Empire

29 Deconstructing the Dead

Just before noon, a series of explosions rocked Jefferson Harbor.

Boiling smoke tore into the sky as tongues of flame reached heavenward; at the east end of town, the great gates set into the city wall were flung from their hinges like so much rubbish on the wind.

The medical plaza went up in an unimpressive smattering of flames, but the Donner Convention Center's entire roof swelled like blistering flesh and was ripped away by the explosions within. And the city landfill ignited like a mountain of gas-soaked rags, spewing noxious black smoke that seemed to swallow the sun and stretch its tendrils across the sky.

Gene stood at the edge of the flames and studied the smoke tower. His cheek was scabbing over where the pipe had cut him, before he died; gaseous rumblings in his lower organs had ceased and he felt less pressure inside his abdomen. He was regenerating.

Noon. Voorhees and his survivors were taking the scenic route to the police department. He led them into a long-abandoned construction site to rest. Duncan pointed out the numerous empty buildings across the street, but the cop just shook his head. "Don't trust 'em."

"But-"

"Did you not hear those explosions earlier? Look at the smoke out there. Let's stay out here a while — we can spot a rotter coming from blocks away in any direction."

"What if Mike and the others reach the PD before we do?" Palmer asked. "Does he know how to get in?"

"He can figure it out."

"Wheeler-" Jenna began. Voorhees shot her a dark look. Staring right back at him, she went on. "He said something about the 'Addison estate' — a house in the swamp?"

"I said that. The house in the swamp part." Palmer sat on a concrete slab and peered up into the steel ribcage of an unfinished office building. "Addison was a doctor who lived out on the west end. That was years and years ago, he's got to be dead."

"Well, what about those rotters then? Wheeler said he recognized them. He called them kids."

"I'm hungry." Kipp mumbled. Wendy patted his head. "We'll eat soon, honey."

"It looks like rain." Voorhees observed. Jenna walked past him to Palmer. "Wheeler called the rotters kids."

"The children that Addison took in, the children of the wealthy. I wouldn't be able to recognize any of them, especially if they were undead. I don't see how Wheeler could have."

"It's just…" Jenna sighed, picked up a rock, tossed it into an open basement. "It's something."

"We all want answers." Palmer replied, in a counseling tone. Jenna flinched. "Reverend, don't start with that."

"I wasn't going to say anything about God, if that's what you mean. If God knew something that He was willing to share with us, I'd sure as shit know by now. I ask Him every morning and every night. Look. We were all born into a world with undead. We've all spent our entire lives asking questions, and we each desperately want something to hold on to. An answer." Gesturing around the site, Palmer smiled bitterly. "You really think there's an answer in Jefferson Harbor?"

"Why are we still alive?" Lauren asked. She was looking at Kipp, who had knelt to follow a beetle's progress over the soil.

"Laurie, please. I want to find out about these Addison kids." Jenna said.

"Let it go." Duncan grumbled. "The Rev's right."

"They were working together!" Jenna shouted. Lauren went white and pressed a finger to her lips; it went unnoticed. "I've never seen anything like that! And all of them looked PERFECT. Didn't you notice? They almost seemed alive. Not a mark on them! Those clothes…somebody KEEPS them. Somebody ALIVE."

She pointed to the darkening sky. "Those explosions…"

"Okay, now you're grasping at straws." Duncan stood to face her. "I'm a journalist, Jen. I made a whole fucking career out of seeking answers, taking picture after picture of those things until they all looked alike to me. They were here before any of us, and they'll be here after we're gone. All we can hope is that we're not walking among them."

"Very moving, Mark. You want to jot that down before you forget?"

"Jen-"

"Don't call me that, asshole."

"I think Kipp's getting sick." Wendy broke in, quickly adding, "from the weather. Looks like it could rain. Between that and the smoke don't you think we should be indoors, Officer?"

"There's shelter here." Grabbing a bit of plastic sticking out of the earth, Voorhees pulled an entire sheet from the dirt and shook it clean. "Let's get beneath the scaffolding, and if it does rain we can drape this over the planks. Okay?"

The group reluctantly gathered together, in stubborn silence, but thankful for the company.

In the auto shop behind the remains of the shelter, Sawbones had managed to work himself out from under the shelf. He rolled over, propped himself up and looked at his nearly-severed feet.

Carefully he took them, one at a time, in his hands, and he tore them off.

The damage done to the dog's-skull had loosened the wires holding it on his head; he rolled over and slammed his face into the floor. The skull shattered, bone hanging in bits from the sides of his head. He tugged the wires out of his flesh.

Sawbones' exposed head was raw meat with patches of malformed skin here and there. His jaw had been wired shut. He pawed at the workbench beside him until it spilled tools into his lap. There, pliers.

The doctor went to work.

When it was done, he parted his lips, breaking capillaries that had formed along the seal, and spat black blood. Reaching in, he felt a full set of teeth there. Despite only being fed through an IV, he had eaten well. He massaged his jaw until he was able to open and close his mouth without using his hands. Not much biting power, but there were ways he could work around that until he was stronger.

There was no going back to the house in the swamp. No more master, no more others. He grabbed the axe and began the process of standing on the stumps of his legs.

Rain started falling on the roof. He rose, fell, rose, fell, carved bits of meat and bone away from his ankles to improve his balance.

Finally, he stood and stayed standing. It required the support of the axe handle, like a crutch, but he was standing. Sawbones took slow, wet steps across the floor. Several times he grabbed at the wall to steady himself. He'd need a better crutch. Especially since the axe was used for other things.

Sawbones walked out into the rain and opened his eyes and lips to receive it.

It felt good.