Chapter 6
Wyatt hopped into the front seat of Carter’s car. Automatically, he reached for the radio button, turning it off as static burst from the speakers. He pulled out, tires squealing, knowing he was going to hear about that from Carter when he returned.
He slowed as he made the right turn down the center of the town. Just as Doc Morris said, Old Man Jimmy Vilardo stood in front of the drug store, a 12 gauge in his gnarled hands. Wyatt waved. Jimmy nodded with a slight shake of his head, his face impassive.
The donut shop was closed, as was the row of storefronts that serviced the best of Copper Valley. The dress shop, auto parts store, and Chinese takeout looked as normal as they could on an early Monday morning.
Sunlight sparkled on the floor in front of the hardware store, as though the sidewalk was covered with ice. It was broken glass, the storefront window smashed, an extension cord and blister packs of batteries strewn across the pavement.
Wyatt reached for his cell phone to tell Carter, then chucked it onto the passenger seat, remembering that nothing worked. He felt the comforting weight of the Glock nestled in his waistband.
He pressed the gas pedal, making a sharp turn on the next block. This was an older part of town, the mid-century ranches in pink or green shingles lining the road. Here and there, more contemporary khaki stucco houses were newly constructed. Wyatt searched for any activity, but the streets remained devoid of life.
He pulled into number thirty-nine, behind the Drucker family minivan. Wyatt looked up at the top of the driveway, spying two bikes thrown on the ground blocking the path to the front door. They belonged to Howard Drucker’s younger twin brothers. They were about twelve, maybe thirteen … Wyatt tried to remember. He paused to take out the gun from his pants, then placed it under the driver’s seat.
Wyatt vaulted up the front stoop, knocking on the door. The brass knocker fell with a hollow clank. He saw the drapes part. Howard Drucker’s pale face peered through the window. Their eyes met, and Howard smiled brightly.
A minute later the door opened, and he was pulled into the hallway, surrounded by all four brothers. They all looked like Howard at different ages in life. Each had a full head of black, springy hair, thick glasses, and that same concave chest with slouchy shoulders.
He wanted to talk to Howard, tell him what he was thinking of doing, but the crowd of brothers stilled his tongue. Besides, he couldn’t get a word in with them all talking at once.
Twins Barry and Garry and Howard’s older brother Sheldon peppered him with questions. Mrs. Drucker came in, wiping her hands on a dishrag, interrupting them with a shrill whistle.
“Stop talking all at once. He can’t get a word out.” She eyed him critically, then reached out to give him a tight hug. “Thank God you made it out alive. Howard told me all about your battle with the zombies.”
Her brown hair was tied up in a kerchief, and the sleeves of her dress were rolled up as well. She reminded Wyatt of the old World War II poster, Rosie the Riveter. She was tough, had to be. Howard Drucker’s father worked at some base out west. Mrs. Drucker refused to leave the town where she grew up, choosing to bring up her brood of four boys in quiet Copper Valley. Colonel Drucker used to commute but had recently retired.
“Where’s the Colonel?” Wyatt asked. They all still referred to Howard’s father by his army rank, even though he was no longer serving.
“Boarding up the windows.” She looked at the twins and finished, “Alone.” Her hands on her hips, she motioned with her head, and the two younger boys ran to the back of the house to help their father. “What are you waiting for?” She asked the older boy. Howard went to leave, but she pulled him back. “You can stay, Howard.” She turned to Wyatt. “How is Carter doing?”
“He’s out of the hospital now and went to the police station. Everybody is … well. He’s running the place now. He … I mean we … we need help. We have to find as many people as we can and get them down to the VFW hall. Carter’s going to …” Wyatt felt ten years old. Mrs. Drucker listened intently. “He asked if the boys can help round up everybody with me.”
“I don’t know, Wyatt. We have to prepare …”
“Yes.” Colonel Drucker walked into the room. He was wearing his T-shirt, and Wyatt felt his face color up. He had never seen Howard’s father in anything but a uniform. His retirement was relatively new. His fish-belly white skin reminded him of a zombie, and for a minute, words failed him.
“Arnie, you need help here,” Mrs. Drucker barked. “They told us not to leave the house. We should all stay together.”
Colonial Drucker looked at Wyatt and said, “I would have met Carter at the police station, but they ordered everyone off the streets.” He turned to his wife and said firmly, “Ellen, town’s more important. I’m glad someone’s finally taken control.”
“Doc Morris said something about securing a food supply,” Wyatt added.
“Food supply! Surely that’s not a problem?” Mrs. Drucker twisted the dishtowel in her hands.
“Could be, honey,” he told her. “Barry, Garry, Howard, and what’s the last one’s name?” It was an old family joke, but somehow no one was in the mood for humor. “They need help gathering volunteers in the neighborhood. Go with Wyatt. I’ll finish up here. Leave me this block; I’ll handle it and meet you at the hall. You think Carter might like a hand?”
“I’m sure he’d be happy if you helped out.”
Colonel Drucker nodded. “Let’s get these windows finished, and I’ll head up to the Hall. Boys, let’s get cracking.”
Barry, or maybe it was Garry, grabbed the keys to the minivan from a hook on the wall.
“Shotgun,” the other twin called.
Sheldon was tall and rangy, just over twenty. He brushed back his long dark hair and stood silently in front of the door, holding out his hand. Barry tried to duck around him, but Howard pulled him by the back of his tee. “There’s no time for that. Give Shel the keys.” He exchanged a long-suffering look with his older brother. “You take one twin; I’ll take the other. There will be fewer problems that way.”
Sheldon nodded.
Wyatt was already out the door and down by his car. He saw the four brothers standing together on the small stoop, as if they were taking a family picture.
A chill of dread traveled up his spine, making him shudder uncontrollably. A thought that this may be the last time they were together as a group flittered through his mind. He shook it off.
“I’ll take the east end of Silverado Boulevard. You take the other side of town. C’mon, Howard Drucker. Carter’s waiting!”
The brothers split apart. Howard and either Barry or Garry—Wyatt wasn’t sure which one of the devil twins he got—bounded toward the car like puppies. He made a quick U-turn, heading towards the north side of town.