Fermata: The Winter: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series (The Fermata Series: Four Post-Apocalyptic Novellas Book 1) by Juliette Harper Page B
Authors: Juliette Harper
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nearest the fire, Vick’s face was white from the exertion. She sank gratefully into the chair and Lucy immediately covered her with a blanket.
“Let me make us some tea,” Abbott said quietly, disappearing into the kitchen.
“You want to tell me what made you decide to go hiking in the middle of the night?” Lucy asked, sitting down on the hearth. “You were writing in your journal when I fell asleep.”
“I did a little bit too much remembering for one night,” Vick said.
“Julie?” Lucy asked.
Vick nodded. “Yes. And I was thinking about those first days when the newspeople tried to tell us it was just a fever.”
Lucy shook her head. “They told us to wear masks and stay inside. Not one of them had the guts to tell us we were in the middle of a plague that was turning the whole population into a herd of rabid dogs.”
Abbott joined them. “The water is on to boil,” he said. “What do you mean rabid dogs?”
“This whole thing started with some kind of plague, a virus or something, but now the dead can infect the living with a bite or a scratch. We’ve seen people who were attacked and torn in two wake up and try to find a way to feed.”
“Dear Lord,” he said. “How do you kill them completely?”
“With a head shot,” Vick said. “Or really any massive damage to the cranium. Whatever switch it is that turns them back on is buried deep inside the head. Blood loss won’t do it. Tissue damage doesn’t phase them. They keep right on walking with broken bones. Nothing works but destroying the brain.”
“I imagine these are things you’ve learned the hard way,” Abbott said.
Vick looked into the fire, her features strained in the wavering light. “We had no idea back then just how many lessons we would have to learn.”
Chapter Nine
Boston, 2012
The need for replacement solar panels forced them to make the drive to Boston. It was a beautiful spring day and they decided to cut through the wild tangle that had once been the botanic gardens. Out of nowhere, one of the dead made a grab for Vick. She dodged deftly and Lucy raised her gun to fire, but Vick hissed, “No. The shot will echo and attract more of them. Come on.”
They sprinted ahead of their shambling pursuer, hopping over a little stream. Vick glanced back, then slowed and put her hand on Lucy’s arm, pointing behind them. As they watched, the dead man stumbled to a stop and stood staring down at the moving water, which was no more than two feet across and probably less than a foot deep.
He could have easily stepped over or waded through, but instead he was making nervous mewling sounds and swaying uncertainly. After a minute or two, he backed away and wandered off as if he’d forgotten about them entirely.
“What the hell?” Lucy whispered.
“I think it was the water,” Vick answered.
To test the theory, they intentionally attracted another of the creatures, and the same thing happened again, and then again. Like everything else they learned about the dead, the two women used their new knowledge to their advantage.
Although the project occupied several weeks and involved multiple abortive versions of the final product, they ultimately figured out how to use a pump rigged to a generator to draw water from the deep spots at the base of the cliff behind the house in Maine.
They directed the water and sent it down a makeshift ditch on the west side of the main building. The pump was too loud to run all the time, but if the dead ever started showing up in numbers, they could turn it on and create an extra barrier.
Often Vick thought they just made work for themselves to stay occupied, but as the basement gradually filled with supplies and equipment, her sense of safety grew. Two could carry more than one, and on what they called “shopping” excursions, they watched each other’s back. Slowly the house did become the I Am Legend set, which was their standard joke. There was no lab in the basement and
“Let me make us some tea,” Abbott said quietly, disappearing into the kitchen.
“You want to tell me what made you decide to go hiking in the middle of the night?” Lucy asked, sitting down on the hearth. “You were writing in your journal when I fell asleep.”
“I did a little bit too much remembering for one night,” Vick said.
“Julie?” Lucy asked.
Vick nodded. “Yes. And I was thinking about those first days when the newspeople tried to tell us it was just a fever.”
Lucy shook her head. “They told us to wear masks and stay inside. Not one of them had the guts to tell us we were in the middle of a plague that was turning the whole population into a herd of rabid dogs.”
Abbott joined them. “The water is on to boil,” he said. “What do you mean rabid dogs?”
“This whole thing started with some kind of plague, a virus or something, but now the dead can infect the living with a bite or a scratch. We’ve seen people who were attacked and torn in two wake up and try to find a way to feed.”
“Dear Lord,” he said. “How do you kill them completely?”
“With a head shot,” Vick said. “Or really any massive damage to the cranium. Whatever switch it is that turns them back on is buried deep inside the head. Blood loss won’t do it. Tissue damage doesn’t phase them. They keep right on walking with broken bones. Nothing works but destroying the brain.”
“I imagine these are things you’ve learned the hard way,” Abbott said.
Vick looked into the fire, her features strained in the wavering light. “We had no idea back then just how many lessons we would have to learn.”
Chapter Nine
Boston, 2012
The need for replacement solar panels forced them to make the drive to Boston. It was a beautiful spring day and they decided to cut through the wild tangle that had once been the botanic gardens. Out of nowhere, one of the dead made a grab for Vick. She dodged deftly and Lucy raised her gun to fire, but Vick hissed, “No. The shot will echo and attract more of them. Come on.”
They sprinted ahead of their shambling pursuer, hopping over a little stream. Vick glanced back, then slowed and put her hand on Lucy’s arm, pointing behind them. As they watched, the dead man stumbled to a stop and stood staring down at the moving water, which was no more than two feet across and probably less than a foot deep.
He could have easily stepped over or waded through, but instead he was making nervous mewling sounds and swaying uncertainly. After a minute or two, he backed away and wandered off as if he’d forgotten about them entirely.
“What the hell?” Lucy whispered.
“I think it was the water,” Vick answered.
To test the theory, they intentionally attracted another of the creatures, and the same thing happened again, and then again. Like everything else they learned about the dead, the two women used their new knowledge to their advantage.
Although the project occupied several weeks and involved multiple abortive versions of the final product, they ultimately figured out how to use a pump rigged to a generator to draw water from the deep spots at the base of the cliff behind the house in Maine.
They directed the water and sent it down a makeshift ditch on the west side of the main building. The pump was too loud to run all the time, but if the dead ever started showing up in numbers, they could turn it on and create an extra barrier.
Often Vick thought they just made work for themselves to stay occupied, but as the basement gradually filled with supplies and equipment, her sense of safety grew. Two could carry more than one, and on what they called “shopping” excursions, they watched each other’s back. Slowly the house did become the I Am Legend set, which was their standard joke. There was no lab in the basement and
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