The Roaming Read online

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Berm

  An overworked, elderly farmer diligently checked rodent traps and sprayed for pests amidst a sea of corn stalks along the southern border of his farm. He knew how vital his crops were to the people of Pepperbush, though his humble nature would never allow him to speak of it. Although very likable, he would have never been confused for a family man. At first glance, he seemed gruff and even a little off-putting. If asked, his neighbors would have described Thomas as a humble, modest man who wasn’t afraid of a hard day’s work, not to mention that he certainly was not afraid of whatever fool thing the city folk had gone and got themselves wrapped up in, as he so often referred to the crisis.

  Thomas lived on the outskirts of Pepperbush for his entire life, born when the town was no more than three shacks sharing ten acres of land. In the forties, when he was only a boy, his father taught him to work the ranch, and he grew to adore it. His love for life on the farm was not shared by any of his children. “No matter,” he would tell them, and he meant it. “A child needs to make their own way in this world.” Encouraging your children to follow in your footsteps was simply a product of an overinflated ego, he would say. “Do what makes you happy in this life because there’s no guarantee of the after. This may well be all there is.” That particular diatribe, or some variation of, was one of a few he was often heard repeating over the years.

  Margaret, his wife of more than fifty years, passed more than a decade ago, leaving Thomas to a solitary existence. For the most part, he didn’t mind living alone. Although he missed her immensely, he would never let it show. His children would visit on holidays, and of course, he received the obligatory but mostly random phone call. He enjoyed those moments and desperately looked forward to them, as fleeting as they were. At the end of the day, he was resigned to the fact he would most likely die alone. Thomas was content with the notion; he had lived a long, proud life and carried no regrets.

  The outbreak rekindled a long-dormant sense of faith in the elderly family man. Thomas prayed daily for the safe return of his children. His son and two daughters moved away years ago and hadn’t been heard from since before local travel restrictions began. When not tending to the farm, he spent most of his time at the town’s main gates with the fleeting hope that maybe today would be that day when his children finally came home.

  It was already late in the day; the farmhands were sent home early as a well-deserved break for their weeks of hard work. Stubborn as Thomas was, though, he would continue to work the field in their absence alone. He had enough food canned and stored away to feed himself for the rest of his days if he chose to go that route. Some would argue why you’d bother with anyone else if you had enough for you and yours. But that was what kept Thomas up nights. He enjoyed helping. Besides, what use did an eighty-seven-year-old man have with all that food, anyway?

  Thomas was engulfed in a sea of corn stalks. His mind elsewhere, he was oblivious to a carrier approaching from a mere one hundred feet or so behind him. Sightings of infected had become all too common of late. It began with maybe one per week, perhaps a sighting every ten days or so. By then, the people that lived in and around Pepperbush were seeing these things more frequently. A half dozen or more reports of infected near town per week had become a reality.

  This particular carrier had been wandering for quite some time, and it showed. The skin was torn from the left side of its face, revealing its putrid teeth and jawbone. Its clavicle protruded from its chest, the dried bone sticking straight up, jagged edges cutting deep into its jaw as the thing fumbled along. As was normally the case, the creature was filthy and covered with wounds. What set this one apart from the others spotted around Pepperbush were huge claw marks across its chest. They stretched to its mangled shoulder, culminating at a fleshy stump where an arm used to be. This unfortunate carrier probably startled one of the few black bears that dwelled in the wilderness surrounding Pepperbush. In recent years, bears had made a comeback region-wide. Though sightings were rare, they weren’t unheard of.

  Unaware of the danger just a few feet away, Thomas continued his work, methodically checking each plant for bugs or rot. With each shaky footfall, the creature stumbled closer to the farmer. Flies buzzed around its milky-white eyes. Its mouth hung agape. Chipped and broken teeth were a glimpse into its violent journey. With its sole good arm raised, its prey in sight, the infected was ready to pounce. A barely audible low hum emanated from the throat of the creature. If Thomas had seen the thing approaching, he would have noticed it looked almost excited in its proximity to the old man.

  The infected closed in as Thomas stood to stretch his back. Rustling corn stalks caught his attention at the last moment. Startled, he turned in time to see the infected’s head explode in a shower of brain and skull, accentuated by a fine red mist that dissipated as quickly as his would-be attacker dropped. Thomas fell back onto his ass and nearly choked on a mouthful of chewing tobacco. Relieved to be alive, though still lying in the mud, he turned toward the berm and sent a thankful wave to the guard half a football field away. He wiped his brow with a grin. Had Martha or God forbid one of the children witnessed his carelessness, he would have never heard the end of it. Thomas brushed himself off as he regained his footing. The crops could wait until morning. Maybe he needed a break, after all.

  Fifty yards from Thomas’s location, the closest guard stood atop the berm, rifle in hand. He took a moment to tip his hat toward the thankful farmer before returning to his binoculars. From his vantage point, the guard had a good view of the southeastern portion of Thomas’s fields. Working in conjunction with the next watch post one hundred yards farther down the berm, these two lookouts kept the southern half of the farm well protected from most unwanted intruders. Expansion of the berm, when completed, would offer the farm the same protection as the rest of the town. Until then, the farm needed around-the-clock surveillance. Pepperbush’s lone means of renewable resources were far too important to go unprotected indefinitely.

  Southwest of Thomas’s farm, near the opposite side of town, two men patrolled the outer perimeter of the berm. The sun had set by then, the moon nearing the treetops. Boundary lines inside and out of town were constantly safeguarded by groups of two, usually armed with rifles or, sometimes if they were lucky, shotguns. Mostly they were armed with their own weapons, though more than a few were stuck with what could be afforded by those who decided such things. All that really mattered was the ammunition the gun held and whether you felt comfortable with the number of bullets in your pocket.

  Tobias’s dog sauntered along a few meters ahead of the men. He was a Yellow Lab named Dusty. The dog was apt to jump at squirrels and chipmunks, harmless as they were. Though Dusty had never actually been tested against carriers, the dog’s presence gave the men a well-needed if never spoken of sense of security while out on patrol. Tobias’s young son, Tommy, worried every night when his father would take the boy’s dog out beyond the safety of Pepperbush and its reassuring light. The conversation rarely went much further than Tobias’s wife Isabelle assuring their son that his father and Dusty kept each other safe. The idea of his father and his dog coming home in the morning usually put the boy at ease. His college-age daughter Lillian had no such qualms. She knew her father would never take unnecessary chances, which included putting Dusty in harm’s way. The two of them would come home safely every night; she was sure of it.

  Tobias and Danny hiked the same route nightly since patrols were put into effect shortly after the first carrier was sighted near town a few weeks prior. The men had been close since they were kids. After high school, Tobias went into real estate. He was marginally successful as an agent while Danny went off to work as a general contractor. The old friends would partner up years later, flipping houses. Tobias would secure the properties, and Danny would renovate them. The business was going well until the crisis. Now, in their early forties, both men were relegated to glorified guard duty, a position neither was adequately t
rained for, though both were eager to help Pepperbush in any way that they could.

  His rifle’s weight dug its coarse shoulder strap into Tobias’s neck, adding to his discomfort. He still wasn’t accustomed to lugging the thing around. It seemed he spent more time adjusting the uncomfortable strap than scanning the horizon for threats. He didn’t take the situation lightly, though, far from it, as adjusting himself and the strap was an extension of his usual nervous ticks. Tobias never was very familiar with weapons, guns in particular. His uncle took him shooting a few times as a child, but the lessons never took. His discomfort was interrupted by Danny’s newest thoughts on courting the local bartender.

  “I don’t care what you say, Toby. Vanessa is into me.”

  “She’s a bartender. Her livelihood depends on people liking her; you’re reading way too much into it.”

  “Nah man, you just don’t get it.” A thunderous boom silenced Danny. The men looked to the sky, but it was already gone.

  “You think they even know we’re here?” Danny asked, straining for a glimpse of the jet.

  “Why would they? This place barely registers on the map. Besides, they’re preoccupied with Baltimore and Philly. They don’t have time for us.” Tobias’s mind was elsewhere.

  “Oh well, screw them, then. Anyway, I think I’m going to swing by Mother Leeds after shift tonight. You should meet me there.”

  “Oh no, no way. Isabelle would have my ass if I’m out all night again,” Tobias said as he shook his head no. “Besides, Vanessa’s not interested, Dan.”

  “How do you know?” Danny was irritated. He was quick-tempered and easily angered. He read Tobias’s lack of support as implied malice.

  “She’s just not, okay?” Tobias shrugged off his friend’s concern. He’d heard this story more than once over the past few weeks since the world turned upside down. It was almost humorous to him in light of life as they knew it being pretty much over.

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.” Danny laughed off Tobias’s misgivings. After all, what did Tobias know, anyway? He’d been married for what might as well have been a lifetime by then. “I’m still going to the bar tonight.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Tobias was through speculating over Danny’s infatuation. There were more pressing concerns than bedding a bartender. The sooner he could get off his chest what had been at the forefront of his thoughts over the last couple of nights, the better. “You know, my boy climbed to the top of this thing without a problem the other day,” Tobias said matter-of-factly while glancing at the berm.

  “Yeah, we chase kids off of it every day. That’s pretty fucked up you let your kid play on it, Toby,” Danny jabbed.

  “That’s kind of my point, Dan. This thing has never even really been tested.” Tobias threw a fist-sized rock at the berm, causing a mini avalanche of dirt and small stones that wound up coming to a stop at the men’s feet. “Mayor Lancaster’s got his head up his ass if he thinks a pile of dirt will keep these people safe.”

  “I don’t know, Toby. We haven’t seen any deer wander into town since the berm went up. Hell, if it keeps the wildlife out, you know it’ll keep those things out.”

  “That’s just the problem. I don’t know that for sure, and anyone who says they do is fooling themselves or outright lying. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe the deer are staying away because of the infected?” he asked, not expecting a response. Tobias stopped walking and gestured to the forest surrounding them.

  Danny cleared his throat. His horse cough echoed into the night. For the first time since their shift began, not even the birds sang anymore. Not so much as a cricket was chirping. Except for Dusty’s panting, the night was silent. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” Danny straightened himself a little at the revelation.

  “It’s not just the deer, Danny,” Tobias continued. “Raccoons and squirrels, even the birds don’t come around anymore. The hunters are traveling farther away every week to even spot a deer, much less shoot one. Whatever those things are, the animals know to stay away from them and, as a result, us.” Tobias pulled Dusty close. Almost on cue, the dog let out an empathetic whimper.

  Danny straightened himself looked to the forest and back to the berm. “You know what? Maybe the next time we find one of those things, before we shoot it, we should get it to climb the berm. See if it can make it up over the top. We just won’t tell anybody.”

  “Wow.” Tobias shook his head. Something near a smile began to form on his troubled face.

  “Oh, come on, it’s only an idea. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

  Tobias stopped poking the berm and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “For the first time in a long time, Danny, I couldn’t agree more.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mother Leeds

  Little more than eighteen months ago, following the death of her husband, Vanessa became the sole owner and operator of Mother Leeds Bar and Grill. Clint had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor just under two years prior. Mercifully for the young newlyweds, the end came quickly, and as fast as their marriage began, it was over. Clint inherited the bar upon his father’s passing and always planned to hand it down to his children someday. This was, of course, not to be.

  The roof of Mother Leeds was adorned with a statue of the Jersey Devil. Clint never believed in the legends—“superstitious bullshit,” he called them—though Vanessa wasn’t so sure.

  “It could be out there somewhere. What’s the harm in believing?” she would reply when asked.

  Her childlike wonder and awe at times was a huge attraction for Clint; he loved her all the more for it.

  The couple met when he was on a business trip to Baltimore. If love at first sight was real, then this was it. Within a year, they were married and Vanessa found herself living in Pepperbush, proud co-owner of a modest drinking establishment at the edge of the world. Clint saw to his day job from home on his laptop while Vanessa ran the bar. The coupled lived in bliss, their little slice of paradise.

  Fast-forward two years and Vanessa found herself alone, with very few friends and no family to speak of, still very much an outsider in Clint’s hometown. Three weeks ago, just before the town was closed to outsiders, two men from Baltimore showed up at the bar, exhausted and dehydrated, their designer clothes ragged and filthy. They introduced themselves as Markus and Damon. Apparently their car got stuck in the mud and they wandered for more than two days before they stumbled upon Pepperbush. Vanessa welcomed them with open arms. The relief to see someone from back home all the way out here in northern New Jersey was only a part of it. A few more outsiders added to the already swelling numbers of the refugees made her, at least appearance-wise, seem to belong.

  The men were not aware of what was transpiring over the past week or so back in Baltimore and other big cities up and down the East Coast. After about an hour glued to the TV, the men decided to leave their car in the mud and stay in Pepperbush until whatever was happening ran its course. They were lucky, she imagined. Those two must have wandered out of the city in the earliest days of the crisis when large gathered groups were still being chalked up as protesters and rioters. Vanessa offered them the loft above Mother Leeds for as long as they needed it and jobs if they were interested. Markus welcomed the opportunity to pull his share, whereas Damon said he would think about it. He was still considering the offer.

  Vanessa was restocking the bar when a bell attached to the front door signaled another customer’s entrance.

  “Be with you in just a second. Have a seat anywhere you like,” she said without so much as a glimpse in their direction.

  Sam removed his worn cowboy hat before picking a stool at the farthest end of the bar, closest to the largest window at the front of the building. He glanced around the room sprawled out in front of him as he leaned his rifle beneath the bar to his right before taking a seat. He always made it a point whenever visiting Vanessa to secure a seat in this area as the large mirr
or behind the bar allowed him a near three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the place. It saved him the trouble of having to twist his neck and scan for anything out of the ordinary, but more importantly, he didn’t want people to know he was watching them—always.

  “No rush, darling. Take your time.” Sam dropped his G’s but always spoke deliberately and with a kindness in his tone, emphasized by a quiet country drawl.

  “Oh, hey, Sam. I didn’t realize it was you!” Vanessa’s eyes lit up at the realization that one of the few people in town she truly considered a friend had come for a visit.

  Stocking the bar could wait. Sam deserved a proper greeting and at least the bulk of her attention. After a lingering hug that lasted a little longer than the older man was comfortable with, Vanessa leaned over the bar to pour Sam a draft, his favorite light beer. Most of her customers didn’t drink the swill. “Light bullshit,” most called it—the nice ones, anyway. Vanessa didn’t particularly care for it, either, but Sam loved it, and that was all that mattered. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that this was the last keg of the stuff.

  She reached back over to the server’s side of the bar to pour Sam a beer. Standing on her tiptoes while stretching the width of the countertop gave her just the distance required to reach the tap. She’d poured beer like that a thousand times, as most of the regulars were more than happy to have her do. Her long brown hair flowed down to the bar top and curled into a pile just beside the line of taps. The effort pulled her white tank top up slightly, exposing the small of her back and the top of her white panties peeking out of her low-cut jeans. Vanessa’s smooth, flat stomach pressed firmly against the cool bar top. The fringes of her shirt soaked up spilled beer. She would curse her carelessness later.