Fear of the Dead Page 16

  Dr. Shore: Is it stress, then?

  Atton: I suppose you can call it that.

  Dr. Shore: Tell me all about it.

  Atton: A cellmate of mine is having problems with the other inmates. They won’t stop picking on him, and I don’t know what I should do.

  Dr. Shore: Have you told the guards?

  Atton: No.

  Dr. Shore: Well, you can probably start there.

  Atton: I keep telling him that everything’s going to be alright. But he doesn’t believe me. And I can’t say I blame him.

  Dr. Shore: Your cellmate. His name would be Tobias Reiner, wouldn’t it?

  Atton: He’s here on manslaughter. He told me all about it on the first day he came in. He was arguing with his wife. He tried to convince her to see things his way. He was mad so he tried convincing her with a gun. To scare her straight. Things didn’t go as expected.

  Dr. Shore: What exactly is your concern?

  Atton: He doesn’t belong here.

  Dr. Shore: He killed his wife did he not?

  Atton: On accident. But that’s not the point. He’s not like the people in here. He’s too soft for Wyden Hall.

  Dr. Shore: I’m sure not all inmates here are vicious people. Take a look at yourself for one.

  Atton: Doctor, the only reason those boys haven’t tried to rough me up not once is because they know who I am on the outside. They know that I’m still riding with the Southside Freedom.

  Dr. Shore: I thought that you’ve abandoned your gang affiliation.

  Atton: They don’t need to know that.

  Dr. Shore: Atton, the first step in reforming your ways is changing the way that others perceive you.

  Atton: Doctor, you’re not listening to me.

  Dr. Shore: I am. And trust me. I know what I’m saying. It’s easy to slip back into hold habits unless we let go of the identities that keep us from changing.

  5:38 PM

  There was a 95 Honda Accord parked along the street. It was the easiest car around to hotwire, so Atton made reaching it his number one priority.

  Footsteps approached from somewhere behind him. Atton turned around to see a face bob into view. It hadn’t seen him yet, so Atton tried hiding by rolling for cover underneath the car.

  Feet trampled over gravel and broken glass. First one, then two. Then they came in from all around him. Atton could see the shoes lining up from all sides, going every which way. He steadied the shotgun, but didn’t dare move himself an inch.

  They hadn’t found him yet. That much was certain. If they had, they’d have been running straight towards him, not pacing to and fro like they did right now.

  It occurred to him that this was the second time today that he was surrounded by infected.

  Or Zombies, as Eli would have called them.

  It was curious why nobody else least of all himself ever thought of the infected as zombies. He remembered when the first reports cropped up about the walking dead, they were simply referred to as the infected with no medical name to boot. No scientific lingo to describe what they were. Just infected. Like the doctors had never seen anything like it before.

  With so many books and movies about dead walking cannibals, it was a wonder that no one ever saw the connection. Eli chalked it up to people trying to delude themselves. According to him they did it to make themselves think that what was going on around them was something far more complex than it really was. Far more mysterious. In refusing to simplify all that was happening around them with the word Zombie, they made the infection seem all that much more magnificent.

  As Eli would so often say, People like to think they’re so damn important.

  The sun’s orange tint was setting before his eyes. Atton watched from underneath the car as it faded away. Legs continued to shuffle by the dozens in and around his periphery. He cautiously laid the shotgun on the ground, careful not to make a noise. The urge for sleep returned, strengthened by the afternoon nap that he took just earlier in the day. Atton closed his eyes, and before he knew it, he had a dream.

  “World’s goin’ ta’ hell in a hand basket,” Eli said as he gazed out the window.

  Atton sat cross-legged in his prison bed, silently trying his best to drown out the howls and moans.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he said in return.

  “Guards on the towers gone retarded too. They can’t hold their guns right for shit, and one of them just fell off the rails.”

  The moans didn’t stop. He closed his ears, but it wasn’t enough to suppress what was going on in the other cells. Prisoners tried to break free, wailing on the bars even after their hands began to bleed. Everyone around him was pale and infected. But he didn’t need to see them to believe it. Even as he closed his eyes, he felt his lips scrunch with dread at the sheer sound of it all. Zombies. Infected. Voices of people he’d heard so many times before, now moaning like soulless monsters.

  Even the guards joined in. They circled along the jail cells, trudging lazily like they were sleep walking. One of the guards, Tim Burnett, began walking towards Atton and Eli. The key to their cell was chained around his belt, though he didn’t act as if he knew it anymore.

  “Are we really goin’ to hell, or was this hell all along?”

  Atton cried, “Why is this happening?”

  “Don’t know my friend. But ain’t that the mystery to everythin’ in life? Why does shit happen?”

  The world was falling apart. All those years spent in prison, recovering from his sins. And now right before he could even have the chance to prove himself, redemption had suddenly fallen so far beyond his reach.

  Eli’s hand suddenly touched his shoulder. He was calmer now than he’d ever seen him before. He wasn’t laughing or smiling like he’d gotten so used to seeing him do. He wasn’t even angry.

  “Friend, if this is the end for the both of us, then I’m sorry for what I did.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Day Six

  Friday

  April 25, 2003

  12:07 PM

  When Atton woke up, he could scarcely recall the previous day. So much had happened in so little time, it was hard to believe which parts of it were real, and which were simply in his head.

  He remembered the dream he had last night, which made Eli's death even harder to forget, and bear. Say what he could of Eli, no matter how things eventually changed him, he’d started out as a good man.

  Atton leered on all sides of his cover, finding no legs or movement within the area. Zombies were gone, so he assumed it was safe enough to get back up. He started up slow, then hurried when he was sure there were no prying eyes. He restarted the engine, crossing the same wires he'd tried to fix before.

  The car started. He shut the driver's door behind him, and drove.

  12:19 PM

  Atton had his breakfast at a nearby coffee shop. Muffins, chocolate chip cookies, and a carton of orange juice. They weren’t filling, but the taste satisfied his appetite well enough. A bag of jalapeño flavored chips settled down whatever cravings remained.

  He left the engine running outside. He didn't think he'd be out long, so Atton didn't see any need to turn it off. Plus it wasn't like he had keys. Turning the engine off of a hot-wired car wasn't as simple as shifting a key. And to top it off, Atton didn't want to chance being unprepared in case the zombies came back, even if it was to save himself a gallon or two of gas.

  After breakfast he drove for the Costco building. Grace used to worry whenever he and Eli were ever gone more than a few hours. By now she was likely tearing her hair apart. And that would be before he told her about Eli and the other survivor.

  After what he let happen to her, Atton could barely stand himself. It was one thing to see Eli die. It was another to see a 16 year old girl drop off a rooftop with no chances of survival. To see her go, afraid, unable to reach her in time. Unable to say he was sorry.

  Atton smacked his hands against the steering wheel, pulling it closer then pushing i
t further away. He tried breaking the tiller off the car, but it didn’t budge. Atton's arms were too weak.

  Atton was too weak.

  Transcripts of Dr. Nelson Shore

  Date: November 23, 2002

  Recorded Session: 9

  Atton: Things aren't getting much better for him.

  Dr. Shore: For Mr. Reiner, you mean.

  Atton: I've tried settling things down with him and, well, the inmates. But it's only made it worse. They get defensive whenever I ask them to stop, and they only take it out on him some more. They say that it's not my problem, and that I should mind my own business.

  Dr. Shore: Have you told the guards?

  Atton: The guards don't help. They don't give two shits what we do to each other.

  Dr. Shore: Language Atton. Please. I understand that you're feeling a little emotional right now, but do understand the importance of civility.

  Atton: Civility? Doctor. Do you even know where you are? Two of them tried to choke him out on the courtyard two days ago. There were guards on the ground and all over those towers. And everyone else just stood there and watched. How do you think I'm supposed to act?

  Dr. Shore: Please, do yourself a favor. Don't mind them.

  Atton: What?

  Dr. Shore: If you've told the guards, then that's all you can do. Beyond that, it isn't a matter that you should get yourself involved in.

  Atton: A man is getting the shit kicked out of him day in and day out. Am I supposed to sit back and let that happen?

  Dr. Shore: You don't have the authority to intervene any more than you already have. Trust me Atton. The only people here suited for the task are the prison guards.

  Atton: But I just told you...

  Dr. Shore: Ask them again. Or if you want, perhaps I could do it for you. Maybe I can have a word with the warden if it will help put your mind at ease. Atton?

  Atton: No. That won't be necessary.

  Dr. Shore: Alright then. Let's move on. Now in our last session, we talked briefly about your father's effect on you as a child.

  1:43 PM

  In the middle of the Terrence Boulevard intersection, Atton caught sign of a liquor store nearby. He stopped and grabbed a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels for no other reason than because it was Eli’s favorite. Atton hated what it did to his throat, which in Eli’s eyes made him a 200 lb pussy.

  Bigger and taller ‘an an SUV, and the man still can’t take his alcohol.

  That was what he said the day they got out of Wyden Hall, when they raided their first liquor store together.

  A celebration of their newfound freedom, Eli called it. At the time, Atton wanted nothing to do with the idea of celebrating the deaths of over thousands of innocent people. Now all he wanted was someone to drink with.

  Returning to Grace and the others was something he knew he’d do soon enough. But he didn’t want to go back feeling the way he did right now. Atton was crumbling as it was in the stress of his own disappointment. Seeing Grace now, and having to tell her everything, would only make it worse.

  2:11 PM

  For the remainder of his time, Atton sat in his car awash with feelings of guilt and dismay. He punished himself with each sip off the most potent drinks he could get his hands on. His throat felt numb, his brain damaged, but he didn’t stop.

  After another sip he toggled the radio and surfed the channels filled with static. His fingers were clumsy and imprecise. He could scarcely change the station without at first pressing all the wrong buttons.

  When the digital read-out hit 99.3, Atton heard what he could have sworn was something more than electric garbling.

  “Hell…”

  Atton furrowed his brows, and increased the volume.

  “Hello…” it came again, the transmission no more clear now than it had been five seconds ago. It was only in putting the sound on full blast that he was barely able to make out what sounded to him like words.

  “Hell…Can…hear me?”

  That confirmed it. There was someone speaking on the other line.

  Quickly, Atton left the car and readjusted the antennae outside. He went back in, and the transmission, though faint, came slightly clearer now.

  “This is…general distress…teams…Please. Can any…hear me? I am in the…repeat, I am…If anybody is out there, and…respond.”

  It was hard to make out the voice with all the heavy interference. He changed the radio stations to see if he could get a clearer signal, but the only channel that worked was 99.3.

  Someone was broadcasting from the 99.3 radio station in San Francisco. They had to be. And if he was right, then that was where he’d find more survivors.

  The radio station was located just along the coastline a few miles before the marina. He’d been there before, before his time in prison. And now he started himself to go back there again. Hope renewed.

  Transcripts of Dr. Nelson Shore

  Date: November 30, 2002

  Recorded Session: 10

  Dr. Shore: There is a book I would like you to read.

  Atton: What is it?

  Dr. Shore: It’s called A Lesson Before Dying. Here. Consider it my gift to you.

  Atton: What’s it about?

  Dr. Shore: That’s what I want you to find out. Now ideally, I would appreciate it if you could have it read by the next time we see each other. But while it isn’t an entirely long book, I would understand if you were only able to get through half of it. Either way, it’s something that I would like to discuss with you for our next meeting.

  Atton: Say, doctor.

  Dr. Shore: Yes Atton?

  Atton: Do you believe in heaven?

  Dr. Shore: Yes. I do. Why? Don’t you?

  Atton: I try to.

  Dr. Shore: What does that mean exactly?

  Atton: I had a dream the other day. I was back at home with my family. They looked the same as they did when I last saw them. We were having thanksgiving together inside this huge house. I didn’t recognize it, but somehow my father owned it. It was this three story place with a driveway and a garden. Anyhow, everybody I ever knew was there. And you were there too.

  Dr. Shore: Is that so?

  Atton: You were talking with my mom about my recovery. She was crying she was so happy. Anyway, I bring that up cause when I woke up, I told myself that that was what I was striving for. That that is my goal line. No matter what happens, and no matter how hard I have to work, that is what I will achieve. Thing is, a few minutes after waking up and taking the time to think it over, I realized that was never going to happen. I don’t have a family anymore. My mom won’t see me. And I’m in here for life. Even if I do eventually get a transfer, I’m never going to leave prison. So now I’m not so sure what’s the point. What am I getting out of recovery?

  Dr. Shore: You cannot undo what is already done. Your actions will never wash away, but in the eyes of the Lord your sins will be forgiven if you try.

  Atton: I’ve been trying. But for what?

  Dr. Shore: The Lord has a plan for all of us Atton. You may not understand it now, but so long as you keep your ear out, then when the time comes and you keep yourself willing to hope, then you will hear the call.

  5:16 PM

  The Accord broke down half an hour ago on El Camino. The drive from 580 and back had been slow since all the highways were blocked. Cars lined up against the roads just the same as he saw before when the infected choked his path in the city. When they ambushed Eli and Atton.

  But if this was like what they did in the city, Atton didn’t see zombies lurking amongst the cars on the highway.

  Still, he wasn’t waiting to wait and find out. Instead he took to the only other exit he knew, and found that much to his pleasant surprise, the roads on El Camino were clear. The only problem now was that the battery in his sedan had gone to fritz, and his only other option was to find a replacement vehicle. Thus for the past 20 minutes, Atton took to the road by foot, carrying nothing with him but a half-empty pump acti
on shotgun, praying that what little shells he had would be more than he needed.

  The first few miles of El Camino were empty. But further along the road, a series of broken down vehicles began to rise. A welcome change were it not for the fact that none of them worked. Trucks, sedans, minivans, and least of all convertibles. They’d been abandoned by the evacuees. He could tell by the fact that the cars had their trunks and hoods opened, some with spare tires sitting directly beside them.

  From the looks of things it seemed as though a handful of survivors had tried to drive on several cars. Some of them broke down, so they carpooled the rest of their way to wherever it was they were going. If there was one comfort in the idea, it was at least that their trip didn’t involve the presence of zombies. That meant that El Camino was probably safe. A thought that soothed him as he trailed the road on foot, contemplating the distant trees and valleys beyond the road.

  It was getting darker now as well. So if there were any zombies lying around, now would have been the opportune moment for them to strike. Since they didn’t, Atton took it on good authority that they simply weren’t there.

  What did it say then about the zombies, when they were all cloistered inside the cities? Was it a deliberate choice somehow? Did the infected move there in the hopes of finding prey? Was it conscious, or was it instinct?

  For the next hour and a half Atton continued his walk down El Camino to San Francisco. The stars above him dimly lit his path along the way. Being far removed from the city, there was less light pollution around to obscure the night sky. The moon was bright, crescent, and clear. There were no clouds. No cover whatsoever to hide behind. Light, however bleak or faint, was watching over Atton Stone.