by Anna Abner
Hunny refused to let me go. If anything, she tightened her grip, as if she were a wrestler instead of a scared little girl.
The light-haired guy in the green U.S. Army tee approached with his weapon holstered and his hands out like I was a crazy person and needed to be calmed down. I hated him immediately. And yet he was another answer to another prayer.
“Don’t leave,” he called. “Maybe we can help each other.”
On further inspection these two males were surviving well. They weren’t sparkling, but they were decently clean under the fresh blood splatter, which meant they had enough water to bathe. They were doing better than me. I didn’t have enough clean fluid to drink.
I’d taken four sponge baths since moving into the panic room behind the kitchen. And those had been at the beginning. I hadn’t had enough water to wash with in days.
But the loaded weapon hanging from the guy’s belt taunted me. “I don’t need any help,” I retorted.
“Everybody needs help.”
I was doing just fine on my own. Except for the lack of water. And my sprained knee. And the zombie stalking me. But the last thing I needed was this gun nut interfering in my personal life.
“Let go of me, Hunny,” I said, calmer, almost robotic. I’d found another survivor. Time to cut my losses and move on. “He’s going to take care of you now.”
Army Guy rocked back on his heels. “Wait. What?”
Hunny glanced up and, as our eyes met, we had an understanding. I knew what she was searching for. I wasn’t her ideal protector. But this guy could be. She unlocked her hands and threw herself around his waist.
I exhaled audibly. It was a huge relief to be free of Hunny and all that responsibility. No more distractions or detours. I was officially alone, exactly the way I preferred it. I was better off on my own. It was simpler. Safer.
With a last wave good-bye, I hobbled away.
“Hold on.” The guy pursued me, dragging Hunny. “You can’t walk off. It’s dangerous out there.”
“I’ve been alone for a long time.” Not that it was any of his business.
“I’m Pollard.” He flattened one palm against his chest and then extended it for me to shake. “Pollard Datsik. What’s your name?”
He had long, blood-flecked fingers. I recalled my dad’s rules—don’t shake hands, don’t touch your face, wash constantly.
I didn’t accept his offer. Instead, with my chin up I limped toward the on-ramp to the I–40.
“You’re hurt.” Pollard trailed me, and Hunny shuffled her feet to keep up, her arms still looped above his hips. “How are you going to protect yourself? All that noise we made will bring out the zombies. You’ll be an easy target.”
“I’m fine.” I stared meaningfully at the loaded weapon on his hip and the blood splatter on his clothing. “I don’t need any help.”
Joining up with Pollard, the red-haired teen, and whomever else they had in their group would only delay my trip to Dad’s lab. Or scrap it altogether.
“Maya,” Hunny chimed in, “they saved us from that killer kid. They’re cool.”
“Fine, they’re awesome. But it doesn’t matter. I have my own plan.”
“You’re bleeding,” Pollard said. “We have bandages.”
I’d almost forgotten about my first zombie fight. Nothing hurt. Yet. But he was right. My sneakers were stained with blood and both my hands were red. I needed first-aid or I might contract an infection at a time I couldn’t afford to have a weakened immune system.
“Come with us,” he urged. “It’s safer in groups.”
He was wrong about that. “What do you care?” I asked.
He threw up his hands in defeat. “I’m just trying to keep everyone alive. Have it your way.”
As he stalked off, I felt a tickle of panic in my stomach. They had water, a safe place to sleep, and first-aid. I hated to admit it, but I needed them. I couldn’t continue in my current state, not alone.
Grumbling, I hopped a step in his direction and that’s when I heard them. Zombies in the trees behind the adjacent gas station. A lot of them.
And I was easy prey. “On second thought,” I said, gesturing to the approaching pack. “We better get out of here. Trouble’s coming.”
Pollard recognized the impending danger and hissed, “Russell. Zombies on the move. We’re leaving.”
Russell came to the door of the restaurant and leaned out. “We haven’t collected anything good yet.”
There was no other choice and he knew it. “If we don’t leave right now we’re all going to die. There’s not enough ammunition to kill a group that size.” Without asking permission, Pollard put an arm around my waist to help me limp faster.
His handgun brushed my ribs, and my pulse p-p-pumped in tempo presto. I didn’t want to see a gun, let alone hug one.
I believed, like any rational person, that the Reds were ill human beings. Sick, but still people. I didn’t go around killing people, let alone kids. It upset me to think of little Jack’s body lying inside the restaurant when I knew for a fact a cure existed.
I jabbed my elbow into Pollard’s ribs. “Get off me.”
He made an oomph sound, but tightened his grip, effectively locking my offending arm to my side.
“Shut up, and let me help you,” he growled back. “Now, is it just the two of you? Or are there more girls I’ve gotta save?”
Hunny had no issues trusting strangers whatsoever. “We’re totally alone. We don’t even have a car.” Her eyes lit up. “Do you have a car?”
“Better.” Pollard pointed. “I have a dirt bike.”
On the sidewalk were parked two Kawasakis with large orange gas cans attached like saddlebags. “We drive up here sometimes looking for fuel.”
My heart leapt. “You have a generator?” Did they have real, live electricity?
“We siphon the gas for our bikes. Why?” He narrowed his eyes. “You have something you want to plug in?”
“No.” I wasn’t ready to share my private business. I couldn’t trust them not to take my iPad away. I couldn’t even imagine losing my songs. Not to mention photos, videos, text messages…
Pollard released me in order to kick-start one of the dirt bikes. Once he got it running, he glanced up and something over my shoulder caught his attention. “What about him? He’s not with you?”
Hunny and I turned at the same time. Ben stood on the other side of the highway. A silent statue between two crumbling concrete barriers.
I stuttered over an appropriate response, but Hunny spoke up with zero difficulties. “He’s a Red.”
Pollard pulled his weapon, and I bounded forward, slamming the barrel to the side. It fired a bullet into the asphalt only a handful of feet from my right sneaker. But I’d reacted without thinking. I saw a gun and only knew it had to be gotten rid of.
The sound of the gunshot rattled my teeth and liquefied my insides. The lights flickered, but that wasn’t right. The sun didn’t flicker. And then my vision hazed over as if I was going to cry.
“Are you nuts?” Pollard’s face reddened in anger. And maybe a little fear. “Don’t ever get in front of my weapon! I almost killed you.”
Bile rose, and I bent over a blue two-door to puke. But all I’d had to eat was a couple cookies.
“He’s been following us all day,” I panted between dry heaves. “He didn’t hurt us even when he had the chance.”
“A nonviolent Red?” Pollard scoffed. “Are you one of those weirdos who won’t kill zombies?”
I didn’t like the way he said it, but yes maybe I was. I’d never killed anyone or anything. If that made me a freak, well, so be it.
Hunny waved her arms wildly in the direction of the gas station next door. “Guys!”
Pollard holstered his firearm as Russell emerged from the dining room.
“We need to move. Now.” Pollard met my gaze with his shockingly pretty blue eyes. “You’re riding with me.”
I glanced from the approachin
g pack of Reds to Pollard and his mega gun and then back again.
“Why do you have blood on your clothes?” It was an important point. If he didn’t give me a believable answer I was out of there.
A shadow flittered across his face. “We were south of here in an auto lube place. We didn’t know there were zombies inside until it was too late.” His voice cracked. “Russell lost his little sister.”
Damn. Swallowing thickly, I avoided his attempts to help and climbed on the back of the Kawasaki.
“The dirt bikes can’t carry much more weight.” He gestured at my overstuffed backpack. “Dump any non-essentials.”
I was afraid if I opened my pack Pollard would get nosy. My personal belongings were none of his business.
“It’s all essential.”
I sent a last look at Ben where he stood across the lanes of abandoned vehicles, expecting it to be the last time I’d ever see him. It bothered me, losing sight of him. He was a Red zombie. If locked in a room with me, he would tear me to pieces and lick his fingers afterwards.
But he’d saved my life.
I raised my right hand in a silent good-bye. He didn’t wave back, but his gaze followed me as Pollard revved the engine, and we took off, zigzagging north on the I–40.
Chapter Seven
Pollard’s compound was big and garish and the opposite of my comfortable home in the suburbs.
He and Russell and whoever else was in their group had taken over a super-sized truck stop on the edge of the I–40, the kind with a gas station, car wash, convenience store and a restaurant. A full stop shop.
Knowing Reds couldn’t climb, not more than a few steps, Pollard and his crew had pushed various abandoned vehicles into a makeshift wall around the perimeter. And in case that wasn’t enough of a deterrent they’d covered all the doors and windows with a hodge-podge of plywood, sheet metal and broken furniture. It was a piecemeal prison. Except it hadn’t been barricaded to keep criminals in, but to keep zombies out.
I didn’t like it, but my arms and legs had begun to sting during the ten-minute ride, and now all four limbs ached. I needed first aid, and then I’d vanish into the surrounding pines before these two zombie killers even knew I was gone.
Pollard drove me on his dirt bike—Russell and Hunny directly behind on the second bike—up to the entrance. Cold, gray duct tape covered the inside of the front door. Icky. Were they hiding something in there? Or just hiding?
Russell helped Hunny off his bike and then patted his pockets, a frown on his face.
“Everything okay?” Pollard asked his friend, offering his hand to me.
Ignoring his help, I said, “I’m good.”
“Sure you are,” he grumbled.
Russell checked his pockets one more time. “I lost my lighter.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. “It must have fallen out on the ride over.” He nodded at Pollard. “Can I borrow yours?”
“Sure.” From a pocket, Pollard produced a disposable, tiger print lighter and tossed it.
Besides the green tee Pollard wore cargo pants with bulgy pockets. Anything could be in those compartments. Knives. Ammo. Chloroform. Almost certainly more guns.
Violent types like Pollard always carried more than one weapon. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had three or four different handguns hidden on his body. Acid crawled up the back of my throat.
“So weird.” Russell shook his head as he ambled around the side of the building.
I glanced at Hunny, feeling a pattern emerging. The sweet-faced eight-year-old was empty-handed, but at least two things had gone missing around her. Again, I realized I didn’t know anything about her except that her parents had been rich and she’d spent time as a glorified prisoner in a medical quarantine.
“I’ll help you inside,” Pollard said, grabbing my arm without asking and urging me toward the glass doors covered in duct tape. I couldn’t see any hint of the interior of the former restaurant and convenience store. Worst-case scenarios ran through my mind. Medical experiment lab? Torture chamber?
My dad would never allow me through that door, especially knowing one of my companions had a firearm and wasn’t afraid to use it.
But I needed water, and they had enough to share.
“What’s with the tape?” I asked, limping beside him.
“Light attracts Reds.” Pollard rapped on the glass door. A distinct knock-knock-knockety-knock. Not a great beat for a soulful country song, but it had its own personality. I might play with the rhythm later, just for fun.
A piece of tape pulled back and an eyeball appeared. Brown, not red. “Pollard?”
“It’s me, Simone. Let us in.”
A bolt was thrown, and the door opened on a very non-threatening, twenty-something female with limp brown hair and wide hips.
I exhaled. Not the serial killer I was expecting. Just a normal looking woman.
“Did you fill up?” she asked, swinging the door open. When she spotted Hunny and me, her smile fell away. “Who are they?” Her intelligent brown eyes took in every detail of Hunny’s appearance and mine.
“We found them at the McDonald’s to the south.” He ushered the little girl inside. “They’ll have to introduce themselves.”
I lingered in the doorway, spying as much as I could of the interior. No visible chains or bone saws, but it was messy with clothes and miscellaneous furniture.
“Hunny Green,” my little companion revealed. “She’s Maya Solomon.”
Good thing we didn’t have any real secrets or these people would already know them. Hunny had a big mouth.
“Maya.” Pollard gave me a grim smile, and then locked the door behind us. “Make yourselves at home.”
They’d redecorated. Most of the tables in the dining room were gone, probably bolted over the windows. The booths had been pushed around and converted into beds strewn with a myriad of blankets and coats.
If I’d thought it was hot and steamy outside, it was sweltering in the cavernous building. With all the windows sealed shut and no electricity to get a fan moving, the air was warm and heavy. Sweat popped up on my arms and the back of my neck.
While Simone eyed me up and down I slid a few hesitant steps inside. It smelled of sweat and old food, but I couldn’t detect any obvious threats. I chanced another step and craned my neck to see around the hostess counter.
I gasped at what I found. Through an archway, the convenience store half of the building was a nirvana of beautiful, pre-packaged, preservative-laden munchies. My mouth opened and stayed that way. Food. Delicious, sugary food. The kind I was almost never allowed to eat.
A lot of it had been consumed, but there were still hundreds of packs of peanuts, cotton candy, potato chips and cereal cups laid out like pirates’ treasure on the racks. Sodas, juices and teas were arranged in the shiny glass fridges. I hadn’t drunk a soda in months. My dad, being more concerned with health than taste, had only stocked our panic room with water and Gatorade.
The truck stop’s drinks would be warm, but I didn’t care. I hopped one-legged into the shadowy store, grabbed a can of apple juice from the fridge, popped open the lid, and guzzled it. The sugars hit my stomach hard, and I felt a pang of nausea, but I squelched it and finished the bottle. I couldn’t get enough.
The sweet apple scent nearly cleared the earlier, clinging stink of decay from my nose. Almost.
Pollard reached around me and helped himself to a sparkling citrus soda. “Cool, right?”
I couldn’t talk through my second bottle of juice, so I just nodded.
“Where is Shelly?” Simone called from the dining room.
Pollard cast me a sad look before answering. “She didn’t make it. We were ambushed.”
The expression in Pollard’s eyes, quickly mirrored in Simone’s, brought up a sympathetic rush of emotions in me too. I knew that look and the confusing grief that went with it, the look that said someone you cared about had died without warning.
Simone clutched her shirt
over her heart. “Oh, no. Where’s Russell?”
Swallowing thickly, I turned my back on their shared grief and hid my reaction by downing a bottle of strawberry flavored water until my stomach bulged at the seams.
“Still outside,” Pollard said.
Simone hurried to find him.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” I said to Pollard.
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “We’ve been inside so many places like that I got overconfident. I messed up rushing in there without a plan. A good soldier always has a plan.”
“Are you a soldier?” I asked. That would explain the U.S. Army apparel, but not the crappy shooting skills.
“No.” He hung his head. “I was going to enlist, but then…”
Yeah. A lot of things changed when the lights went out and civilization crumbled. I used to have a dad, go to high school, and blog about songwriting. Not anymore.
Hunny jumped around the booths in the dining room in a happy little circle, swinging her arms. “I love this place! I never want to leave!” She dashed past me and raided the convenience store shelves, a joyous ball of energy. Chip bags crinkled and soda caps hissed.
“Help yourselves,” Pollard said, and I sensed he was sincere. “We all went a little nuts when we found this place. Don’t worry. There’s even more stuff piled in the stock room.”
“Thanks.” But I still didn’t trust him or his two friends. Not when they were so quick to pull the trigger.
From the outside Mason hadn’t looked like a murderer. Cal hadn’t looked like a sadist and a bully.
Pollard, Russell, and Simone seemed like good enough people to leave Hunny with, though. She was pro-gun.
“Let’s get you off your feet.” Pollard gestured toward the booths in the next room, and I hopped over and stretched out my sore legs on a bench. Keeping his eyes averted, he wadded a sweater into a pillow and stuffed it under my right foot. My leg felt immediately better.
“Thanks.” I twisted, taking in more details of the truck stop. Nothing screamed danger. All I saw was mess and clothes and some empty water bottles. But I was no longer comfortable around other people. I couldn’t completely relax.
