Zomb-Pocalypse 5

by Megan Berry

  I had wanted to keep going, but Silas made us stop nearly a whole hour before the sun went down, so we could find somewhere safe to hole up for the night. I know all the reasons why we can’t just go walking around in the dark, and I truly wouldn’t want to be out there in the dark anyway. But every time we stop, I can’t shake the feeling that Dad could be right around the next corner and I’m somehow missing him by calling it quits for the day.

  Far from picking the fight that I’m spoiling for, Silas walks over and presses a kiss to my forehead before slinging his own backpack down to the floor. We’ve cleared the house and locked the doors, and even taken a few minutes to check the cupboards. They’re all empty, of course. His kiss takes the wind right out of my sails, and I deflate in defeat.

  “You should get into some dry clothes,” he tells me as he digs in his bag and pulls out an extra pair of jeans and a sweater. His dry clothes aren’t clean by any leap of the imagination, but I’m in no position to judge him because I’m in the exact same boat. We’ve been alternating them day after day since escaping Louisville. Tonight, I will leave my wet clothes out to dry for the following day and then fold them up and put them in my backpack so that I can wear them tomorrow when my next set of clothes is wet and crusty. We really need to find the others! And we need to get away from this river so we can stop off somewhere that hasn’t been completely ransacked and find some new clothes and food. I would give anything right now to be able to head back home to the cabin.

  “You okay?” Silas asks, pulling my attention away from my daydream about our stockpile of food waiting back at the cabin.

  I nod, and Silas disappears into the next room to change.

  I quickly shuck off my wet clothes and drag on a pair of flannel long underwear. It isn’t the most glamorous thing I’ve ever worn, but at least it’s clean and I won’t be sleeping in a pair of zombie encrusted jeans.

  I stare at the gory denim in horror for a long moment before I decide to take the time to actually wash them. They are already soaking wet, I might as well add a little soap too. I test out the bathtub and am relieved when the pipes start to groan and the first dribble of rusty red water splashes into the bottom of the tub. The sun has already gone down, so I doubt Silas would’ve let me go down to the river to fill a bucket. The water gushes forward and I quickly add the stopper, grateful that this house must have a water cistern.

  Silas walks up behind me with a handful of his own wet clothes and I motion for him to toss them in.

  “I’ll wash them,” I offer.

  He shoots me a grin, tossing them in before disappearing back into the bedroom.

  Our clothes are disgusting, and if I hadn’t already known it, the nasty rusty black color of the water would have clued me in pretty quickly. I scrub them as best I can to get all the loose blood and gore off, and then I wring them out and drain the water. It’s too gross to keep going.

  “Yikes,” Silas says as he walks back into the bathroom with a jug of liquid laundry detergent in his hand. “I found this by the washing machine,” he says.

  I shoot him a grateful look as we both watch the last few dregs of scummy water disappear down the drain. I rinse the tub before I even attempt to refill it, and then I add a huge cap of the fresh smelling soap. My hands are starting to feel numb from the cold water. Silas gets down on his knees beside me at the edge of the tub and tries to help, but I shake my soapy hands at him.

  “Don’t,” I murmur, and he shoots me a quizzical look. “There’s no point in us both getting cold and clammy,” I tell him.

  He opens his mouth to argue.

  “Can you just go start a fire, so I can warm up when I’m done?” I ask.

  He closes his mouth and finally nods, squeezing my shoulder on his way out of the bathroom.

  I scrub each item of clothing as much as I can and rinse them out one more time before hanging them up over top the shower curtain. Silas has started the fire near the bathroom door, so the heat will help dry them out, hopefully before morning. My hands are red and cold, and goosebumps are visible on my arms as I quickly dry my hands on the leg of my own thermal underwear when I can’t immediately find a towel. I can’t help but think about how cleaned out this house really is as I make a run for the bed and dive underneath the covers. I’m surprised the looters didn’t take the bedding too, but I’m grateful they didn’t.

  Silas is hunched over the small metal firepit that he brought in from the deck. I watch him as he puts the mesh screen over the top and then stands up and crawls into bed with me, pulling me against his body for warmth.

  I snuggle into him and finally allow myself to release a long breath. Silas didn’t hand out any food tonight, and I doubt it is because he forgot—his backpack must be as empty as mine. My stomach growls loudly as it tries to devour itself and Silas’s arms around me tighten.

  “I’ll find something tomorrow, Blondie, I promise,” he tells me.

  I nod my head even as I press my face closer. I press in on him until my lips rest against his neck. I want to tell him that none of this is his fault. That he isn’t solely responsible for feeding us and keeping us safe. I want to help take some of the pressure off of him, but I know Silas and none of it will matter to him. So instead I press my lips to his neck and kiss him, breathing in deep the smell that is uniquely him, the smell that is still present over the odor of other things like our unwashed bodies and dried up sweat. Silas kisses the top of my head one more time, and it’s like a drug that has my eyes beginning to droop. Today was exhausting both mentally and physically, and sleep might be the only thing that will distract me from my empty stomach. I take one more reassuring huff of Silas’s scent and let my eyes shut. Tomorrow has to be a better day.

  “Wake up!” Silas’s words are spoken so urgently that they pull me from my dreamless sleep immediately. He isn’t yelling, but his hushed tone is even more terrifying. Something bad is nearby, and it’s close enough to hear us.

  “What is it?” I whisper, even as my ears pick up the sound of breaking glass. Silas is already easing his way out of bed and pulling me along with him. “Zombies?” I ask, trying to gauge just how much trouble we’re in here. Everything is pitch black, even the fire has burned down to a few smoking embers, and I hit my shin on the night table. I barely manage to suppress a groan as pain radiates up my leg.

  “No,” Silas says, and that scares me even more. Zombies we can deal with, find a safe place to hunker down out of reach and pick them off one-by-one if necessary—humans are much worse.

  Silas races into the bathroom, pulls my clothes down from the curtain rod, and quickly tosses them in the cupboard under the sink. His actions leave me confused and I want to ask what he’s doing. But a thud from somewhere in the house and a distinctly male voice cursing makes me bite my tongue.

  Silas grabs both of our packs and shoves them into my arms as he draws his gun. The moon isn’t very bright, but it illuminates enough of the room that I can see the stark look of worry on his face. He and I have been through enough crap together that I know that look, and if Silas is scared, then I should be absolutely terrified.

  Silas goes to the window and tries to open it, but it doesn’t budge. I crowd in behind him, hoping no one is going to burst in the room and gun us down.

  “It doesn’t open,” Silas tells me as he spins and starts heading for the door that leads into the hallway. I want to yell at him to stop—that the door leads to the people breaking into the house—but of course, he already knows that.

  Silas turns back to me, and I realize then that my feet haven’t moved to follow him.

  “We have no other choice,” he whispers.

  I rush towards him, feeling like an idiot for freezing up. Silas edges out into the hallway, staying close to the wall, and I mimic his every move.

  “We know you’re in here,” a voice calls out.

  It turns my blood to ice inside my veins. Silas doesn’t bother answering as he tugs me along behind him. The texture o
f the wall changes underneath my fingertips, and I realize it’s a door just as Silas eases it open and I follow him in. The room is pitch black, there isn’t even a sliver of moonlight, and I realize pretty quickly it’s because this room has no windows. I want to scream as he closes the door gently behind us and the darkness swallows us whole. Silas thrusts something into my hands, and it feels like fabric of some kind.

  “Put my shirt along the bottom of the door,” he tells me.

  I drop to my knees and feel along the seam of the door as I start stuffing the shirt into the opening without questioning why.

  “Okay,” I whisper. I hear a click and then the whole room is lit up as he turns on the flashlight. Silas quickly inspects my work to make sure light isn’t escaping into the hallway, and I use the opportunity to check out our surroundings.

  We’re in the laundry room, and it’s tiny. There’s an older model washer and dryer set to my left with a laundry sink between them and a mirror above it. There is a refrigerator on the right that Silas and I already checked out earlier, but it was empty. There’s also a door that leads into the garage straight ahead and I start walking towards it, but Silas pulls me back.

  “The house is most likely surrounded,” he tells me, and that stops me in my tracks. “We’d be running right into a trap.”

  Hopelessness swamps me, but Silas isn’t standing still beside me commiserating. He heads towards an enormous cat scratching post tucked into the corner next to the fridge and pulls it out of the way. “What are you doing?” I whisper, and he points his flashlight down to the floor where I can just make out the strange outline of a metal square in the linoleum.

  “I saw this earlier. It’s a crawl space that goes underneath the house.”

  Relief hits me in waves as Silas pulls the latch up, revealing a yawning dark chasm below. He presses the flashlight into my hand and motions for me to go first. I balk, but the sound of feet in the hallway pushes me into gear. I grip my knife in one hand and my flashlight in the other as I climb down the ladder, hoping like hell that nothing is going to jump up and bite me in the leg.

  When I reach the bottom, I realize that I can’t stand up underneath the house, so I squat down and pan the flashlight around into all four corners. Thankfully, there’s nothing under here but cobwebs. I suppress a shudder, but I’ll take spiders over zombies any day of the week. Silas drops the backpacks down beside me and then hunches down so he can talk to me.

  “I’m going to shut the lid,” he tells me.

  I nod automatically, but then I realize that something is wrong. He isn’t climbing down the ladder to be with me.

  “What?” I squeak out, barely managing to keep my voice quiet.

  “They know someone is in here and they have people outside. If they don’t find at least one of us, they won’t stop looking until they find us both. I saw this crawl space easily enough. They will too if they start looking hard.”

  Horror washes over me as I realize what Silas is talking about doing. “No!” I protest, “We can fight them together.” But he’s already shutting the door.

  “Don’t make any noise, Jane. I’m pretty sure these are the guys from Louisville, I’ve been noticing tracks for the last few days. I will try and get away, but I need you to promise me something. Head back to the cabin, there’s a map in my bag that outlines the route, and I’ll meet you there if I can.”

  “Silas!” I say sharply, beginning to panic as I push up against the lid, trying to get out, but he’s too strong.

  “I’m so sorry that I have to leave you alone like this, but you’ll have a fighting chance this way. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you,” he tells me. Then he pauses for a second…the lid hovering all but a couple inches away from being completely shut. “Stay away from the river now… I love you to death, Blondie,” he tells me just before he shuts the lid.

  I’m left standing alone in shock, clutching the flashlight like it’s my lifeline. I hear footsteps and something heavy being drug over top. And then I don’t hear anything at all, even though I’m straining my ears.

  I want to scream his name until he opens up the lid and takes me with him, but now he’s up there all alone and I don’t want to bring the men running into the laundry room to find him. I hear a slam as the door above is kicked open and then male voices fill the room. I hear a man I don’t know screaming at Silas.

  I hear the stranger say, “Put your gun down, or we’ll shoot!” And I have to suppress the scream that’s bubbling up in my throat. I snap the flashlight off and squeeze my eyes closed, and for the first time in a long time, I pray. I don’t know what trick Silas has up his sleeve, but I hope it works.

  “Put it down!” another voice shouts, making me wonder how outnumbered Silas actually is.

  “Grab him!” yet another voice yells. I hear a scuffle and then a thud from up above.

  “Where’s the rest of your group?” a harsh voice demands.

  I can’t quite catch Silas’s reply, but I do hear his sound of pain. It starts off as startled yelp, but he quickly bites it back—he probably doesn’t want me to hear it, but I do. Tears are streaming down my face now, and it’s all I can do not to start banging against the trap door. It would be idiotic though, and if he ever got the chance, Silas would probably strangle me for it. So, I restrain myself and pray that they don’t kill him.

  “What did you say, boy?” a voice above growls, and I hear another dull thud, like flesh being hit.

  “I don’t know!” Silas shouts hoarsely, and I hear another thump as they hit him again. This time he can’t hold back the grunt of pain.

  “Bullshit.” I hear another guy spit, and then all I can hear is a muffled murmur as the men talk amongst themselves.

  “It’s true,” Silas yells angrily. “When we jumped into the river we got separated. I’ve been walking the banks looking for them for days. Why else would I stay around this shithole?”

  He gets hit again for that one, and I wince as the sound reaches my ears.

  “Search the house,” one of the guys commands the others, and I hear feet stomping away to do his bidding.

  I wait with my breath held, wondering if they are still up there, or if they took Silas out of the room with them.

  “If you’re lying, I’m going to enjoy slitting your throat,” a gravelly voice says, making me jump.

  I hear Silas tell the guy to piss off, which earns him another round of, what I can only assume, are punches or kicks.

  I have no idea how long I kneel-huddle underneath the trap door, waiting to hear even the faintest sound that might tell me something, anything. My legs get stiff as the cold seeps inside my long underwear, but I barely even notice it. Finally, after what feels like hours, the foot stomping returns.

  “Well?” the gravelly voice that threatened to cut Silas’s throat demands, and I feel a wave of pure hatred towards him.

  “Nothing.” I can almost imagine the guy shrugging.

  Gravel Voice lets out an annoyed huff that coincides with Silas letting out another sharp sound of pain, like the guy just hit him for spite.

  I clench my fists in anger. I’m pretty sure if I ever run into this guy one-on-one, I will have no problem pulling the trigger. My urge to murder startles me for a moment and opens up a flurry of moral questions that bombard my brain, but I mentally kick it all out of my head. There will be time for all that crap later.

  “Let’s load up and get the hell out of here then,” Gravel Mouth says, and I hear the crackle of a two-way radio. “We got him, you guys can break the perimeter and meet us back at the trucks. Over and out.”

  His words chill me—Silas had been right about men surrounding the house in case we tried to escape.

  I listen to their stomping steps fade away as I sit there, frozen in the dark. My heart beats painfully in my chest with each step that takes Silas further away from me, and then suddenly I can’t breathe.

  Alone.

  I am alone, and something is h
orribly wrong. I claw at my throat as I struggle to draw a deep breath, but I can’t. I gasp and only get a tiny bit of air. My head spins as dizziness hits me and I begin to really panic. Everything around me is pitch black, and it seems to somehow get darker and more suffocating. An imaginary weight settles itself firmly in the middle of my chest, and I let go of my spinning head to grab at my chest. This is it. I’m having a heart attack and there is no one around to help me, not that it even matters because there are no hospitals anymore either. Sweat breaks out all over my body, and a wave of heat engulfs me, and I collapse against the cement as I continue to gasp for breath, certain that any one of my ragged pants are going to be my last.

  I don’t die.

  I lay on the cement so long that I lose track of time, until finally I become aware of the cold stone against my cheek. It helps to cool my overheated body, and slowly I’m able to draw a full breath again. I remove my hand from my chest, where my heart is still thundering, and roll onto my back—right into a spider web. I spit the disgusting web out and frantically swipe at my face until I’m sure nothing is crawling on me.

  I am alone for the first time since the night the zombies came. I go through a wealth of emotions as I lay there in the dark: terror, worry, self-pity, and then anger—at myself. Silas just gave himself up to the bad guys to save me; he even took a beating and he still didn’t waiver. I have no right to lay here and wallow in pity.

  He told me to go to the cabin, to save myself, and that is exactly what I am not going to do! Silas would never leave me behind, and I am damn sure not going to do that to him. The only difference is that Silas would be much better at rescuing me.

  I sit up stiffly and turn on the flashlight, nearly blinding myself. I need a plan, and I know it’s weak, but I really wish Silas was here; he would know exactly what to do.