When the last corpse finally fell I breathed a sigh of relief, and stood up to stretch tired muscles. I ached in places where I hadn’t even known I had places. The cold, the constant battering of the kickback, and a fresh gunshot wound had all taken their toll. I tried not scratch at the itchy/ticklish/achy place where the stitches had popped
The sun was peeking up over the edge of the horizon, painting the icy waters of our small harbor with soft colors. Rose and peach shades bloomed on the waves and free floating chunks of ice took on marigold and dandelion hues. It was beautiful. After all the death we’d taken part in, it made me feel something I had no name for. Not gratitude precisely, not hope…but something.
It was also far too damn cold to stand there gaping like an idiot at something I’d seen a million times. And my ribs hurt, my shoulder was bruised and aching and I couldn’t feel my hands or feet anymore.
I trudged back down stairs to get warm. I also decided there was no way in hell I was going to be responsible for disposing of the bodies. I’d done my part and that was that.
I pondered rifles and ammo, and overheated barrels while I added instant hot cocoa to a cup of hot water and decided that while having a reloading setup was good, we also needed more guns. AR-15’s and some small, quiet .22s would be best. But that and the wall of rotting corpses we’d left outside were problems for another day. Right now I needed to get that gunshot wound re-stitched. And we had no anesthetic.
I decided that a shot of rum in the hot cocoa wouldn’t be a bad idea. I killed time while Molly boiled needles, scissors and thread by setting up a baby swing and some weird saucer-bouncy-noisy thing for Annie. The colors were obnoxiously, unnaturally bright and it occurred to me that the next generation of children born in the world that the dead had created would never see colors like that.
Maybe that was good though, I mused, following Molly into the ‘bathroom’. Maybe it would lead to a generation of people who actually cared about the…”OUCH! Fuck!” My train of thought was rather thoroughly derailed by the curved and not nearly sharp enough needle driven through my side.
“Don’t be such a baby. You only need about a dozen stiches. It isn’t that bad!” Molly admonished me in a cool, oddly professional tone of voice and I had to remind myself that I didn’t really want to smack her while she was sewing my torn flesh back together. But ohh….it was tempting.
When Molly was done torturing me I got drunk. Not deliberately, but I hadn’t eaten much, and I’d never been much of a drinker anyway. Four shots of Kraken put me out like a light. I drank the last one warmed with honey and cinnamon in it. Sarge had brought it to me while I squirmed around in my bed trying to get comfortable. I don’t even remember finishing it. One moment I was drinking something that was either terrible or wonderful tasting (I never did come to a decision about that either), and the next moment I was waking up.
I got up, fed the baby, ate, and promptly went right back to sleep. This time though, I dreamed. It had been a long time since we’d heard anything about those bikers. I hadn’t been keeping track of time, but it had to have been at least two months. And in my dream they were racing toward us over a road built on skeletons and paved with calendar pages. I dreamed they roared up to town and rode straight through our barricades.
They sacked the empty town and came to the island. What they did when they breached our home was nothing short of hell. Nightmarish was far too mild a word. I woke up right before I blew my own head off in my dream.
If my dreams were hell, breakfast was heaven. The people from Squirrel Island had provided us with boxes and boxes food. I pigged out on Slim Jims, beef jerky and Hostess cupcakes. I even got to drink a Coke. I felt bad for Annie for a few minutes. By the time she grew up enough to eat adult food all of this would be gone. She’d probably never taste chocolate, or processed sugar. Poor thing.
After breakfast I gathered everyone into our little kitchen/dining area.
“This was not chance. Those corpses should have been frozen solid.” I looked over everyone’s eyes to make sure they were paying attention.
“I didn’t recognize any of them. I’m the only real local here, so none of you would know any better…but. They were all from out of town.” I waited for someone to pick up on the obvious.
It was Jason that spoke up in a grim voice. “You’re saying they were led here. That someone set them on us.” His green eyes were cloudy with fear and doubt.
Molly’s brow furrowed “Then, that means there’s someone else here. Someone we missed. Because they can’t be driven…” I saw the realization sweep across her face in a rush of terror.
I nodded. “And there’s only place that they could be hidden close enough to have drawn the mob…” Paul coughed.
“…Slaughter…” I amended.
Sarge, Molly, Jason, and I all turned to our left to look in the direction of the cannery next door.