Together Cliff, Aaron, and Scruffy set off down the stairs and into the darkened living room. Aaron was excited to finally get a fire going in the chilly house. So excited, in fact, that he slipped on an empty beer can as he bounded across the floor. The can skittered and clacked across the floor, but Aaron managed to keep his balance.
“Dude,” he complained as he regained his composure, “Why’s it always such a fucking mess in here? Don’t the kids clean up after they party here?”
“Did you guys clean up when you partied here?” Cliff asked.
Aaron shook his head, “No, of course not.”
“Well, there you go then.”
Digging through his pocket, Aaron retrieved the cigarette lighter that Rita had given him. It was a dark blue plastic job with a red safety switch next to the flint. The lighter looked like it was a cheap one that could be found in any dollar store or convenience store across the country. It took a couple attempts, but Aaron flicked it on.
By dim firelight, Aaron inspected the fireplace. The ashen remains of the last fire were still within, but like everything else in the house these were cold too. Aaron extinguished the lighter.
“Shucks,” he complained, “I was hoping it’d be all ready to go.”
“Right,” Cliff rolled his eyes, “As if we’d be so lucky. Also, the firewood is like, right outside.”
“Yeah, but it’s cold out there,” Aaron rubbed his arms through his sleeves as he shivered. “I don’t suppose you’d be a champ and go get some?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cliff could see that Aaron wasn’t. “Sorry pal, but I’ll be a bro instead and help you get the firewood.”
“Whatever,” Aaron sighed dejectedly, “I guess that works.”
Cliff and Aaron stepped towards the front door that was still slightly ajar. Scruffy budged in front of them and nosed his way through the door first. He was excited to get outside and stretch his legs again, and bounded across the scraggly grass on the stoney island.
“That’s one happy pooch,” Cliff noted with a smile.
“Yeah, too bad Steve wasn’t here to see him,” Aaron sighed.
The smile vanished from Cliff’s face. He turned away brusquely and walked towards where the firewood was kept in a neat pile next to the house. A previous visitor had already chopped several pieces to kindling, no doubt compelled to do so by some drunken fantasy of lumberjackery. Cliff loaded up on firewood, and Aaron helped too. Together they marched back inside, leaving Scruffy to his play.
“Do you even know how to build a fire?” Cliff asked as he dumped his pile of firewood near the fireplace.
“No,” Aaron admitted as he set his load down too, “My folks never took me camping.”
“I’ll take care of it, but I need you to find some things,” Cliff instructed, “We have kindling and logs, but I need some kind of firestarter. Newspaper, wood chips, or even dried up grass if you can’t find anything.”
“Is regular paper okay?” Aaron asked, “In case I can’t find a newspaper lying around.”
Cliff gave Aaron an odd look. “Of course it is,” he chided, “Whether it’s in a newspaper or from a book, or printer, or whatever, it’ll work. What the hell do you think a newspaper is made out of?”
“I don’t know,” Aaron shrugged, “I thought the paper was special. I mean, you can’t normally get it in sheets that big.”
Momentarily speechless, Cliff struggled to find his words. “Just go find something that burns easily,” he finally managed to spit out.
With a halfhearted and completely improper salute, Aaron marched off into the kitchen and left Cliff to get the fireplace ready. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d find for combustibles, but he was sure he’d turn something up.
The kitchen was as much of a mess as the living room, with refuse littered all over the floors and countertops. By a shuttered window a small but solid table stood against the wall on his left, covered from top to bottom in graffiti. To Aaron’s amusement, someone had taken the time to stack up empty beer cans to form a small little castle on top of the table. The refrigerator and stove were next to the countertops on the wall next to the back door. On his right was a door, ostensibly leading to the bathroom.
Deciding to try his luck in the bathroom, Aaron pushed his way through the door on his right. This room was in desperate need of a cleaning by the smell of it. Reaching out to the toilet, Aaron tried to flush. Nothing happened, and he glumly accepted there must be something wrong with the plumbing. He was about to retreat from the room entirely before he gagged from the smell when he spotted something he might be able to use. Perched on top of the holder for it was half a roll of toilet paper.
Snatching up the roll of tissue, Aaron left the bathroom as quickly as he could and returned to Cliff. “Will this work?” he asked as he offered him the toilet paper.
“Sure will,” Cliff answered as he took it.
The fireplace was all ready to be lit, save for the firestarter. Cliff had arranged the wood with the smallest pieces at the bottom so that they could catch light and in turn light the larger logs. Holding out the roll, Cliff had Aaron light the roll from one end before he placed it beneath the kindling. The paper burned brilliantly, yet Cliff still had to coax the flames licking the wood into taking off. After a few minutes of work, they had a roaring fire going.
Aaron happily sat on the fire a few feet away from the blaze. Now that he could finally dry out and get warm, he didn’t even care that there were zombies lurching through the city. Cliff had other concerns, however.
“Did you get that roll from the bathroom?” he asked Aaron.
“Yeah, how come?” Aaron wondered.
“Were there any others?”
“I didn’t see any,” Aaron answered, “Why would we need more?”
“Why do you think we’d need more?”
Aaron thought for a moment. “In case the fire goes out and we need to start it again?” he guessed.
“No,” Cliff shook his head, “What do you normally use toilet paper for?”
“Oh,” it dawned on Aaron, “Shit.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”
“Maybe rescue will show up before we have to worry about it,” Aaron remained hopeful.
“Yeah, they better,” Cliff nodded, “But either way, I’m saving Mrs. Withers’ prunes for the end.”
The mention of food, even old lady food that nobody his age should be interested in, made Aaron hungry. “If only we had some marshmallows,” Aaron thought out loud as he looked into the burning flames, “Then we could have some roasted marshmallows and hot dogs. If we had some hot dogs, that is.”
“I think there was a can of spam in the bag,” Cliff gestured at their provisions with a tilt of his head, “Toasted spam might be like toasted hot dogs.”
Aaron thought for a moment. “I’m going out to get a stick,” Aaron decided as he climbed to his feet.
Just as Aaron was standing up, Scruffy nosed his way back inside. He was happily wagging his tail, no doubt having just finished his business in a new place. Although that was the pinnacle of excitement for dogs, Scruffy was now content to curl up in front of the fire in the spot Aaron had just vacated.
“We have to barricade the door still,” Cliff noted, “I forgot all about it.”
“That can wait until I find my stick,” Aaron decided before stepping out into the brisk night air.
After several minutes of searching, Aaron found the perfect stick at the foot of the apple tree. It was sturdy, possessed a good length, and the end of the stick forked out. All in all, it was perfect for campfire cooking. Aaron wondered if Scruffy had probably peed on the tree. Shrugging the thought away, he decided that it would just give the spam a more authentic and gamey flavour.
A raindrop spattered on the back of his head. Looking up, Aaron saw that stormy clouds had gathered overhead. Shaking of the sense of foreboding creeping inside him, Aaron told himself he was happy to have a cozy fire indoors to go back to. Turning his back on the clouds, Aaron strutted back inside.
“I found a stick,” Aaron announced as he pushed the door somewhat shut behind him.
Cliff stood up and addressed Aaron, “I’ve been thinking, there might actually be some marshmallows here. That’d be the kind of thing somebody might bring here for a party.”
“Yeah, but how long ago?” Aaron couldn’t help asking, “What if they’re all spoiled?”
“Do marshmallows even go bad?” Cliff asked, “Have you ever had a rotten marshmallow before?”
Aaron thought a moment. “Good point,” he agreed before gesturing with his toasting stick, “To the kitchen!”
Together they walked into the kitchen and marched straight to the cupboards. They started rummaging through them, but didn’t turn up marshmallows. For that matter, they didn’t find any food.
“Well, that was a bust,” Aaron sighed.
Cliff turned to lean against the counter. “What’s that?” he gestured at the beer can fortress.
“Someone had too much time on their hands,” Aaron supplied, “It looks like a castle to me.”
“We should name it,” Cliff suggested.
Aaron thought for a moment. “Beerberg,” he declared.
“Castle Coors,” Cliff countered.
“Fort Draught.”
“Molson and Bailey.”
Leaning in for a better look, Aaron struggled to come up with another name. However, he saw something hidden away inside the aluminum bastion. A portable radio had been left behind, no doubt obscured by the screen of cans. Gingerly reaching over the walls, Aaron retrieved the radio.
“What’ve you got there?” Cliff asked as he stepped in to get a better look.
“It’s a radio,” Aaron inspected the device, “I wonder if it’s got any batteries left.”
Flicking the power switch into the on position, Aaron was greeted with very loud static. The noise startled him, and he almost dropped the radio. Instead, he lowered the volume and started tuning for a channel.
“That sounded like voices,” Cliff pointed out as the static warbled, “Go back to that.”
Complying, Aaron adjusted the frequency. The antenna was damaged, and it was hard to zero in on the source, but finally they could hear a voice speaking over the static.
“This is a military broadcast,” a calm, modulated voice spoke against the hiss of the radio. “Fog City is under a state of emergency, and the government has declared martial law. Do not leave your homes, or you may be mistaken for infected. If an infected person attempts to enter your home, you may defend yourself by destroying the brain. Evacuation is forthcoming, but if you need emergency assistance, or encounter infected outside the city limits, the following is a set of instructions to establish contact by shortwave radio.”
Together Cliff and Aaron listened to the instructions. After they concluded, the message repeated itself. When it started a third time, they realised it must be a recording.
“So they’re going to evacuate us,” Aaron beamed, “That’s good news, right?”
“I don’t know,” Cliff shook his head, “We’re not really in the city here. They might not think to come out here looking for survivors.”
“Well, then we’ll just go back to the mainland,” Aaron said.
“No way,” Cliff argued, “The last thing I want is for some jarhead to put a bullet in me because I might be a zombie.”
“Oh yeah,” Aaron thought about their options, “I guess we could call them? They gave us instructions on how to use a shortwave radio. Maybe we can MacGyver this into one of those.”
“You don’t know how a radio works, do you?” Cliff asked.
“You don’t know how MacGyver works, do you?” Aaron shot back.
Cliff chuckled, but an idea formed at the mention of the radio. “Maybe there is a shortwave radio here. Lighthouses used to have radios in them so they could flag down passing ships. What if when this one was decommissioned it was left behind?”
“Great idea,” Aaron grinned, “Let’s go get us a military escort.”
Aaron and Cliff walked back into the living room and found Scruffy staring out the door. His hackles were raised and his tail was firmly tucked between his legs.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Cliff asked the dog as if it could tell him.
With a whimper, Scruffy stepped backwards away from the door. Cliff pushed past the dog to see what had him spooked. Peering out the door, Cliff realised how much danger they were in. From the front door, Cliff had a commanding view of the island. So it wasn’t difficult for him to spot the army of zombies staggering up the gentler slope on the far side of the island.
Something wet struck his face. Looking up at the stormy clouds above, Cliff realised things were worse than he thought. It was a dark and stormy night.
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