“I’ll trade with you.” I joked.
After that, the base was infiltrated as suspected. The sheer number of them overpowered our soldiers. It wasn’t a good sign. Less than a week later, Rudy showed up at the community.
*
Now….
I’m a fuck up, but everyone thinks they are in some way, shape, or form. I’ve been in my old bed for days contemplating the meaning of life. Not really, just the meaning of the empty jars of moonshine sitting on my old desk and why someone would loot an old folded American flag in a glass case. It was gone. I should have grabbed it when I had the chance.
I roll over and get a whiff of my own body odor and immediately sit up, figuring I’ve wallowed enough. Time to go find somewhere to clean myself up, and head to Birmingham to get my ass lashed for going MIA.
I hop down the stairs and turn into the kitchen when I see it. On the refrigerator is a note written in Sharpie. The words alive, safe, and the date stick out the most, a year after the outbreak. I can barely see through the water in my eyes and have to hold myself up against the fridge.
*
I don’t realize how much time has passed until my lieutenant asked me where I’ve been for the past week and a half.
The worst thing that happens though is when I’m sent in to see the general. General Stevenson. He throws some grainy pictures on top of the table. I look at them and my stomach sinks, but irrational anger takes hold. Rudy and Reece stand over Kan, and from the looks of it, she’s naked and covering herself up.
“This young man.” His finger lands on Rudy. “According to you, is supposed to be dead.” I swallow. This is what happens when you try and protect people. When you care. “And just who might this young lady be?” He asks as his finger lands on Kan.
Thank god I can talk myself out of anything.
*
It takes about twelve hours for me to track down Rudy without being seen. I’m watching famished bite and claw at a new fence being put up around the community’s parking lot when Rudy appears. He hops in the driver’s side door of his truck with me sitting in the passenger seat and startles when he sees me. “Shit, Mac. Where the fuck have you been?”
He doesn’t look well. A beard covers his face and tension thickens the air around him as he stares at me. Ignoring his question, I ask, “What happened?”
I expected him to grip the wheel, clench his jaw, or stare out the window, but he does none of that. He only looks down into his lap with slumped shoulders, almost like he doesn’t want to talk about it. The words that come out of his mouth leave me hating myself more than ever.
Jen Wilde
For my husband, Mike, who loves zombies.
Thank you for your never-ending support, love and enthusiasm – and for showing me that zombies are awesome.
This is for you.
Prologue
We all looked at each other, eyes wide in shock, struggling to believe what we saw.
For anyone still in Sydney or Melbourne who are uninfected, you are urged to stay inside and lock your doors and windows. The infected have become severely deranged and extremely violent. We have received countless reports of the infected biting and even killing anyone they come across, including their loved ones. Do not approach the infected. I repeat; do not approach the infected. If you have been bitten, you are requested to go to the nearest hospital or medical centre for treatment as soon as possible.
More footage of the streets was shown then, this time of the infected. Their eyes were an eerie white, skin grey and spattered with blood, their faces and arms covered in open wounds and lesions.
“Zombies,” whispered Ben, staring slack-jawed at the screen.
“Oh come on, Ben,” Jo scoffed, putting her hands on her hips. “The media always over dramatises things. I doubt it’s that serious.”
“You haven’t seen the guy just outside the door,” Ben replied.
“We need to get rid of him. He’s infected. He’s been bitten, and he’s starting to look just like them,” I said, motioning to the infected people on the screen.
My stomach turned as I heard the sound of the bell ringing as the door of the diner opened, and slowly shut again.
“I hope that was him leaving,” I whispered as I unlocked the door and slid it open an inch.
I peered through the gap, but could still see the infected man trying to pull himself up onto the counter. “He’s still there.”
“That means another one just walked in,” Wyatt said as he switched off the television and stood close behind me. Any other day I would have shivered in his close presence, but right now we stood on the edge of the end of the world, and we had to survive.
I heard a loud groan and someone, something, shuffling through the diner, edging closer to the four of us hiding in the tiny office. I held my breath, trying desperately to stay quiet. Slowly, I began sliding the door closed, but it was too late. A rancid, decomposing face appeared on the other side of the entryway, its dilated pupils burning into me in desire.
I screamed, almost knocking Wyatt over as I jumped back into him. It let out a terrifying screech as it crammed a long, freshly mauled arm through the opening in the door.
The putrid smell of day old rotting flesh filled the room as its maggot infested hand swiped at me frantically. The mere sight of it filled my stomach with bile, but I knew I had to focus on keeping us alive.
I threw myself forward against the door, pushing it sideways as hard as I could. Wyatt leant over me onto the door, helping me slam it into the infected arm. Ben tried to grab it and push it back onto the other side of the door, but it was swinging wildly, its yellow fingernails covered in dried blood. Jo backed herself up against the far wall, screaming in fear.
I put all my weight against the door and together Wyatt and I forced it closed, and by the sound of the sickening crack I knew we had broken the bone, but the possessed arm didn’t stop. Instead, it kept waving around, only now it couldn’t grab us. Ben pushed the shattered arm back through the door and we slammed it shut, locking it fast.
For a moment, everything fell silent. I leaned off of the door and tried to catch my breath. I could feel my entire body trembling. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would explode.
I could hear it, the infected monster, groaning and sniffing at the other side of the door. The groan turned into a loud growl, and it furiously rammed itself into the door. Ben and Wyatt threw themselves against it to stop it from breaking in.
“What do we do?” I asked, my legs feeling so unstable I thought I would collapse.
No-one answered.
I leaned my arms against the door again, helping Ben and Wyatt keep it closed, while Jo slid down onto the floor, her knees up against her chest as tears streamed down her face.
Over the growling I heard the bell ring again.
Another one had come for us. All that stood between us and these mindless creatures with an insatiable hunger for human flesh was a thin sliding door.
We were trapped.
***
Chapter One
The setting sun glimmered through the window, veiling my bedroom with a golden glow. Outside I heard the sounds of Friday night traffic, people either making their way home from work or heading out to celebrate the arrival of the weekend.
Even though I lived on one of the busiest streets in Melbourne, I never took much notice of the noise. The trams, the cars, the people, the constant sounds of the city; I found it comforting. It meant I wasn’t as alone as I sometimes felt. I had expected to eventually adjust to living on my own, but something about it never felt right to me. More than anything, I hated having no-one to come home to.
Leaning over my dresser, I looked closely at my reflection in the bedroom mirror, concentrating as I slowly glided my black pencil liner over the outer corner of my eye.
Turning my head left, then right, I made sure I had mastered the cat eye look perfectly, when I heard a knock on my apartment door.
“Be r
ight there, Jo!”
It never takes me long to get ready, all I need are my favourite pair of jeans, a singlet, my motorcycle boots, eyeliner and sometimes a brightly coloured scarf, and I’m ready to go.
It’s the middle of Spring, and while the top half of the world is getting colder, Melbourne is getting deliciously warm, so I opted for a black singlet and magenta scarf to go with my standard jeans and boots tonight.
Standing back to take one last look, I smiled cheerfully – a kindness I always gave to myself when I saw my reflection. I let my long, dark brown hair hang down, its ends tipped with turquoise. My deep hazel eyes are overshadowed by my long dark lashes and arched eyebrows that would make me look serious, if I didn’t smile so often. My lips, thin and asymmetrical, are not the typical full lips that so many women want and men lust after, but they are exactly like my mother's, and that’s why I love them. Sometimes, if I squint hard enough while I smile in the mirror, I can almost see my mother smiling back at me. Wrapping my scarf loosely around my neck, I picked up my faded brown satchel from the bed and headed for the door.
Jo, my dearest friend, and I were going to the local bar to have a few drinks and see Wyatt and his band perform.
I could feel the butterflies start to come alive in my stomach, a sensation I always felt around Wyatt. I couldn’t help but smile again at the thought of him. Pulling my door open, Jo greeted me by standing in model pose, with a hand strategically placed on her hip and her head tilted to the side.
“Like my new dress?” She waved her hand up and down the short, strapless, neon orange outfit. Her long, flame-red hair fell down passed her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face perfectly. Her bright blue eyes looked up at me expectantly, her grin lighting up her face as she waited for a response.
While inseparable, Jo and I are two very different people in regards to fashion sense.
While I dressed more for comfort and paid no attention to what is popular, Jo dressed to impress and followed the trends religiously. On the surface, we appeared to be different in every way, but as friends for more than a decade, the history we had with each other created an everlasting bond.
Ever since we met, on the first day of high school, we had been there for each other; from helping each other with homework and boy troubles to the toughest times of our lives.
When I lost my parents just a few years before, at nineteen, Jo never left my side.
During that time she became my rock; we consider ourselves sisters now. Working together as waitresses at Pop Rocks, a 1950’s nostalgia diner where Jo is the Manager, allows us to see each other almost every day. Although we have so much fun there it hardly seems like work at all.
“It’s very… bright,” I answered, as politely as possible.
Jo’s arms dropped to her side, disappointed.
“You look beautiful, Jo.”
She perked up again.
“Thank you! And may I say you look as angsty as ever.” Jo looked down at my motorcycle boots and grimaced.
“I’m not angsty. I’m comfortable. And I’m perfectly happy in this outfit, thank you!” I said as I swung my door closed and locked it behind me.
“I know, I know,” sighed Jo as we started down the stairs of my building. “Little Miss Comfortable. That’s you! If you ask me, you’re a little too comfortable. You gotta get out of your comfort zone and do something exciting! Something bold!”
Jo smiled at me cheekily, and I knew exactly where she was headed with that speech – I had heard it many times before.
“Jo, please don’t start.”
“Come on, Eva. Tonight’s the perfect opportunity for you to tell Wyatt how you feel. Step up! When are you gonna make your move?”
I sighed as the butterflies in my stomach twisted and turned. I had been building up the courage to ask Wyatt out for over a year now, ever since we first met. At the time, Wyatt had just moved to Melbourne from Cairns to study Architecture, and came to the diner looking for a job. After Jo hired him and he started working with me, we grew into such good friends that I became terrified of ruining the friendship.
“I’ll tell him. I will. I’m just… waiting for the right moment.”
Jo rolled her eyes, she’d heard that before, too.
We turned the corner to see our tram about to leave and started running to catch it. I laughed as I heard Jo struggling to jog behind me in her six-inch heels. We climbed up the steps and onto the tram, falling onto a seat as it started to move.
Jo looked me in the eyes as she caught her breath.
“If you don’t tell him soon, you might miss your moment.”
Chapter Two
We zig-zagged our way through the crowd, meeting our friend Ben at the bar. Friday night in Melbourne meant packed bars and busy streets as everyone flocked to cafes, bars and clubs, staying up until sunrise and sleeping all day Saturday.
Everyone, it seemed, except for me, Jo, Wyatt and Ben, who all had to get up bright and early the next morning to work at the diner.
“You’re just in time, they just started their first set,” Ben yelled over the noise.
Shorter than most guys, but taller than me and Jo, with olive skin and dark hair – always perfectly styled – Ben always captured the attention of women.
Ben and Jo ordered drinks while I glanced over towards the stage, looking for Wyatt.
Over the busy crowd, I could see him standing to the left of the stage, strumming his guitar as they started playing Sweet Home Alabama. The butterflies spun out of control in my stomach as I leaned on the bar to watch him.
Wyatt was very tall, with broad shoulders and masculine arms, but not over-the-top with muscles. With his light brown and always messy shoulder-length hair, bright green eyes and huge smile, I knew I was in trouble the second I saw him all those months ago.
My heart sank a little as my gaze shifted to the dozens of girls swooning over him just in front of the stage, each one vying for just a moment of his attention.
“Eva! Here…” Jo tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a beer.
“Thanks!” I said, turning back towards the stage.
My heart skipped a beat when I saw Wyatt in the distance, smiling at me.
Seeing my surprise, he waved in between riffs, causing all the girls at the front of the stage to turn around. I tried not to notice as their jaws drop at the sight of me, sitting at the bar in my singlet and boots, drinking beer straight from the bottle.
I’ve always loved who I am and would never change anything about myself to fit in, but I couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious when I saw those girls glaring at me in disbelief.
“He’s got all those bleach blonde clones literally throwing themselves at him, prancing around right under his nose, and he’s only lookin’ at you, Eva,” Jo said into my ear, smiling broadly.
I glanced sideways to see Jo wink provocatively at me, and the corner of my mouth lifted in a half-smile. I hope she’s right, I thought as I waved back at Wyatt.
***
I sat at the bar, sketching on a napkin, while Jo and Ben rocked out to The Living End’s Prisoner Of Society on the dance floor.
“Another beer?” asked the bartender, taking away my empty bottle.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
I looked up from my doodling, noticing the words Breaking News flashing up on the television screen behind him. I couldn’t hear it over the noise in the bar, but the caption sliding across the bottom of the screen read:
Fears grow in Sydney after an outbreak of the Halienza Virus at Trinity Hospital, leaving twenty dead and hundreds more infected.
On the screen, I saw footage of scientists in white lab coats and protective masks using droppers to place a red liquid into test tubes, followed by unsteady amateur footage that made me shudder. It looked like a war zone, with dozens of people bleeding and running frantically through the streets of Sydney. Another caption moved across the screen:
New reports of second Halienza outbreak
in a Melbourne hospital.
“Hi there.”
I jumped, so immersed in the news report that the voice behind startled me.
“What're you drawing there?” Said the young man, taking a seat next to me as he gestured to the napkin. He was short, but cute, with blonde hair, blue eyes and a charming grin.
“Oh, just doodling, really.”
I reached over the bar to take the freshly opened beer the bartender was handing to me and placed it directly over my sketch.
Noticing I was trying to hide it, my new friend moved the bottle to take a closer look.
“It looks like a…” he furrowed his brows in confusion. “A face with a… bullet hole in it?”
My cheeks warmed into a blush. People often felt uncomfortable when they saw me drawing such violent looking images. I thought I should explain.
“Uh, yeah. I’m training to be a Special Effects Makeup Artist, like in the movies? So I’m just sketching a bit of a… flesh wound.”
He looked at me blankly, seeming completely uninterested.
“Oh, so you like doing all the gory stuff, like blood and guts and…”
“And brains and burns and corpses… Yep.”
For a moment he didn’t say a word. I’d always received mixed reactions from people when I tell them my dream is to be a Special Effects Makeup Artist. I can’t say I blame them.
In high school, while all the other girls proudly proclaimed their desires to be doctors, lawyers or psychologists, I was the only one dreaming about being on the set of Saw II, designing blood-soaked hacksaw lacerations. Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly Miss Popularity.
“That’s new. Buy you a drink?” he gestured to the bartender while moving his bar stool closer to mine.
“Oh, no thanks,” I said as I held up my beer.
“Already got one.”
I smiled awkwardly, not wanting to be rude.
“You’re drinking beer? Come on,” he scoffed as he gestured for the bartender to come over again. “I’ll buy you something nicer. How ‘bout a cosmopolitan?”
Darlings of Decay Page 94
