The water tower was old and rusty, built into a weathered, wooden platform. Marcus eyed the black, paint-flecked ladder with unease, but began his ascension anyway. Despite his misgivings about the ladder, it held him. Still, he made Ed wait until he'd climbed onto the wooden platform. As he turned around and offered Ed a helping hand, then began climbing the second ladder that would take him to the top of the actual water tower, he was suddenly very, very glad for his exercising habits and healthy lifestyle.
Whatever was going to happen over the next few hours or days or weeks, it would very likely require a great deal of running and jumping and fighting. Marcus went to the gym five days out of the week. After work, he'd stop by for an hour and a half. He ran cardio either on the track or a treadmill, depending on his mood, and then spent half an hour lifting various weights. He was more interested in staying fit and trim than he was building muscle, and as a result, his body was long and lean, his muscles not very big, but still obvious.
Ed, on the other hand...might be a problem.
They came to the top of the water tower and looked around. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Marcus could still feel the tension of what they had just done, of what they were likely going to have to do over and over again if they wanted to survive, hanging on the air. Usually, it was Ed who made some kind of joke.
"Hey," Ed said suddenly, "you think that guy gave you the gun cause you're black?" he asked.
Marcus stopped surveying the landscape and turned to face him. He stared at Ed for a long moment, then abruptly burst out laughing.
"No, Ed," he said, grinning, "he gave me the gun because I'm still lean and mean and you're heading towards couch potato."
"Hey! I resent that," Ed replied.
Marcus reached out and patted Ed on his stomach. "Your gut doesn't."
"Sure, sure, whatever," Ed grumbled. "Doesn't make sense, anyway. If you're fit, then it's your job to beat on the zombies. I'm the guy should be holding the gun. Shooting a gun requires a lot less effort than beating some dead-head's skull in with a pipe."
"That's what makes guns so scary, Ed. Wonderful in a situation like this, but scary in the real world," Marcus replied. "Now, shut up and let's do our homework."
"Hate homework," Ed muttered.
Marcus felt better. Still shaky, still kind of sick, still very afraid, but he could always count on Ed to break the tension in an unhappy situation. He walked to the edge of the water tower's top and began to survey the land. The first and most unhappy fact that leaped to him was that he could see dozens of figures dotting the landscape. Far and nearby, on the road and in the woods, sunshine and shade, he could see them. None of them looked like survivors, though. They all had that awkward, shambling gait that the zombies possessed.
The environment began to give up its secrets though, as he continued his inspection. He could see a faded brick-walled public restroom tagged with some graffiti, two clusters of tents that represented the occupied campsites, a trio of cabins further on and finally he saw a small, fenced-in industrial style warehouse. But, most importantly of all, in the tiny gravel parking lot of the industrial warehouse, he saw...
"Ed, look, a truck!" Marcus said, pointing.
"Probably broken," Ed replied unhappily after a moment, "dead battery or out of gas or something. Otherwise, why would they leave it here?"
"Hey, doesn't hurt to try," Marcus replied. "Okay, look, see how everything's arranged in a kind of crescent moon shape?"
"Crescent moon?" Ed replied.
Marcus sighed. "Half circle!" he snapped. "We'll do it like that, make it quick. We'll start with the two tent sites, then we can take on that bathroom, and then, beyond that, is the cabins. After we check those, we can hit up that warehouse and the truck, then come back to the ranger station. We can do it in like half an hour if we move fast."
"But what if-" Ed began, then shut up as they both heard distant gunshots.
Marcus frowned, staring towards where the shots had come from. Beyond the campgrounds was another steep hill and beyond that was a river that fed into the lake. "Looks like someone else made it," he said. "Okay, we check the tents first, then we go down to the river."
"You want to go towards someone with a gun?" Ed asked.
"Yeah," Marcus replied, heading back to the ladder and beginning the climb down. "Of course. They might know more than we do."
"Anyone knows more than we do at this point," Ed muttered unhappily.
Marcus didn't hold up much hope for the campsites as he finished climbing down. He jumped off the ladder at the end and landed with a soft grunt. Tents would be the first things to go in some kind of emergency situation. When there were zombies around, canvas tents didn't make for good places to hide. But still, there might be some kind of useful supplies in the tents. Marcus thought about their backpacks and abandoned gear.
Would they have time to go back and get it? He wasn't sure, and even if they did, was it worth it? There wasn't much left in the way of supplies in his and Ed's backpacks. They'd pretty much used everything up on the camping trip.
As they approached the first cluster of tents, Marcus was surprised at how quickly his mind was adapting to the situation. He found himself thinking that he should be hunting for relevant things: bottled water, non-perishable food in cans or bags, medical supplies, weapons. He was going to need every edge to survive whatever this situation was. Perhaps he had read enough books, played enough video games, seen enough movies, to have prepared himself for something like this. The reality of living in a zombie apocalypse. Or maybe it was just that he was a product of his time, an era obsessed with the collapse of civilization.
It seemed to him that everyone couldn't stop fantasizing about the scenario, and yet no one ever really seemed to think it through to the end. What was the endgame? All they ever talked about was freedom and getting to kill zombies and being able to do whatever you wanted, with no cops to tell you no. But to Marcus that just sounded like wretched chaos. There'd be no one to save you when you were truly screwed over.
Despite how he felt about the whole thing, some of the culture had seeped into his subconscious. Either way, he was grateful. Despite the fact that he had settled into something of a mundane routine, and that he managed not to think about dying or any greater purpose in life all that often, Marcus found that he desperately wanted to survive. To what ends? It didn't matter. He simply wanted to keep on going.
And he'd do whatever it took to stay alive.
The first tent they came to was a big, expensive one that was nearly the size of his bedroom back in his and Ed's apartment. Both of the flaps that served as doors were unzipped and rolled up, giving easy access to the interior.
"I'll check out here for anything," Ed said, heading to a picnic table that had a cooler and a few backpacks on it.
"Got it," Marcus replied, slipping inside.
For a second, he marveled at the interior. There was an expensive blow-up mattress, a queen-sized one, with a lot of comfortable looking pillows and blankets. Across from it was a flat-screen forty inch TV and a Blu-Ray player set up on a milk crate next to it. In another corner was a mini-fridge and a microwave. The whole interior floor was covered by expensive rugs.
"This is camping?" Marcus muttered.
Why not just stay home? It had to be easier. He shook his head and made for the mini-fridge. Pulling it open, he stared inside. There wasn't much left, but there was something at least. Two bottles of unopened water and a couple cans of soda and beer. He ignored the beer, but began to go for the water and soda, then stopped. He had nowhere to store it. Closing the door, he stood and continued his search.
After finding nothing else of use, he joined Ed back outside, remembering the backpacks he'd seen piled on the table.
"Anything?" Marcus asked.
"Nothing," Ed replied unhappily. "If they had any guns, they took them with them. Not even a hunting knife."
"Well, shit, Ed, there's more we need than guns and knives," Marcus replied, sorting through the backpacks. He found the largest one and emptied it out onto the tabletop.
"What do you mean?" Ed replied.
"Food, water, first aid kits. We don't know how long this thing is going to last."
Ed stopped, then shook his head. "Don't be silly," he said, "I mean, something this big, the military's gotta be here. If not now, then soon, getting us out, right? I mean...someone has to be doing something about this."
Marcus picked up the pack, then looked directly at Ed. "That guy back there, he wasn't a cop. He wasn't a fireman. He wasn't even a doctor, Ed. He obviously wasn't with the military or the government. He was like, a teacher or something. And he was up here looking for survivors. Open your eyes, Ed, we need to help each other and ourselves."
"I...you don't know that," Ed replied uncertainly.
"It's better to be prepared, now grab that pack and help me find supplies," Marcus said.
Reluctantly, Ed nodded and began emptying a second backpack. Marcus returned to the tent and gathered up the water bottles. After a moment's hesitation, he abandoned the soda. He might like it, but it would only dehydrate him, ultimately. He stood and returned to Ed, who was putting a few more water bottles salvaged from the cooler atop the table into his pack.
"I'm ready," he said, shrugging into it.
"All right, let's keep the search up."
They moved on to the next tent of three in this cluster. This one was more traditional, more conservative. It was smaller, a typical triangle tent meant for little more than sleep and maybe sex. There was a grill with a cooler and a duffel bag next to it. Marcus pointed at the tent, and Ed nodded and went for it without a word. He shifted his attention to the scattered supplies around the grill that had been built into a concrete foundation. He opened up the cooler and sighed as he looked inside. Totally empty.
He shut it and turned to the bag. Zipping it open, he rooted around inside, finding mostly clothes. But, as he hunted, he felt something small and hard. He grabbed it and pulled it out, then grinned. Advil. He shook the bottle and listened, it seemed to be about half-full. He pulled out a black t-shirt from the duffel bag that he might need someday and wrapped it around the pill bottle, muffling any possible sound, and slipped the rolled up shirt into the bottom of his backpack. He finished searching the bag, then straightened up.
"Nothing," Ed said unhappily as he emerged from the tent.
Marcus sighed and they pressed on to the next tent in this campsite. They finished searching it, finding nothing of use, and moved on to the second cluster of tents. As soon as they began approaching it, both men froze. A pair of zombies were wandering around in between the tents. While Marcus was deciding how to handle this, they both took notice of the men, let out low groans and began to come towards them, arms outstretched.
"Shit," Ed whispered.
"Batter up," Marcus replied, hefting his crowbar.
One of the zombies was a teenager girl in a battered dress, her hair in a ragged ponytail. The other was a local in a vest with no shirt on beneath it and torn jeans. Ed was hesitating, so Marcus moved to take the girl, since he knew it would be the more difficult of the two to dispatch...psychologically speaking. He raised the crowbar and brought it down onto the girl's head. Her skull broke open with a sharp crack and she collapsed to the ground.
Ed stepped up and swung from the heel, hitting the outdoorsman so hard in the head that his face twisted around, his neck broken.
"God," Ed moaned.
"Yeah, I know, come on," Marcus replied.
There were no more zombies in the immediate area. They hastily searched the tents, finding not much else of use beyond a few more bottles of water. As they were finishing up, they heard more gunshots, seven more in rapid succession. They were much closer now. Marcus and Ed ran away from the campsites, towards the river. They crested the rise that offered a view of the river some thirty feet below. A few trails switch-backed across each other, leading down. Marcus saw someone running across the river.
And nearly a dozen zombies were following them.
"Come on!" Marcus said. "We've got to get down there!"