He felt as peaceful as he had felt in over a year, since this mess had started. His home wasn’t warm or comfortable, but what it lacked in comfort it made up for with security. It was the best he could hope for.
November 2nd
When they found him this time, he didn’t really care.
Jacob heard them just after midnight. They were quiet, but he sensed them, standing in the bottom of his tower. Had there been stairs, they would have been at the top already.
He quietly pushed aside the plywood covering the stairwell hole. It was black in the room, and he stared for several minutes before his eyes adjusted and he was able to make out variations in the darkness.
He watched them for half an hour. Some entered while others left, never discovering where he was hiding. He didn’t feel like revealing himself, and he slid the board back into place. As safe as he felt, it was still a long time before he fell back asleep.
*****
J.P. and Jacob had drunk in silence, the conversation having tapered off as they realized that Mike wasn’t late, he just wasn’t coming.
Jacob finished his beer first. “Let’s go see.”
J.P. nodded. Neither wanted to, but they had to know.
Jacob had never been to Mike’s house near the Pantages Theatre, so J.P. led the way. The door was open, barely hanging on its hinges.
If the destruction in the living room had not clued them in, the smell most definitely did. The strong and distinct odor of rot filled the room. The men looked at each other, and continued inside.
Their feet crunched over broken glass as they climbed the carpeted steps to the second floor. The damage was as bad as it was on the first, but the smell was worse. They covered their noses with the bottom of their shirts. Jacob knew there was no hope. He kept walking.
The upstairs was a disaster, but they knew that Mike hadn’t slept in a bedroom, he had slept in the attic. They didn’t know which room held the attic, but the five mostly-eaten zombie corpses led them to it.
Whatever had happened, Mike had given them hell.
They picked their way through the vile room and through the overpowering stench. There, in the closet ceiling, was the opening to the attic. It was wide open, a silent darkness above.
“Mike,” Jacob said. He had tried to speak louder, but it came out a whisper.
“Mike!” J.P. yelled.
Jacob turned and went downstairs as J.P. continued to call for Mike.
December 5th
It had snowed last night – not the first snow, but the heaviest – and eight centimeters of whiteness covered the ground. Jacob walked out onto his parapet to look out upon the beautiful city.
Surrounding the home were hundreds of footprints. They had been at his doorstep again last night, as they had been the night before. They had violated his home, as they had every home of his for the past year. He would never be free of them.
He left the castle grounds and wandered the quiet streets to a park. The snowy field before him was smooth. He didn’t hurry – he had no place to be.
He crossed a street, then stopped. He hadn’t looked before crossing, the first time he had done that since he was a child. So odd, he thought, that he hadn’t done it before. Cars were a worry for a different time.
He spent the day walking streets he had never walked. The houses, like the rest of the city, were empty. Perhaps another day he would search them, house by house, but today, there was only a quiet stroll.
Jacob stopped for lunch at a café. In the storage room were bags of banana chips that had been overlooked by looters. He sat at a table by the window as he ate, saving a few bags for later. The sun shone brightly over the stillness outside.
He returned to the empty halls of Casa Loma in the waning sunlight of late afternoon. With heavy steps he trudged up creaking stairs to the third floor entrance to his tower. As he climbed the rope ladder to his prison, Jacob grew bitterer. He had survived a near apocalypse to end up holed up in a cold tower and eat can after can of refried beans and creamed corn. The animals tracked him wherever he went. He was the fox, they the hounds.
He didn’t bother to put his plywood cover over the hole. He welcomed the night, his rifle at the ready, and when they came in the darkness, he smiled.
Part III
June 1st
They had stopped coming, and he was worried.
For months, they had mindlessly come to be slaughtered. Jacob was safe in an impenetrable high ground, a tower in Toronto’s Casa Loma, from which he could kill the zombies with impunity during their nightly assaults. It was perfect and deadly.
But the zombies had disappeared a week ago. He had awoken sometime past midnight, grabbed his rifle, and removed the plywood cover over the hole that once held a circular staircase to his tower. Prepared to resume the slaughter that consumed most of his nights, he found the room below empty. Not a single one stared hatefully up at him. The night before, he had killed forty.
They were up to something, but Jacob had no idea what it was.
He watched at dusk as the zombies emerged to roam the city. They were still out there, but they no longer tried to reach him. Why?
*****
The next afternoon, Jacob sat next to J.P. in an English pub by Eaton Centre. J.P. hated being close to the mall, but it was Jacob’s turn to pick their drinking spot, and he was mysteriously attracted to the place which held hundreds of zombies in the darkness of the lower levels.
“That’s strange,” J.P. agreed as Jacob related this latest behavior. “Maybe they got tired to being shot at.”
“Maybe,” Jacob replied, taking a sip of warm Boddington’s. “But the things are so stupid. How did they finally learn not to stand there and get shot?”
J.P. shrugged. “Maybe they have a few smarts after all. Maybe they finally realized they couldn’t get to you and gave up and are looking for some J.P. meat.”
“I feel sorry for them, then. I’ll bet you taste as rank as you smell.”
“I’ll drink to that,” J.P. said, laughing, raising a mock toast. “I can’t seem to find a plumber these days to fix my water problems.”
Jacob nodded. “The service in this town has gone to hell. You think Montreal would be better?”
“What, you want French zombies?” J.P. scoffed? “The only difference would be they’d dip you in butter before taking a bite. Nah, you might as well stay here.”
“Seriously, I think we need to get out of here,” Jacob said. He shook his head. “This place, it’s killing us. Literally. Mike. Jeremy. The others.” He paused. “It’s only a matter of time before they get us, too. They’re getting smarter.”
J.P. stared ahead and took a sip.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know yet. Somewhere north, where fewer people used to live. I vacationed near Port Severn. Lots of hunting, fishing. We wouldn’t run out of food.”
J.P. laughed. “Man, I’ve never hunted in my life. Ditto fishing.”
“You better start learning. The canned food isn’t going to last forever.”
J.P. nodded and drank.
“North, huh?”
“Unless you have better idea. I’m open to others, as long as it’s away from here.”
J.P. finished his beer. “OK, I’ll think about it. The nightlife here isn’t what it used to be.”
June 5th
They had decided to meet today to go over some ideas. Jacob wanted to get far away from Toronto, from any big city, but J.P. wasn’t so sure. He grew up in the city – being surrounded by nature wasn’t his thing – and though Jacob was sure it would have to become his thing, they needed to leave, and soon. Things were changing, and quickly.
The night was once again quiet. He walked the parapets of his castle, looking over the moon-lit grounds around Casa Loma and over the darkened city.
Movement in the gardens caught his attention. He peered into the shadows for whatever it was, but all was still. But he wa
s sure that something had been down there.
*****
J.P. didn’t show. Him being late was a given, but to not make an appearance was not.
After an hour, Jacob decided that he was going to face the inevitable.
J.P.’s home was a jewelry store on Yonge. It was a nearly perfect choice – the jewelry store was a virtual fortress. Thick glass and heavy gates meant the chances of one of those savages getting inside were about zero. But “about zero” wasn’t zero.
The zombie corpses on the porch didn’t bode well. He rounded the top and saw that the things had been killed by gunshots and the gate was down. Good news – the things hadn’t gotten inside. Maybe he had just overslept.
“Hey, J.P.!” Jacob shouted. He peered through the gate into the dimly lit shop.
Jacob saw him lying on the floor. Next to him was a handgun, a pool of blood by his head.
*****
As night fell, Jacob looked out across his overgrown garden and over downtown Toronto. The pleasant sounds of crickets reminded him of summers at campgrounds with his family.
He had cut through the lock on J.P.’s gate and buried him in a nearby park. It had taken most of the day, and J.P. wasn’t buried as deeply as Jacob had wanted, but it was the best he could do with only a shovel and night approaching. But he’d be damned if he let those zombies sink their teeth into J.P.’s body.
Jacob had been right. The city was killing them, one way or another.
His eyes lowered to the castle grounds and fell upon the pale face of a zombie peering at him from inside the tree line.
“Well, you’re a sneaky bastard,” Jacob muttered. He moved his head from side to side, pretending to look around while keeping his eyes fixed on that face.
A few moments later, Jacob returned inside the tower. He didn’t want to give up the ruse.
His head swam. Up until this moment, the zombies had been feral, nearly mindless creatures that relentlessly attacked, their only fear being sunlight. There had been no hint of subterfuge or any kind of intelligence whatsoever.
Obviously, things had changed.
He paced in the darkness of his tower, thinking of how to handle this. He decided that he would simply observe for the moment.
He had had better days.
June 26th
The food supply was getting low again. He had raided J.P.’s stash, but it just wasn’t enough. Reluctantly, he walked to his black F-150 parked outside Casa Loma.
He wove through the streets until reaching the suburb of Vaughan where a warehouse full of food was located. His last visit had been with Mike and J.P, and they had hauled the food out together. Today it was a solo trip.
He backed up to the bay doors and cut the engine. On earlier visits, he had been greeted with zombies lurking inside. He would probably see them again, but he needed food.
He took both his pistol and his shotgun. He had a feeling he would need them both.
The bay doors were closed, but the side door was open. He peered inside, then slowly opened the door, ready for an attack, but all was quiet. He went to the first bay door, and it screeched as he raised it. Any kind of surprise he had was gone, but he was counting on them hating sunlight. When they first appeared, the zombies hated all light, but they had been getting acclimated to it, bad news for the remaining humans. Well, bad news for him – he was the only one left. He opened five of the doors, allowing daylight to flood into the front of the warehouse.
He stood in the light, shotgun in hand, and waited.
In the recesses of the warehouse he heard the distinctive sound of shuffling feet. Yeah, Jacob thought, come on this way. I’ve got something for you.
Down an aisle which ran to the far end of the cavernous warehouse, he saw a flicker of movement. Jacob watched as the hunched figure slowly approached. Behind him, a handful of others were coming as well. “Come a little closer,” Jacob whispered, and even took a step in their direction.
As they stepped a little closer, he pulled the shotgun up to his shoulder. Taking aim, he watched as the ragged figure sped towards him, then fired.
The thing collapsed under the shot, its chest shredded. He fired at the next one with the same results. He continued to take slow steps toward them.
To his left, he saw movement and turned. Two zombies had come down another aisle, and very nearly cut off his route to the door. The light was very bright this close to the entrance, and the things squinted, seeming to have trouble seeing him.
Lucky for Jacob, not so lucky for them.
He swiveled and shot the closest, which collapsed with a squeal. The second was on him immediately, too fast to shoot, pushing him to the ground. Shotgun between them, Jacob shoved against the zombie, keeping its feral face away from his. It growled and snapped its jaws at his face.
Twisting to his side, Jacob dislodged his attacker enough to free his gun, using it to club its face. He quick-stepped back as the zombie scrambled to his feet, but not fast enough to prevent Jacob from taking it down with a shot to the stomach.
Another group reached Jacob, the first zombie lunged at him, its clumsy attempt knocking him backwards and into the sunlight. He fell, his head striking the concrete while his gun spun away.
He vision swam as he used his legs to push backwards into the sunlight and escape his attackers.
They hesitated at the brightness, wanting to drag him farther into the dim warehouse, but hesitating at the painful, hateful light.
Jacob battled unconsciousness, edging back with his elbows to the frustration of the angry, growling zombies. They started forward, but the bright light blinded them, and they randomly grasped for Jacob, finding nothing before retreating into the dark.
He passed the threshold of the building and the safety of his truck bed. He leaned back and could just make out the shadowy figures inside. And all that food he couldn’t get to.
He cursed as he realized it was another dinner of his dwindling supply of cereal and canned corn.
July 1st
The morning was cloudy and cool as he climbed down the rope ladder to the floor of the tower. He needed a plan for food. The warehouse contained a nearly unlimited supply, but one which was next to impossible to reach for one man.
Jacob had hidden caches of food all over the city, and it was time to visit one – his first, actually. His old house, the one he lived in before civilization’s end.
Nothing had changed since he’d left it. The place was still a disaster from that night a year ago when the zombies had found him and he had fled into the night.
He picked his way through the debris and into the basement where he had hidden food behind the furnace. It was still there, and he emptied it his cache. Jacob had a feeling he wouldn’t be back again.
He climbed the creaky stairs to his bedroom, stepping around the skeleton of the zombie he had shot as it rushed up the stairs those many months ago. The splintered door at the top led into his room from which he had narrowly escaped. He picked through his closet and took a few favorites shirt. As he did, he couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to come home.
Home. Where was that now? Anywhere he felt secure. He certainly didn’t think of Casa Loma as home. It was safe, that was all. It was a cold place, in more ways than one.
July 15th
Countless meals of canned food had inspired Jacob to try his hand at fishing. It was simple to find the gear he needed, and he had spent two weeks on the shore of Lake Ontario improving his skills. He made a nice catch, enough for dinner, and biked to another area of town to visit an urban farm. The weeds had taken most it, but there was enough food to make the trip worth his while. He wandered the field, picking tomatoes and strawberries. No canned pasta tonight.
He spent his afternoon searching through houses in an area of town he had not visited since the zombies rose. Apparently, no one else had either – the pantries had been well-stocked.
He hadn’t intended on going to his grandparent’s house, but wi
thout thinking of it, he was there. Jacob didn’t know what had happened to them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, but convincing himself that it would be alright, he kicked in the door that had once been open to him.
Simple furniture and knick knacks collected from dozens of trips across Canada were the decor. Green carpet that should have been replaced ten years ago. Yes, this house brought back memories. He handled some of the smaller items, and placed a small ceramic poodle next to the door. A reminder of family.
He rummaged through the cupboards and found some of the potato chips his grandfather had liked. He opened the bag and found them still edible. Not fresh, but he couldn’t be choosey. Thank goodness for preservatives.
Jacob remembered that his grandfather had kept an old rifle in the basement. He opened the door to the stairs and saw familiar eyes glaring hatefully up at him.
Jacob froze, his heart in his throat.
“Grandpa?”
They stared at each other for several moments, the thing that was his grandfather’s chest heaving in its ragged flannel shirt.
Jacob was stunned, and he reacted slowly as the zombie clambered up the stairs. Jacob stumbled back, reaching for his 9mm as he put space between him and the basement. The thing burst out and Jacob only had time for one shot before it was on him. The shot was true, but it wasn’t enough to stop his grandfather from scrambling onto him and knocking him prone on the living room floor, his gun tumbling across the floor.
Jacob kicked with both legs, giving him room between him and his grandfather, and crawled backwards. Old as he was, the zombie kept coming, slower because of its wound. Jacob got to his knee and noticed a familiar stone door stop. He grabbed it, and as the zombie grabbed Jacob’s shoulders, brought the rock down on his grandfather’s head. It fell to its knees, and Jacob kept on pounding until it stopped moving.
Breathing heavily, Jacob staggered onto the porch into the sunny afternoon daylight. He looked at his hands, bloodied from the skull of his grandfather inside. Beside the corpse, the ceramic dog lay shattered.
*****
Twilight had come again, and they were lurking under the trees. He still made no sign that he noticed them, but they had been there about a half-hour before sunset. The zombies were definitely more light-tolerant. It had been over a year since their rise, which seemed both an eternity and not long at all, considering how radically they had adapted.