Free Fountain of the Dead by Scott T. Goudsward

Boston. He followed the lines of abandoned cars on the south side bridge until he saw the signs for 93 North and started jogging. The massive green signs sat on rusted poles, marred with bullet holes and scorch marks. Williams stopped to examine one and catch his breath. The blood splatter on one sign must have gone up 10 feet. Williams continued silent and fast; the further from the city he got, the more his family and survival filled his mind. He dodged cars, tried to keep even breaths and watch out for any dead shambling up the highway.
     
    * * * * *
     
    When the area was cleared Catherine looked up from the book. She wasn’t reading any way; the words refused to focus, especially after her decision to help Pierce. Frank sat on the railing of his porch trying to be subtle that he wasn’t keeping an eye on her. She folded the page corner and it the book on the road and waved Frank over.
    “What can I do for you, Catherine?”
    “Micah wrote something in the journal about some kind of test. Something to prove the water works. Otherwise we’re just striking out blind here.” Frank nodded and rubbed his chin deep in thought.
    “I could shoot Pierce, if we had the ammo to spare.” Frank said.
    “I knew you were going to say that.”
    “I’m not shooting anyone I care about.”
    “We can try cutting ourselves and see how it does on flesh wounds. All things being all things, there’s not a whole lot of water in that canteen. And Sam had a point. How did he haul water up the east coast without drinking that?” Frank took the knife out of his boot and flexed his hand, ready to cut. There was motor oil and grit under his nails. Even though she’d killed undead, stitched wounds and pulled bullets out of people Catherine turned her eyes away before Frank cut into himself. Frank pressed the blade to his arm, scowled and thought again. He put the blade on his thumb.
    “Why aren’t we cutting Pierce?” He asked.
    “Honestly, Frank, I couldn’t tell you.” Catherine looked at the houses, some with candle light in the windows, others using generator power. “Go get him.” She smiled and patted his arm. “Get his canteen too, we may need that for this test.” She watched him walk off towards the shed. “If he disagrees, feel free to smack him around.”
    “Want me to get Micah?” Frank asked.
    “It was his idea, but no. Let’s keep this between us.”
    She watched Frank move the canvas flaps that used to be an old tent, on top of the shed and unlock it. He disappeared inside. After a few seconds of muted and incoherent shouting, Pierce was pushed out of the shed, landing hard on his side and sliding on the road. Frank came out right after holding the canteen. He shrugged at Catherine and helped Pierce to stand.
    “You called?” Pierce said holding his side.
    “We’re going to test your water. See if it works, see how it works.” Catherine said. Pierce lunged for the canteen tight in Frank’s hand. “First we need to give someone an injury.” Pierce calmed down at the threat.
    “Frank,” Catherine said calmly. “I’ll do it.”
    “Like hell you will. We take him, drop him outside for a minute and pull him back in. If it doesn’t work, I shoot him in the head. Two problems solved with one bite.” Pierce raised his hand like a child asking a question in school.
    “I’d much rather she do it.”
    “Give me the knife, Frank, now.” Frank handed her the knife handle first and opened the canteen. Pierce looked on with an odd bloodlust in his eyes. Catherine made a shallow incision down her arm. She bled as the skin cut and separated. She gasped with pain and Frank poured the water on her arm.
     
    * * * * *
     
    They lined up in front of Catherine while the groans of the undead surrounded them from the outside of the fences, like they knew something was going on. Micah made a quick sketch of the crowd and the stew pot set on the stump, where the ballots would go. Catherine was the first one to drop