Zombie Zora

by R.G. Richards

Dushell and I swam to a spot and stood, wearing only underwear. She grinned as she handed me a bar of soap. She had been more fruitful than she let on. Or did the grin have more to do with where she retrieved it from?

  “Only use it a little, it’s yours.”

  “Thanks.” I scrubbed with it and handed it back to her. I surprised myself, usually I blushed about stuff like that, I’m improving.

  Dushell used the soap. “I found three, for us. Thompson can go to hell.”

  “I heard that! I know he has something to do with those zombies. I see it in his eyes.”

  Dushell handed the bar back to me. “Yeah, I bet he does too.”

  I scrubbed more and thought about what we had been through and where we needed to go. I tried my best not to think of Simon or what occurred ahead of us. The army had worked its magic beautifully. Every time I thought of Simon, I would also flashback to that hell with the lady zombie. For now, it was best to focus on the present and survive to reach him.

  I glanced at Dushell, she was taking off her sports bra for a more thorough cleaning. I instinctively turned around. To keep from looking like a total fool, I pretended to wash as a distraction.

  “Dushell? Why did you go on and on last night? You know I tried to stop you, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Why did you keep going?”

  “I don’t know. Odds are we’re not going to all make it. I guess . . . I guess if I don’t make it, I wanted someone to know I was here. I wanted someone to know my story.”

  That was deep. All I could think to say was, “oh.”

  “I mean, look at you, you have somebody waiting for you. You have plenty of reasons to keep going. Me, I lost my family. It wasn’t much of a family to begin with, but I miss them. What I would give to see my mom one last time.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m serious, Zee. I think I would turn into a zombie if they promised me I could see her one last time. You don’t know what it is like being alone. Sometimes, I want to give up and accept my fate, maybe it would be easier.”

  I was grateful she trusted me enough to confide her deepest fears and desires to me. To hear the words made me cringe. My stomach dropped a mile and I’m sure my heart broke more than once. I searched for encouraging words.

  “I need you, Dushell,” that was all I could muster. I’m pathetic.

  “Will you stop it with the Dushell! You know my name is Brittany. And for the record, I don’t have a death wish. I am a realist and if these are my last days, I want to be called by my name. I want my identity back.”

  Brittany could afford to be weak, she was right, she had no one. I couldn’t afford it. Simon was waiting for me and if I lost it, I lost him. I kept my back turned and gave her privacy. She needed to cry and get it out. She was badass. Life made her that way. But here, in our privacy, she could let her guard down and wail. As her friend, I would let her.

  “I want my identity back, damn it!”

  Brittany cried harder now. She splashed water and cried. I did my best to keep it together. I thought it was a good idea, now I regretted that decision. My tears pooled and then silently crept down my face. I shut my eyes tight to hold on. Needing reinforcement, I put my hand to my face to cover my eyes.

  “Damn it! Damn you all!”

  I listened and waited for the splashing to die down.

  “I’m sorry, Brittany. But you’re wrong, you’re not alone. Not at all. You are my family and I am here for you to the bitter end and you and I . . . we are getting out of here and finding our brother. Somehow, god willing, we will make it.” With that, I made a move I told myself I would never make. I faced her and we hugged. My tears fell on her shoulder and hers on mine.

  We didn’t have a knife or cut our fingers or anything like that, but we became blood brothers, we bonded for life. Our tears were our blood. We got out of the water to grab something to eat. I felt better after our cry and can only imagine that she did as well. We didn’t talk at all. We dressed and quietly made our way back to the others. I for one, felt embarrassed. I never made eye contact with her, but I was there for her one hundred percent.

  “It’s about time,” said Jones. He was coming toward us. “I thought maybe you fell in.” I knew his infamous wink came next. I braced for it, and like clockwork, there it was.

  “We obviously have more to clean,” said Brittany. “Judging by your size, I’ll keep a seat warm for ya.”

  “Yeah,” I joined in. “Two and half minutes oughta do it, little soldier.”

  We chuckled

  Jones laughed. “Watch your mouth, I’m still in charge of you dickwads.”

  We stood at attention and saluted as he went by. “Aye, aye, Captain.” Brittany threw him a bar of soap and then we went to the picnic table they setup for our breakfast.

  “Hey, Thompson,” I said. I thought I should try to be nicer. Maybe I was wrong about his involvement. I was a sucker for second chances.

  “Hey, Baker, Dushell. How are you ladies doing on this fine day?” his grin was borderline sinister.

  “Still alive,” said Brittany.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Thompson was something. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. He gave me the creeps. Not on a sexual basis, the way guys would leer and try to look down your shirt and then pretend they weren’t when you caught them in the act. No, it was something else that ate at me. Playing the nice card didn’t help, not one bit. It would take time, but I would find answers, eventually.

  Brittany and I sat together and ate. We couldn’t have privacy, Thompson leered. I kicked Brittany under the table and she kicked me back. I wanted her to ask him to stop it, she was bolder than I. I’ve seen her subtlety hit guys like a brick wall.

  Without her backing, I decided to eat quickly. Perhaps we could make an early start and get closer to Simon.

  True to form, Jones came back in roughly ten minutes. We had finished our breakfast of fried SPAM and green beans and occupied ourselves with lady tasks. Brittany raked through my stringy, wet, brown hair and braided it for me. I looked forward to tackling those beautiful blond locks of hers.

  I followed the manual and packed the essentials. Brittany skimped on them to have room for a hairbrush, comb, and two packs of rubber bands and ties. From here on out, we will coordinate. I doubt if the guys did the same, they were weary of each other. Before Jones came back, Thompson sat and blatantly stared while we groomed ourselves. Now that Jones was here, he moved off and I saw him watching us less. It gave me a small chill to see him put his hand near his groin and rub. Thank god for Jones.

  We took a little longer on our hair, then joined Jones to plan our next move. Jones held a map. He looked around and then rolled his eyes.

  “Thompson,” shouted Jones, “get over here.” Jones had a state map of Missouri and had drawn with a red marker our route. “All right, folks. Our destination is a small town in northern Arkansas named Cherokee Village. We won’t be in the town; our camp is on the outskirts, to the west.”

  “Is that Camp Brandt?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s where they took my brother, right?”

  “Yeah, Baker. That’s where they took him. When we get there, we will be part of a collaborative force. I don’t know if we will stay together after that. My guess is that we will all get new leaders and new assignments. I hate new team members. I will try to keep us together, but I don’t know what is going to happen when we get there.”

  “Where are we?” Brittany asked.

  Jones pointed on the map. “We are outside Mark Twain National Forest. That’s not saying much, seeing is how I count seven of them on this map. What a crazy state. My best guess, considering the road . . . well, I say we are here.”

  “Siloam Springs?” I read the name he pointed to.

  Jones consulted his compass for a moment. “Yeah. We go east to US 60/63 and follow it south. I want to-”

  “Wait,” Brittany interrupted. S
he pointed further down on the map. “Let’s make a major stop here, in West Plains. I know the area. They have one of those super Walmarts there. A lot of the area should be empty, too.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “They evacuated to the west coast, before you joined.”

  “That’s right,” said Thompson. His validation of my friend meant nothing.

  “Zombies are everywhere,” I said. “They couldn’t have gotten all the people out. I know from experience, when they call for evacuations, not all the people believe it and leave. How many zombies can we expect to find?”

  Jones sighed. “We will stay close to the road, but not on it. If we avoid population centers, we lower our risk. We will stop there if we can and then we cross into Arkansas and find our camp. It’s a lot of miles for us to walk. Personally, I’m counting on finding a car with gas.”

  “You and me both,” I added. I looked at the distance trying to calculate it in my head. “Is that thirty miles?”

  “No,” said Jones. “That’s thirty minutes, if we had a car. We are going to veer off and cut across here. By car, it’s around twenty miles. By foot, it may be well over an hour or more, depending on what blocks our path.”

  Jones folded his map and put it in his pocket. I was wearing jeans and a thick long sleeve shirt. I admired his uniform at that moment. I could use places to put stuff and had very few. My blue jeans only had back pockets. If I found anything useful along the way, I could stuff it in my army boots. They were the only other thing besides my tags, that proved I was US property, that and my M16.

  “Let’s move out.” Barked Jones.

  We threw our bags over our shoulders and sat out on our journey. South was the direction of travel for our small party. I had no sense of direction, as far as I could tell, neither did the others. We hadn’t taken ten steps before stopping and waiting for Jones to allow his trusty compass to guide us to the Promised Land.

  Staying in the trees was not difficult, they were everywhere. We meandered along and only lost sight of the road twice before stopping for a break. We sat in a clearing and polished off the last of the SPAM.

  We were gambling that we could make it to town and find more of the tasty treats, perhaps other meats as well. I was longing for salmon or tuna. I had gotten my hopes up that they would catch some fish. The pond was empty. Jones said it must have been in the process of being transformed into a hatchery.

  The plan was to walk until midday. After lunch, we would travel more and rest near West Plains. Obstacles lay in our path and we adjusted our route three times before making it one third of the way to our destination. We wanted full sunlight to ravage the place when we got there. Plus, we needed to be at full strength for the zombies. As we got ready to continue walking, a shot rang out, then another.

  We moved instantly. Someone, a human was in trouble. We left our route and turned west into the direction of the shots. Louder and louder the zombie growls became. We ran through an open field with no time to enjoy the feel of the grass beneath us. Running barefoot through grass was one of my best idiosyncrasies. But there was no time for it, I ran like the rest, dropping my pack to move faster.

  Through a clearing and then through more trees, we made it. We ran smack into the thing we chased, zombies. They were old and moving slow, circling. It didn’t matter because they had the numbers on their side.

  In the middle were three people. A woman had a metal baseball bat, dripping with green slime. Another woman had a hammer in each hand. A man carried the only weapon, a nine millimeter. Four dead zombies lay at their feet.

  We stopped to appraise the situation. The zombies were not charging, something was wrong. They instead went around them in a slow circle. One ventured forward and the woman with the bat ran at it and whacked it. Its head went flying and the rest of its body fell. Green goo came out of it, some flying and landing on zombies, the rest oozing into the soil where it lay.

  Another zombie attacked. The woman with hammers acted. She went up side its head with both hammers. The exploding head sprayed her with green blood.

  Several advanced. The man aimed and they fell. But what I feared would happen, happened. The man was out of ammunition and somehow they knew it. Every zombie advanced.

  The small group went wild, yelling and hitting.

  “Thompson, Brittany, get in there,” shouted Jones.

  Thompson and Brittany ran in. They had no bullets, so they swung empty guns. I took a knee beside Jones and we aimed and fired. “Protect our group first,” shouted Jones.

  “Right,” I shouted. I looked for Brittany. She bashed them left and right. One came behind her and I fired. Its brains exploded. She had a second to react before slamming her already bent rifle onto another zombie’s skull. She waved and went back to work.

  I turned to Thompson. He stabbed one in the heart, how stupid can he be? I shot it in the head, hoping he would get the idea. My god, he is supposed to be a smart scientist.

  I heard screams from a woman. The one with the two hammers was dragged off. A large gaping wound was on the side of her neck. She was wildly twisting as two of the zombies had a leg each, dragging her to her doom. They stopped and one of the zombies bit into one of her legs. It was too late, her eyes looked toward me with a distant look in them. I shot her between those sad eyes for mercy’s sake. I could only get one of the two dragging her. The last pulled her body behind trees, no doubt feasting.

  “Aww!” shouted Jones. He ran into the mix with his weapon over his head as if it were a club. Damn, he was out of ammo.

  I wanted to check my magazine. I decided against it. I would protect my team from imminent threat from my position for as long as I could. I checked my scope. I found Brittany, she was giving them hell, good girl. I found Thompson. A zombie advanced on him and like an idiot, he tripped backward and fell. I took aim and waited, waited, waited. As the zombie had his mouth open, diving for dinner, I gave it a gaping hole in its head. I bet he didn’t see that one coming. I looked at the fool again, he looked at me wearing this big grin plastered across his bloody face. “Get up you fool! I’ll be damn if I waste another bullet on you!”

  I got a chance to protect my team with two more rounds, then I heard an empty click. I was out.

  Chapter Six