We rested the night after Mouse’s mini freak-out and left as soon as the morning sun scrubbed the sky of stars. I would love to say that we stumbled across some abandoned vehicle that Ghost was able to hotwire, but there was no deus ex machina to help us along. We did wake up to a pile of split kits that had magically appeared in our camp. We eagerly tore into them looking for food and water, trying not to think about the origin of our bounty. I don’t know about the others, but I didn’t succeed. I kept wondering if some of those split kits belonged to the newly dead. Were they still carrying them on their backs when they turned into the Infected, or did they remember where they dropped them the moment before they died? I shivered thinking that this their way of finding scraps to feed their livestock, but I was too hungry to stop eating.
So in the absence of trains, planes, and automobiles we walked. It was easier now that we had food, but it was slow going over the frozen and uneven ground. The farther we walked, the higher we climbed, and the higher we climbed, the colder it became. We must have been quite the sight because we were wearing every item of clothing we could find in the split kits. And as we went, I noticed a new crop of Infected.
At first I thought they were joining us as we passed through their area but then I realized they weren’t moving. I guess if it was hard for us to negotiate icy trails, it would be nearly impossible for them. Coordination and grace are not words you think of when you think of zombies. I soon figured out that they were standing as trail markers and that we were walking from one morbid visual to another. Jesse picked up on this as well. “They’re like totem poles!” she said.
“More like Gargoyles,” mumbled Mouse.
Our zombie guides provided a new crop of pets for Jesse to give cute nicknames to. She called the first one ‘Kankles’ because that’s what they used to call her school principle. She called the next one ‘Creeper’ because it had a Minecraft T-shirt on. One trailmarker had its foot in a cast, so she called it “Spraaaiiiins.” Another had its dentures half-hanging out of its open mouth, so she christened it “Jaws.” Every time she named the swaying dead, my smile got a little broader. And I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when she pointed to the zombie with a nose ring and said, “Look, KC! That one’s face comes with a door knocker!”
Naming RBs was entertaining, but nothing could distract us from the exhaustion of walking on uncertain paths. It was hard to tell how far we got the first day because all the trees and rocks looked the same. The only thing that changed was the Infected and, despite their putrified state, they were a welcome sight. They may have been slack-jawed and empty-eyed, but if you saw one along the path you knew you were headed in the right direction.
We decided to call it a night when the water bottles froze up and the food had all been eaten. We stopped walking and looked for the best place to lie down, but paused when the parasitic hive mentality made us look to the undead trailblazer down the path. We could sense its uncertainty at our decision to stop. He motioned us over and pointed down the trail. “Just a few more feet,” it seemed to say. They had been right so far, so who were we to question? We were glad we made the extra effort because just ahead was a hunter’s hide. It was a tight squeeze but that helped to keep us warm. I was nicely squished up next to Ghost so that suited me just fine. I don’t think Buck had any complaints when Mouse snuggled up to him either. And I’m sure it made Jesse feel safe to cling on to her big brother. We were off the ground and out of the wind and this made us comfortable enough to sleep in past sunrise.
When we finally left the hide, we found it had snowed during the night. Three inches of white powder had fallen while we slept, and Jesse wasted no time making five-inch snowmen. She had a regular snow army assembled by the time we went through a pile of newly found split kits. This daily delivery of supplies was like manna from the dead. I gave no further thought to where this batch of backpacks had come from, I was just grateful they were there.
We divided up the food to last us throughout the day while Jesse played in the snow, oblivious to the shadowy forms of the dead lurking in the trees around us. They must have abandoned their posts during the night and slowly caught up to us. The bottles were still frozen, so we had to take the time to make a fire and melt enough water to drink. That was more difficult than I thought it would be. Not the fire-building, the waiting. I wanted to scrape off the top inch of snow and quickly melt that instead, but knowing the dead had been tromping through the camp with their bits falling off was enough to keep me from testing the purity of what was around us.
We set out as soon as we had our fill of water. This time we were eager to get going, well, everyone except Houston. Houston just stared at the ground while he trudged along; his mind was clearly elsewhere as he blindly followed the rest of us. I remember what it felt like when I thought I had witnessed Ghost’s death and I was not going to force him into small talk to pass the time.
I half-wondered if there was someone looking for us because we never saw a main road, just hiking trails that fell into the “Challenging” category. The only recognizable sign I saw on the way was something that read “Green Valley Road.” But the difficult trails didn’t hold us back because we finally had something to look forward to. We were in the home stretch. Doom’s family was pretty thorough when it came to survival, at least until all but Doom forgot to wear their seatbelts. His family would have built the cabin in preparation for the time when all their wildest conspiracy theories came true. It would be a homestead where they could survive indefinitely, a place that was literally located at the Worlds End. And if it was supposed to be a place to stay for the long haul it would have to have things like a decent potbelly stove, at least one fireplace, and enough food to keep a family alive for years. I could imagine his mother being one of those coupon-crazy ladies they used to have on reality TV, the ones who spent sixteen hours a week clipping and organizing coupons, two hours at the store, one hour at checkout, and left with $500 worth of groceries for $30. I never thought I’d look forward to cheap canned food as much as I did at that moment.
There didn’t seem to be any shelter at the end of the day, so Ghost and Buck made an amusingly manly display over who had the most outdoorsmen knowledge. They eventually found a large tree on its side and made a quick lean-to for us to sleep in out of pine boughs. It wasn’t comfortable but the thought that it was our last night out in the open kept our spirits up.
We found more snow the next morning. It was only an inch or two more, but it would be enough to cover up our tracks in case anyone was following. We also had a better selection of split kits. I guess the people who either lived here or made it this far would have to be better prepared than the average person. There was one kit that was especially pumped-up. It had emergency blankets, a little fuel block stove and a tarp that would make a nice tent or ground covering. It would have been a lot more helpful if we got that the first day, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.
Mouse pointed out the name on the inside of the pack. “It says John Dowling.”
“Yeah, so?”
“That was Doom’s name.”
Oh. “Wait, do you think this is Doom’s split kit?”
“It can’t be. He made sure he wouldn’t be able to come back, and I don’t think our fetid friends would go to the trouble of breaking into our complex to grab his bag and freak us out.” Mouse said this more to herself than to me.
“The clothes are too big for Doom anyway. They look like they belong to a farmer. Maybe the cabin is in this area because they had family around here.”
“That’s almost as disturbing as having Doom’s bag. This is too much of a coincidence; I bet this belongs to someone that Doom was named after, an uncle maybe? What if his relatives moved into the cabin when everything went south? Do you think they’ll let us just waltz in there and share their space and supplies? I don’t think the kind of people who choose to live up here would welcome strangers with open arms.”
My good mood dissolved in an ocean of dread. No, I could not imagine anyone from Doom’s family accepting us with open arms. In fact, I could picture them taking pot shots at us from the balcony. Ghost saved the day when he quietly walked up behind me and whispered to the two of us, “I don’t think the Infected would risk our lives by directing us toward trigger-happy hillbillies.” Mouse and I relaxed at this and gave each other a smile, feeling a little silly for being as paranoid as the cabin’s former occupants. Thanks to Ghost, hope had been restored. And that warm and fuzzy feeling of confidence and optimism stayed all the way to the cottage.
We stopped in shock when we first saw it. Not because it looked like Leatherface’s shack from Texas Chainsaw Massacre, it was actually one of the cutest chalets I’d ever seen. It was a log cabin with a wraparound balcony and a couple of porch swings. It was so homey and cozy I was half-expecting Snow White to open up one of the shutters to put a pie on the windowsill and sing to the creatures of the forest.
But it was occupied. We could see smoke rising up from the chimney, and where there’s smoke there’s…
“Mom! Dad!” Jesse cried out. “They made it!” She started to run towards the cabin, but Houston snagged her with his arm as she tried to dash past him. He gently turned her around to look at him. “Jesse,” he said with sincere concern. “I’m worried that’s not Mom and Dad.”
But Jesse could not be stopped. She twisted free from Houston and continued to run up the grassy hill towards the inviting cabin. “Mom says worrying is a misuse of your imagination!” she called out over her shoulder as she sped towards the smoke.
I was both scared and angry with my little sister. Only Jesse could do bravado, chutzpah and blind stupidity in one take. That home could have been full of hostile hillbillies armed to the teeth, but there was no way we were going to leave Jesse alone, so Houston, Ghost, and myself took off after her. I noticed Buck held Mouse back. I think he was ready at a moment’s notice to whisk her away into the woods at the first sign of danger. I can’t say I blamed him. I would have done the same in his shoes.
Ghost was much faster than the rest of us. He passed Houston, and I and was gaining on Jesse. “I feel like we’re storming the castle!” I called out to Houston. “What do we do after we catch up with Jesse? Do we try to get in?”
“Why not?” said Houston. “As every Russian is fond of saying, ‘Hope dies last.’”
But I knew we were fine as soon as we got close enough to the front door to see the recently hand-carved sign over it. I found instant comfort in the four words on it.
“The Dumb Luck Club”