“Terrific,” Jill said sarcastically. “Maybe I’m in the clear.”
Of course, given her current fatigue and physical symptoms, I didn’t think she was. I suspected she knew it, too. Having a scratch might just mean you’d take longer to turn into one of the undead – not that you’d survive the infection.
Nope, I’m destined to have a zombified mother-in-law. I’m fucking sure of it.
Just as that cheery thought flitted through my mind, LA-19 transitioned into MS-33. We had crossed the state line between Louisiana and Mississippi – about fifty miles north of Baton Rouge.
“OK, Jill, we just crossed the border,” I announced. “Where to now?”
“I’m not sure. It’s been a while since I went this way.”
“Um, alright.”
So, my mother-in-law’s geographical knowledge wasn’t as comprehensive as I’d hoped, leaving me with no idea of where to go or how to continue avoiding the major highways.
“Guess it’s time for another pit stop.”
After informing the battle-wagon duo that we’d need a moment to figure out our next move, I carefully pulled onto the narrow shoulder and watched as Casey pulled in behind me.
I glanced at the tablet mounted to my dash. “Looks like we’re just south of a town called Centreville. If we keep heading north, we’ll end up in Homochitto National Forest.”
Clare unbuckled her seatbelt. “OK, let me just check on Mom.”
“Sure, but don’t take too long.”
Although I hadn’t spotted any zombies in the vicinity, and only two other vehicles had passed us since we’d stopped, I knew it wouldn’t be wise to linger for long. Just because I couldn’t see any obvious dangers on the quiet, wooded highway didn’t mean we were in the clear. Some piece of shit – living or undead – could easily show up and make trouble for us.
Nodding, Clare rose from her seat and set Azazel’s carrier in her place.
A moment passed, then Clare said, “Jesus, Mom, that doesn’t look good.” A few seconds later, she added, “And your head feels warm.”
Crap.
I unbuckled my own seatbelt and joined my wife by the sofa. She had pushed up her mom’s sleeve and removed the bandage, revealing the nasty scratch on Jill’s forearm. In a matter of hours, it had blossomed into an angry red rash, with yellow pus dribbling from the wound.
Clare opened the first-aid kit she’d stashed nearby and carefully wiped the area with an alcoholic wipe.
Jill winced. “Ow, that hurt.”
“I know, Mom,” Clare said patiently. “But we have to keep it clean.” Then, she dabbed some antibiotic ointment on a fresh bandage and resealed the wound.
When she was done, she looked up at me. While she’d inherited her father’s dark hair, dark eyes, and aquiline nose, there were moments when she resembled her mother. True, Jill was more petite and small-boned, with thin, spiky, gray hair, but sometimes, much to my chagrin, they displayed similar expressions or tendencies. Annoyed eye rolls and pursed lips. Silly phrasings that only made sense to them.
Naturally, Clare was way more agreeable toward me, but I definitely caught the commonalities at times. It made sense, of course, that Clare had adopted some of her mother’s habits – Jill had primarily raised her, after all – but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
At the moment, though, they both wore the same look of fear and dismay, their brows furrowed, their faces ashen. I pitied them both, but I wasn’t sure what I could do to solve the hopeless situation.
“I’ll be fine,” Jill said, covering her arm with her sweater.
“Mom –”
“I’ll be fine,” she snapped, turning away from us both. “Just let me get some rest,” she murmured against the sofa cushion.
“OK, Mom,” Clare agreed. “Get some sleep.” As she rose to her feet, though, she whispered in my ear, “Joe, we need to do something.”
After returning to our seats, I said, “I know, but what? It’s already five o’clock. This time of year, it’ll be dark in less than two hours. And we need to be long gone by then.”
“But Joe… she’s my mom. Besides you and Azazel, she’s probably the only family I have left.” Sighing, she turned away from me and gazed out the windshield. “If that were your mom lying there, you would do something.”
That wasn’t completely fair. My mom was nothing like Jill. She had accepted Clare with open arms, considering her an honorary daughter. Besides, she might already be dead.
But Clare was desperate, and if possible, I wanted to ease her mind. So, with a small nod, I picked up the walkie-talkie.
“Sorry for the delay, guys. Seems we need to find some antibiotics for Clare’s mom.”
A part of me wanted to tell them why she required the meds, but I still wasn’t certain that full disclosure was the wisest move.
“Yeah,” Casey replied, “she didn’t look so good this afternoon.”
“Well, she’s never looked good,” I grumbled without activating the mic.
Clare shot me a disapproving look, similar to those her mother had flashed over the years.
“I heard that,” Jill said from the sofa.
“Lighten up, Jill. I was just kidding.”
She shifted on the couch. “Yeah, you’re a regular comedian.”
Man, tough crowd.
The women needed to get a better sense of humor. Might be the only way we’d survive the shitstorm that had decimated the planet.
“Look,” I said, turning in my seat to face my mother-in-law, “I’m going out of my way to help you, when I could be helping my own family. My folks, my brothers, my nieces… they could all be dead for all I know.”
Jill’s face crumpled a little, as if she felt scolded. Lying on her side, looking sadly at me, she suddenly seemed even smaller and more fragile than usual.
Then she sighed and met my annoyed gaze with one of her own. “I’m sorry about that, Joe, but you’re not the only one who’s likely lost someone. My sister, my friends… they might all be gone, too.”
They likely were, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that. Instead, I said, “You’re right. So, let’s be grateful we’re not one of them.”
“Mr. Joe? You still there?”
I turned back in my seat and held up the walkie-talkie. “Yeah, sorry, Casey. We were just discussing something.”
“Well, it looks like Centreville is only a few miles north.”
“Wow, how do you know that? Got a road atlas?”
“I have a map on my phone.”
“Wait, you have a signal?”
“No, I just accessed your network and downloaded one of your maps. I discovered it while I was on guard duty back at the house.”
“Huh. Smart kid.”
Though Casey’s tech skills impressed me, I felt a momentary sense of panic. If the kid could download my maps, what else did he have access to? Somehow, I doubted Clare would be amused to know I’d saved a few naked pics of her in my photo gallery.
“So, what’s the plan?” George asked.
“Hang on a sec.” Quickly, I scanned through some info on my tablet, then spoke into the walkie-talkie again. “Seems like there’s a clinic next to one of the churches in Centreville. We’ll make a quick stop there.”
“OK, let’s go,” George said. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to.”
“Yeah, me neither.” I started up the engine, then gave my friends one last instruction. “It’s not far, but be careful. This might not be a huge town, but hell, the non-zombies have caused me more trouble than the freaking undead.”
“You got it, Mr. Joe,” Casey said. “Just lead the way, and we’ll follow you.”
I set down the walkie-talkie and merged back onto the highway. As I drove north on MS-33, I turned to Clare and smiled reassuringly.
“Thanks for doing this, Joe.” She offered me a grateful, if pensive, smile of her own. “Just hope it works,” she whispered.
“Me, too,�
� I said, mostly meaning it.
“I don’t want you endangering my daughter to get me antibiotics,” Jill grumbled from the sofa. “And by the way, my hearing’s fine, even if my arm hurts like a son of a bitch.”
Sighing, Clare glanced over her shoulder. “Mom, we’re going to stop and get something for that wound. End of story.”
“Well, if Idiot there hadn’t sent all his drugs up to Michigan,” Jill retorted, “we wouldn’t have to stop.”
Reluctant as I was to admit it, Jill had made yet another valid point. Although I had indeed stockpiled a slew of antibiotics, I’d shipped them all north. In my defense, I thought Clare, Azazel, and I would be safe in northern Michigan when the zombie chaos finally began.
Of course, I’d been wrong about the timing, which meant that, beyond some pain meds and a couple of first-aid kits, I had stowed no real medical supplies in the van.
Still, why does Jill have to be such a pain in the ass?
Chapter
21
“Do you know what the cure for the human condition is? Disease. Because that’s the only way one could hope for a cure.” – Volmer, A Cure for Wellness (2016)
“I’m not taking anything a dog would take,” Jill stated flat out.
Clare and I both ignored her, fixated instead on the building in front of us.
After bypassing downtown Centreville, we’d headed east to the Bethany Presbyterian Church, where a big-ass sign claimed the structure had been erected in 1855. It sure didn’t look that old. Just a plain white clapboard building that could’ve been established in the late twentieth century.
On the way there, we’d passed an assortment of churches, catering to Methodists, Baptists, and several other denominations. For a small town, Centreville had boasted a decent number of religious options. What else could you expect from an isolated community in rural Mississippi?
Of course, we didn’t care about the church itself. We were interested in the small, one-story outbuilding to its right, which had apparently housed the Happy Pets Veterinary Clinic.
I had paused near the front of the driveway, the station wagon idling behind me, so I could scope out the area. I hadn’t yet spotted any movement – of the living or undead variety – so I slowly rolled forward, aiming for the space between the two buildings. As usual, Casey and George followed me, and when I stopped, they did, too.
“I mean it,” Jill reiterated. “You’re not giving me any drugs meant for an animal.”
“Oh, it’s the same damn thing,” Clare snapped. “Just a different label.”
When Jill failed to respond, choosing instead to sulk in silence on the couch, I decided to get a move on. Daylight was slipping away, and I refused to stay in a strange town after dark, especially one as eerily quiet as Centreville.
“Listen,” I said, shifting my body so I could see both Clare and Jill, “everything looks clear, but I don’t exactly have the best luck with churches, so I want you both to stay here.”
“No way, Joe,” my wife protested. “I’m going with you.”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t make sense for us both to go. I’m not sure what I’ll find in there.”
“Exactly,” Clare replied. “You need to have someone watching your back.”
“Oh, let him go alone,” Jill said. “Maybe he’ll get eaten, and we can just get back on the road.”
“Mom!”
“Wow,” I said, staring at my hateful mother-in-law, “you’re just mean!”
And I’m risking my life for this fucking woman?
Jill shrugged and stretched out on the sofa again.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I grabbed my shotgun and double-checked my 9mm. Then I reached beneath my seat, retrieved an old-school, .38-caliber six-shooter, and handed it to my wife. She’d practiced with that exact pistol at the shooting range, so I trusted she could handle it comfortably.
“Stay alert, and keep the doors locked,” I advised her. “Unless, of course, you see me running from a bunch of zombies,” I added, half-kidding. “Then definitely unlock ’em for me.”
Clare chuckled, despite the worry clouding her eyes.
Just then, I heard the doors of the station wagon creak open and slam shut. In my side-view mirror, I could see George and Casey standing outside their vehicle. Both armed, of course.
“Better go,” I said, opening the driver’s-side door.
Clare touched my forearm.
I turned to see her leaning across the space between our seats. “Be careful,” she said solemnly.
Meeting her halfway, I kissed her lips. “I always am,” I lied before slipping outside and closing the door.
Keeping an eye on my surroundings, I strolled toward the battle wagon. Despite my reluctance to endanger anyone else for my mother-in-law’s sake, I intended to ask George to back me up inside the vet clinic. Of all of us, she was probably the best shot, though I suspected Casey was well trained, too. Hell, I’d already seen his driving and hacking skills in action; for all I knew, he could’ve been as good with guns as his mother.
So, I was only slightly surprised to see George handing him an extra gun – a large, silver-and-black Mark XIX Desert Eagle .44 Magnum. A gorgeous piece. Although I’d gotten the chance to practice with one at the range, I hadn’t purchased any. Too damn expensive.
“Casey’s going to back you up,” George said.
I wasn’t sure how to respond. While I appreciated the offer, I felt guilty putting her son in harm’s way.
As if misreading my concern for skepticism, she quickly added, “Trust me, he knows how to handle himself.”
“I’m sure he does,” I replied. “I just don’t want him getting hurt.”
“I don’t either,” George said, “but you can’t go in there alone.”
“You sound like Clare.”
She smiled. “Smart lady.” Her grin faded, though, as she glanced around the empty parking lot. “Plus, I figure I’ll keep watch out here while y’all look for the meds. I don’t like the looks of this area.”
“Why?” I asked, gazing at the empty street and the surrounding trees. “There’s nothing out here.”
“I know,” she agreed. “That’s what bugs me. This town had at least fifteen hundred people living in it. Where is everyone?”
I gazed around the area again. “Good question.” Suddenly recalling the horror and mayhem I’d witnessed at the church in Gramercy, I pointed toward the closed doors of the small white building. “Keep an eye on that. Maybe, when the shit hit the fan, all the residents fled to their church of choice.”
She nodded and then turned to Casey. “You do what he says. Deal?”
He grinned. “Deal.”
And with that, Casey and I headed toward the clinic.
Chapter
22
“You look like you been molested by wolves!” – Marcus, Hatchet (2006)
Gripping my shotgun with both hands, ready to pull the trigger if necessary, I cautiously stepped toward the wide-open entrance of the vet clinic. The windows framing the doorway had certainly witnessed better days: Several panes lay in shards on the ground. They’d likely been intact the previous week, meaning dangers of the undead kind could still be lurking inside.
Slowly, I stepped into a small reception area, which had also endured its share of mayhem. Overturned chairs and scattered papers littered the floor, and in the fading sunlight seeping through the broken windows, I could see streaks of blood and other disturbing fluids on the walls. The air reeked of decomposition, making me wonder if raiding the clinic had been one of my most stellar ideas.
I swear, if I die trying to help my mother-in-law, I’m gonna fucking kill her.
“Maybe we should’ve tried a pharmacy instead,” Casey whispered from behind me.
“Figured those would’ve been looted first.”
But perhaps he was right. My gnarled gut certainly agreed with him.
As we neared the reception desk, I noticed a plaque on the wall. T
wo veterinarians had apparently worked there: Jacob Meyers, DVM, and Stephanie Meyers, DVM. Father and daughter perhaps? Or brother and sister? Maybe even a husband-wife duo? No matter the case, I hoped they were still among the living, though based on the state of the reception area, I had my doubts.
Holding my breath, I led Casey toward the only other door in the room. Unlike the front entrance, it was closed, which made me nervous. I couldn’t hear anything, but given my usual luck, an undead mob surely awaited me on the other side.
Carefully, I pushed the door inward – only to reveal a wide, empty, unnervingly murky hallway. As usual, I wished I’d thought to bring a flashlight with me.
In the scant illumination from the reception area, I could see three closed doors lining each side of the corridor. Presumably, they concealed examination rooms, private offices, and in-house labs. Any one of them could contain the antibiotics we needed. So, though pressed for time, we began a thorough sweep of each room.
The first two, both exam rooms, revealed nothing. Not surprising, as I doubted most vets would’ve wanted their clients to have unfettered access to any meds.
The third door we tried only opened a few inches. Something on the other side seemed to be blocking it. As I pushed against the obstacle with all my might, a hand jetted out and tried to grab me. I jerked backward. The grayish skin and nasty bite wound between the thumb and forefinger told me its owner was a zombie. The red nail polish indicated it was female.
Bad assumption in the French Quarter maybe, but here in southern Mississippi…
Her white coat sleeve suggested that the hand had once belonged to Dr. Stephanie Meyers, and the fact that she’d barricaded the door meant there were additional dangers still inside the clinic.
Zombie Chaos Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 46
