on her face and sighed. It was such a strange sound from someone so young. "I heard you talking about the ones around the house. Do you think they'll break in to get us?"

"No." I took the seat across from her. "They only seem to be drawn to noise and motion. So long as we're quiet and keep the blinds drawn, I think we're fine."

"Until we run out of food?"

She really had heard us, damn. "Yeah. Yeah, until we run out of food."

Staring at me, she took another heavy breath. "I'm already dead. I've felt wrong ever since the infection in my arm started, and I know I'm already dead." Supporting herself with the couch, she rose. "Take this stuff off me. I'm leaving. I'll lead them away."

"What?" Wayne glanced at me then looked back at her. "No. No, they'd kill-"

"I'm already dead." She repeated and bit her lip. Tears streaked down her face. "Please, take this off me. I just want to be with my family now. Please."

I began unwrapping her hands.

"We can't let you do this." Wayne turned to me. "Mark, we can't let her do this, right?"

I met his pleading stare with what I hoped was confidence. "You know she's right." God, he looked so damn lost. I finished with her hands then helped get the mask off.

"I'll, whoa." She wavered from vertigo and shook her head. "I don't know how far I can walk, but I'll lead them as far as I can. Hopefully, to the edge of town, away from things you'll need." She turned pleading eyes on me. "If you see me out there, and if you can do it without getting hurt, can you end it for me?"

I nodded. "Yes."

She smiled then. "Good."

We found an old pair of Wayne's tennis shoes she could wear. It didn't really matter that they were too big; she wasn't running anywhere. She tied them to her feet and moved to the door. "I'm ready."

"Okay." I stood to the side, my hand on the knob.

"Thank you, Pamela," Wayne said. He'd crossed his arms over his chest, and his shoulders slumped. "You're very brave." He shook his head. "I … I wish-" He swallowed loudly. "I wish things were different."

"Me too. I don't want those things to get me, and I'll try to get away from them and hide somewhere. But no matter what, I'll be with my family soon." She seemed to gather herself. "Okay." She gripped the stick and pot lid that featured in her plan. "Thanks for trying to help me. Bye."

"Goodbye. Thank you," I replied.

I opened the door, and she stepped out. I quickly closed it behind her.

"Hey!" She banged on the pot lid and began moving down the street. "Hey! Come on!"

I rushed to the window and pulled back the makeshift curtain slightly. Off she went at a fast walk, banging away on the lid. The dead followed right on her heels. She moved just fast enough to outpace them, but only barely. I counted eighteen before she rounded a corner, her terrible followers still in pursuit.

"That girl just saved our butts." I turned to find Wayne sitting on the couch, his face in his hands.

I'm not great with feelings. I just get on with things and do what's needed. But I understood why this was hard. I sat beside him and rubbed his back.

"Her name is Pamela." His voice wavered. "She deserves to be remembered."

"You're right." I squeezed his shoulders with my arm. "Pamela does deserve to be remembered. Do you want to write about her?"

He wiped his face and lay back on the couch. "I already have. But I don't think I can write this. Not right now."

"How about I do it?"

He nodded. "Yeah." Wayne sniffed and closed his eyes. "I don't know if I can keep doing this. I don't know if I want to. How much longer do you think it'll be before the army gets this under control?"

I answered as honestly as I could. "I don't know. This is something we've never seen before, so it's hard to say." I squeezed him again. "But they're trying. I know that for a fact."

We sat together for a while. Maybe it's weird, but it felt nice to just be close to someone. I might be pragmatic to the point of looking like I'm dead inside, but I'm not. I feel this too. The love of my life is somewhere out there. How could I not?

I know you'll read this, Wayne. I feel it too, man. And I can admit that I'm glad I'm not going through this alone.

July 13, 1993 Tuesday, 400PM
I never thought that Mark was dead inside. I know he's not. I'm thankful he's able to push through and get things done no matter what else is going on. I can't imagine what he's going through knowing Elizabeth is … well, knowing she's out there and in trouble.

While he worked on the last entry, I went and rehung the yard gate. Thanks to Pamela, the yard is clear of those things, so I was able to get out and get it done without a problem. I'd planned to build another gate out of some scrap metal, but that's on hold now. If we're careful, the hedge and fencing should keep us from being seen. And unless they can climb, the fence will keep them out.

After dealing with the gate, I went over the attachments on the van and worked on some new ones. Only the highest capacity generators can run my welder, so I needed to get that done now in case the power dies on us.

I wish I knew where the nearest substation is. I know it's outside of the exclusion zone, so we really should be okay. If the power does go out, then that means this thing is loose and affecting infrastructure beyond Knox county. I guess that's something to keep in mind; if the lights go out, then we know things are out of control. Water treatment is in the county, though. If the power dies, then water treatment will go next - they need power to run the plant, and emergency generators will only extend their operation so long.

Let's just hope that doesn't happen but prepare in case it does. Though, I hate that generators are so damn loud.

I'm thinking more and more about alternatives, and the solar array Knox Power started installing for the base has been on my mind. Bob's place is down south on the edge of town. I've been there - nice farmhouse with lots of space and a good-sized shed. His outfit only got the rails installed on the roof of the building we were putting up, but not the solar panels yet. I wonder if they're in that shed. It'd be worth a look if we can get there. I just hope there's some kind of installation guide too. I've never handled solar; it's pretty damn new, and even Bob had to learn it for the contract. He bitched plenty about it when we were out on the job. The old bastard doesn't like "that hippy shit" much, but he likes government contract money.

Bob also has that wood burner in his kitchen. I gave him hell since he's an electrician, and he's still using an antique stove/oven that burns wood to cook. He joked that it's because he hates his wife, but I know better than that. I think they just like it.

Now that I think about it, that homestead is probably the best suited for a drawn-out event where we lose power. I know they have a garden, so they might even have a well on the property. I'm betting the tough old bird is doing just fine since there are fewer people his way. So long as he didn't get caught in town when things went to shit, that is.

I'm going to talk to Mark about it. Maybe we can drive the van down there since it's pretty much a tank now. If things are too crazy, we can loop around and come back once we lose anything following us. Mark has said they seem to lose interest or forget if he stays out of sight long enough, so it should work. Luckily, I'd just serviced the van. She's in great condition and purrs like a kitten. Now that there are none right on us, this is probably the best time to go.

I just ran the idea past Mark. We're headed to Bob's place. Hopefully, I'll update this thing soon with good news.

July 13, 1993 Tuesday, 815PM
I'm still shaking. I guess I should be happy to know I can do it, but I just feel sick to my stomach over the whole thing.

I'll start at the beginning.

Before anything, I tossed a backpack with water, jerky, nuts, and some cereal mix into the van. Then I got my toolbox situated in the back.

We opened the garage and got into the van without any problems. After closing things back up, I pulled onto the street. I headed south, and Mark kept an eye out from the passenger seat, his knife in hand. It was impossible to miss them; they're everywhere, all over Rosewood. As the van got close, they'd turn and stagger after us until we rounded a corner or got out of sight. Wrecked cars blocked some intersections, but I had room to get around them. Some cars had what used to be people inside them, clawing at the glass while I motored past.

Mark must have already seen some of this, but it was all new to me. I didn't realize how devastated our town is. Some houses are on fire, and there are bodies just … out in the open. Mark said to watch any without head trauma, as he's had a few get up once he got close.

The head. Gotta remember to go for the head.

The worst part? We didn't see another living soul. Nobody. The van is quiet, but the town is deathly still. The sound travels, and nobody tried waving us down or anything.

We drove by the fire department, and Mark had me stop. He got out right as a group of three of the things dressed as firemen came at him. He sidled back and forth, forcing them to stumble over one another. Two got tangled up and fell, and Mark lunged for the other. His knife found the thing's jaw under the helmet it wore. Mark took the helmet before it even hit the ground and then slid the fire axe off its back. By this time, the other two were up again, and more pounded on the roll-up door, trying to get out of the firehouse.

He sprinted back to the van, and we took off.

"Slow down." Mark stowed the axe in the back. "They can't catch us so long as we don't wreck."

I forced myself to ease off of the gas. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." I glanced at him while he fiddled with the helmet. "Why'd you risk your life for that?"

He tried it on, then turned to me. "Protection. You've got the hockey mask, and it protects your face." It looked oddly good on him - like it belonged on his head. He took off the helmet looking this way and that at it. "You think you can fix this one up with a grate or something like the hockey mask?"

"Oh yeah. Easy." I maneuvered around a knot of the dead standing in the middle of the road. One staggered into the side of the van with a thud as we moved past and spun off into the grass. My hands flexed on the steering wheel. "A few coat hangers, wire cutters, and some smaller gauge wire like that binding notebooks, and I can weave a metal mesh for the front."

"Great."

We approached the edge of the town limits, and a mailbox marked Bob's dirt and gravel driveway. I turned in, noticing movement in my peripheral vision.

"There are a few in the woods, drawn to the van." Mark's jaw moved as he thought. "I can probably handle three at a time. More would be pushing it." He searched the way ahead. "How much further?"

"Not far. It's up here on the left. The road ends at their place."

Thirty seconds later, I parked beside Bob's truck. Five shapes approached us from the edge of the clearing around the house and three more appeared on the road we'd just driven.

"Get out. Get ready." Mark's commanding tone grounded me. "Put on the hockey mask."

I did. Then I hefted my woodaxe. Razor sharp, I treated the tool with the care owed to something useful yet dangerous.

"I'll try to keep them away from you." Mark's eyes shifted between the approaching groups. "If I get in trouble and you aren't totally confident you can help, get in the van and get out of here."

The five closer to us staggered faster, their arms out. Mark had just said he probably couldn't handle more than three, yet he approached them. That black knife caught the light of the afternoon sun along the honed edge; a deadly tooth ready to stab and slice.

I hefted the ax, terror making my knuckles white on the haft.

Mark moves and fights in ways I find utterly fascinating. He took these wide steps with a circular motion, his feet moving from center to out in something nearly like a crabwalk. The things all swayed as they attempted to follow him.

He held his left hand straight out and loudly snapped his fingers. They all turned and he struck one with a lightning fast jab to it's neck. It went down, still snapping it's teeth, but seemingly unable to move. I think he severed the thing's spinal cord.

Four left, and three on the road, closing fast.

The four lunged at him, but he'd already stabbed again and another dropped.

Three left, and three more nearly on him.

My breath came in rapid puffs and I shifted weight from foot to foot.

One fell forward in its eagerness to grab him, and managed to snag his pantleg. Mark stomped hard on the offending limb, but it hung on.

I don't quite remember making the choice to act. But the next thing I knew, I'd run to Mark and cleanly chopped through the hand. He was free.

Then I started swinging.

With such a sharp weapon, I cut through them easily. The three fell beneath Mark's knife and my axe. Mark quickly finished off the ones I'd downed but not killed, cleanly ending their unholy lives. Where he was precise, I was wild. Cool blood spattered my hands and neck, but it didn't stop me.

By this time, the three from the road had joined the fight. They too were downed through a combination of Mark's targeted attacks and my axe.

We'd done it. Eight bodies lay in a circle around us. I breathed heavily, my eyes wild and the axe dripping.

"Hey." Mark's hand on my shoulder startled me. "Hey. Relax. It's done." He squeezed gently. "Good job."

I nodded, still unable to speak.

Mark quickly searched through the dead and pulled a couple of lighters and an unopened granola bar from the pockets. A screwdriver buried in the chest of one also found its way into his hands.

"Looks like someone tried fighting this one off." Mark wiped the makeshift weapon on one of the corpses at his feet. "Need another screwdriver?"

"Hmm?" I cleared my throat. "Oh. Yeah. Yeah, that's good."

I took it and slid the tool onto my belt and Mark nudged one of the bodies with a steel-toed boot. "I don't suppose any of these are Bob and his missus?"

I shook my head.

"Hmm." Mark turned to the house. "Well, time to go knocking."

The place was unlocked, and we carefully entered. All the windows appeared intact, and the blinds drawn.

"Weird that the door wasn't locked," Mark whispered. "Come on, but be careful."

We passed the kitchen table with a bowl of cold soup, while the ancient wood burner against the wall still held the ghost of warmth from a fire that'd gone out a few hours prior. It was a life interrupted.

Mark turned down the hall and stopped dead in his tracks. Bob sat propped against the back wall, a sawed-off shotgun trained on us. He blinked then lowered the gun. It was then that we noticed his leg. He had a hole torn out of his pantleg, and a gaping wound showed underneath.

"Yer lucky I didn't turn you both to a smear." He panted quietly as we knelt next to him.

"What happened?" Mark asked and took a look at the injury. A thump from behind the bedroom door made us both jump.

Bob chuckled darkly - the sound odd and tinged with mania. "Oh, don't mind the old lady. I think she already got her fill."

Mark glanced at me.

"Bob," I began. "Did she bite you?"

He inhaled and sweat rolled down his face. "Yeah. I'd heard the rumors, but I didn't think it'd happen to her. She got the fever, but she was so tough." He frowned. "I thought she could beat it." A low growl from the other side of the door and the sound of fingernails on wood made him close his eyes. "I thought I could help her beat it."

Mark put a wide hand on his shoulder. "Bob. You know there's no coming back from this, right?"

The old electrician turned glassy eyes on him. "I know." He wet his lips. "I … I couldn't do what's needed. I know it's not Shelly anymore, but I can't do it. So I just sit here as long as I'm able and keep her from hurting anybody else." Realization seemed to spark in eyes. "But you two could. You could, and then I can rest some."

"Yeah." Mark patted his arm. "Yeah, we'll take care of it. Okay?"

He slumped in relief. "Thank you." He frowned as he made his fevered brain work. "There's a sliding door to the bedroom. I don't think it's locked. Go out the back and you can get to her that way." He wet his lips. "I'll give you boys a minute then I'll make a bit of noise out here to distract her."

It seemed like a good plan. Mark and I headed out and waited by the slider.

Then the shotgun went off.

"Shit." Mark swore quietly and opened the sliding door.

The thing in the room clawed madly at the door to the hall, trying to get to Bob and the shotgun. Mark easily took her out with a well-placed strike from the knife.

He lowered the body to the floor. "Wayne! Check the doors, make sure they're closed and locked. Hopefully we've killed most nearby or we'll have company."

I entered the house and did as he'd said. I peeked outside, but didn't notice any approaching the house from the woods or road.

The door between the hall and bedroom opened, and I walked back to the hallway. "Mark, everything looks—"

"Turn away." Mark stood in front of Bob where he lay sprawled on the floor. A red spray on the wall and Bob's unmoving body told the story. Mark swallowed, "I'll deal with it. You knew him, and I'll deal with it."

He'd waited. Bob had waited until he knew Shelly couldn't hurt anybody. Then he'd ended it.

We've spent the last few hours cleaning up and taking stock of all that's here. Most important, there's a stack of solar cells, a heavy-duty inverter, and six large-capacity deep-cycle batteries - a system designed to run a whole three-story building.

We didn't even discuss it, but we're staying here. We'll have to go back for our supplies and food, but this place has so much going for it it's worth the trip. If I can figure how to hook up the solar then we'll be set for power no matter if the electricity cuts out on us.

Mark has finally allowed himself to rest and is stretched out on the couch. I'm trying not to think too hard about things. I'm trying to be like Mark and focus on what needs doing. But even he has been quiet. It's hard on us both. God. Please. It's too much. Just let us have something - something brighter than how things are now. Please. I'm begging you.

If you're there, then please. Please.