Under Siege
Kahwihta sat on the floor beside the door and scratched Attila’s head as the others argued. She looked around the cabin and wondered how Sayers had stood living here. It was so lifeless. Barren. Not even any pictures on the walls.
Then, Sayers had always been something of a mystery to her. She’d been a park ranger stationed in the Adirondacks when the dead started rising. Rather than joining the rest of them, she’d retreated to the wilderness – a not inconceivable option, but one Kahwihta found somewhat lacking, what with no one around to talk to and all. Not that she was one to talk, of course. She’d roughed it for a time, after all. But not out of choice. Maybe Sayers just didn’t like people very much. Given what had happened, that seemed the likeliest answer.
She flinched as a dead fist thumped against the door. It had been jammed shut and reinforced with the addition of a bookcase. Hands clawed at the windows. The glass was stormproof and reinforced. It would take the walkers hours, if not days, to bust through it. That didn’t make her feel better about the situation, though.
She watched as Ramirez snatched up the walky-talky and spoke into it. Sayers replied, then a hiss of static. Followed by, “Now, let me talk to Calvin.”
Ptolemy held out his hand. Ramirez gave him the walky-talky. He pressed the button. “I am here, Elizabeth.”
“You should have listened to me,” Sayers said. Her voice sounded flat to Kahwihta. Unemotional. “You didn’t. Now you’re stuck. There’ll be more of them on the way. There’s canned food and venison jerky in the root cellar.”
“This place does not have a root cellar.”
“It does now. I spent a month digging one. For us.” Another static-filled pause. “There’s also a few days’ worth of supplies – more if you ration. Water as well. There’s a rain filtration system on the roof, near the chimney. I put in an access hatch in the kitchen ceiling. The ladder is beside the fridge.”
Ptolemy glanced back in the direction of what Kahwihta guessed was the kitchen. “Elizabeth, why are you doing this?”
“You didn’t give me much choice, Calvin. It’s for your own good. Like I said, you should have listened to me. But as usual, you fell prey to bad influences.” She paused. “Yes, Estela, I am referring to you, if you were wondering.”
Ramirez frowned. But she said nothing. Kahwihta wasn’t sure what that was all about. Sayers had already been gone by the time she arrived. There’d been some falling out, but she wasn’t privy to the details and hadn’t been curious enough to ask. Now she was wondering if she ought to have made the effort to find out.
“Elizabeth, we can discuss this…” Ptolemy began.
Sayers cut him off. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re trapped. I count… two dozen walkers outside that cabin, and another dozen moving through the trees below me. If you try to break out now – or any time in the next twenty minutes, say – I’ll put a bullet in the first one out the door. I have no doubt that you’ll eventually come up with some clever plan for getting out, but it won’t be today, if you’re smart.”
“Then why bother?”
“Because while they chew on you, I get a head start.”
Westlake snatched the walky-talky from Ptolemy’s hand. “You’re heading for the Villa, aren’t you?”
“Hello, Mr Westlake. Yes, I am.”
“All by yourself?”
A hesitation. “I prefer it that way.”
Westlake licked his lips. “We can still deal, you know.” Ramirez made to protest, but Westlake held up a hand. She fell silent, glowering at him. “There’s no reason we can’t approach this like professionals.”
“I think Ramirez might have some choice words for you on that. But it doesn’t matter. Without me, you won’t find the place. And if you try – well. There’s a lot that can happen out here. Especially if you don’t know what you’re doing.” A moment of static. Then, “Last chance. Go back to the lodge. Go to North Elba. I don’t care. Just get off my mountain.”
Ptolemy grabbed the walky-talky back from Westlake. “Elizabeth. Elizabeth!” But there was no reply. He stood for a moment, looking down at the walky-talky. Then, very deliberately, he sat it back in its cradle. “She is gone.”
Westlake ran his hands over his head. “Yeah, and we know where. Damn it.”
“This makes no sense,” Ptolemy said, looking around. “Why would she care?”
Hutch patted him consolingly on the shoulder. “I hate to say this, Ptolemy, but the Villa sounds exactly like the sort of place Sayers might like. Isolated, hidden, fully supplied. If I were her, I’d definitely be going for it.”
Ptolemy flinched away from his touch and stared towards the window. He said nothing. Ramirez shook her head.
“It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here, and quick.” As if to emphasize her point, there was renewed pounding on the door and windows. It would take the walkers some time to forget what they were after and wander off. Unless they were the persistent type. She looked at Labrand. “She mentioned the trees.”
Labrand nodded. “I caught a glint just south of the lake before I had to roll off the trailer.” He gestured towards the southern facing window – the one Sayers’ shot had cracked. “She’s probably up around one of the trailheads on that side. She’d have a good view of the cabin, and of us. She must have been waiting all damn day for us to show up.”
“She was counting on it. Why? All this for a head start that she already had?”
“It seems obvious,” Calavera said, as the moans outside grew. “She wished to draw us into a trap. To prevent us from reaching the Villa, not just reach it herself.” He smacked his fist into his palm. “Clever.”
“She must have counted on us escaping,” Westlake said. “She knew we wouldn’t let it go. So, she planned accordingly.”
“You sound like you admire her,” Kahwihta said.
Westlake nodded. “I do. Be a shame to put a bullet in her.”
Kahwihta saw Ptolemy looking at him, a strange expression on his face, but he said nothing. If Westlake noticed, he gave no sign. Instead, he went on, “Either way, we’re in the trap now. So how do we get out?”
“We go out the front door,” Calavera said.
“And then she puts a bullet in you,” Ptolemy said, harshly. “Or the zombies pull you down. Either way, you do not get far.” He sat down heavily in a chair and set his shotgun across his knees. “Face it. We are boxed in.”
That set off a new round of discussion that Kahwihta found somewhat tedious. So instead, she turned her attention to the window, and what lay outside. Some of the walkers were wandering now. They had been drawn by the noise, but seeing nothing to immediately assuage their hunger, had begun to drift away.
The rest, however, weren’t going anywhere. Stubborn, or maybe too stupid to give up. She took out her notebook and pried apart the stiff, water-stained pages. Something about these walkers was different – not their behavior, but their appearance. But she couldn’t say what exactly. Not without more study.
A hand on her shoulder made her jump. She looked up at Westlake. “What is it?” she asked.
“You seemed lost in thought.”
She frowned. “Were you… checking on me?” Usually, Ramirez was the one who did that. It felt strange to have someone else interrupt her train of thought.
Westlake shrugged. “Crew, remember?” He tapped on the glass, provoking a walker into hammering on the window frame. He twitched back. “Ugly bastard. Looks like a side of beef jerky.”
Kahwihta smiled. “Some of them do. Initially, people figured that they’d starve over time. Walkers don’t do well without a source of food. They start breaking down a lot faster, as if whatever is making them walk around starts to consume them. Mostly they get skinny and fragile. But some of them turn, well…”
“Into jerky?” Westlake ran a palm over his head. “Given how many of them are still around, I’m guessing they didn’t starve.”
Kahwihta shook her head. “No, they adapted.” She was warming to her topic now. It was rare she got the chance to talk about it. “They’re ridiculously adaptable, but that’s not always due to obvious environmental factors.”
“Meaning?”
“Take brutes. Why do some of them balloon up like that? What causes it?” She paused and studied the zombies outside with new insight. “Oh.”
Westlake blinked. “What?”
“None of them are dressed for a hike.” She indicated the window, and the zombies prowling beyond it. “These weren’t campers or hikers. Not dressed like that.”
“So?”
“So where did they come from?”
Westlake paused. “Does it matter?” Behind them, Ramirez cleared her throat and he and Kahwihta turned.
“Any ideas?” Ramirez asked.
Westlake shrugged. “Other than trying to sneak out, not really. We might just have to risk it. If we’re fast enough…” He trailed off and glanced at Kahwihta. “Maybe our zombologist has an idea.”
Kahwihta’s gaze went back to the window. “Why don’t we wait for nightfall,” she said, after a moment. The others looked at her. She sighed. They never listened. “Zombies hunt by sound. But their eyesight is no better than ours, and in some cases, a good deal worse. At night, they won’t be able to spot us as easily, if we don’t make any noise.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Westlake asked, encouragingly. She realized he’d been telling the truth earlier; as far as he was concerned, she was part of the crew. He was actually listening and trusting in her expertise.
She pointed up. “The access hatch. We get on the roof, climb down on whatever side looks easiest, and book it for the trees, post haste.”
“You think we can do all that without being spotted?” Hutch asked, doubtfully.
“No. But that’s why we need a distraction, to get them all going in the opposite direction.” She looked down at Attila and kissed the top of his head. He panted happily.
“Just like a supply run,” Ramirez said, looking relieved.
“Just like a supply run,” Kahwihta agreed.
Westlake laughed and shook his head. “Well, that’s one problem down. What about afterwards?” He looked at Ramirez. “She was our guide, remember?”
“We know where we’re going.” Ramirez hiked a thumb at Labrand. “Labrand can get us there. He used to hike these mountains all the time.”
Labrand blinked in surprise. “I… reckon?” He tipped up his hat and rubbed his head. “Never saw Lake Cutter, but I was up on the southwest slope more than once.”
“What about Sayers?” Kahwihta said. Again, everyone’s attention came back to her. “She didn’t sound like she was leaving.”
“She is right,” Ptolemy said. “Sayers is not likely to make it easy for us.”
“More traps, you mean?” Ramirez asked.
“At the very least.” Ptolemy frowned. “Something does not sit well with me about this. Why would she tell us where she is going?”
“Doesn’t make much sense to me either,” Ramirez said. “Let’s ask her about it if and when we catch up to her.” She went to a window and twitched aside the curtain. A zombie flattened itself against the glass, smearing bloody saliva across the panes. She let the curtain fall back into place. “But for now, try and rest. We’ll sleep in shifts. Eat if you need to.”
“Dibs on the bed,” Hutch said. Kahwihta whistled and Attila bounded onto the bed before Hutch could reach it. The dog growled and Hutch backed off, hands raised. “No one respects dibs anymore,” he complained.
“Civilization has collapsed and the old ways with it,” Kahwihta said, taking her place on the bed. “Now only the law of the jungle matters.”
“I hate that mutt, and I hate you,” Hutch said, grumpily. He snatched up a chair and dragged it across the room. Kahwihta serenely huddled down next to Attila. She heard some of the others drift off, but despite her best efforts, sleep was hard to come by.
She kept thinking of the water and unseen hands clawing at her, trying to drag her down. She’d had nightmares before and would again. The only thing to do was endure them and wait for the memories to fade. That was all anyone could do, these days.
She pulled out her by-now much wrinkled and stained notebook. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well record what she’d observed. You never knew when it might come in handy.