by Dziekan, PJ
“Any more?” Ryan asked, shining the light around the room.
The room was in shambles, desktops empty, chairs overturned. In the corner was the rack full of keys, on the floor, keys scattered everywhere. “Shit,” Mick said when the flashlight stopped on the mess. “We’ll never know which keys are for what.”
“There’s a couple still on the rack,” Ryan said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Or maybe you’ll end up with a Focus.” Mick stepped over the body and headed towards the keys. He pulled his mini Mag light from his front pocket and turned it on, shining it on the rack. He squatted down and looked at the remaining two sets. He laughed, pulling one set from the hook and tossing them at Ryan. “Here’s your Focus.”
Ryan batted them away. “Asshole. What else is there?”
Mick shone his light on the last set. “Explorer Sport. Row C, space 24.” He pulled the keys from the rack and stood up. “Let’s go check out your new ride.”
As they walked out of the office, Mick glanced down the hall and caught a glimpse of a coffee pot in the beam of his flashlight. “Go ahead, Ryan. I want to see what’s down there.” He tossed the keys to his brother.
“We’ll look together.”
Mick shook his head. “Nah, you go move the Jeep. The Explorer will surely need a jump. I just want to see if there’s anything salvageable down there.”
“You sure?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah, go.” Mick was already heading down the hall, the flashlight beam bobbing in front of him. Ryan hesitated a moment, then headed the opposite way, back to the Jeep.
Mick’s flashlight found a small break room, the smell of burnt coffee still faint under the smell of spoilage. Mick bypassed the fridge, instead opening a cabinet, looking for something useful. He hit it lucky on the first one, finding a large cardboard box half full of coffee packets. He smiled. They had run out of coffee a month before. He pulled out the box and opened other cabinets, sweeping the usable contents of each into the box. He hit the jackpot when he found two full boxes of tea bags. Sarah had been rationing her tea since they were on their final box. And Sarah without caffeine was a cranky Sarah indeed.
He reached the end of the wall of cabinets and turned, moving down the next wall when an arm reached out from the corner and grabbed his right wrist. With a cry, he dropped the box, contents scattering everywhere, and pulled. The zombie was a little fleshier than the one trapped in the office, but still somewhat skeletonized. The long hair and pearls around what was left of the neck made him think it was once female.
The creature’s grip tightened painfully. Mick moved back, pulling on his arm, but the zombie held firm. He could see the strain in what was left of its muscles as it tried to pull his flesh to its gaping mouth. He grabbed the zombie’s arm with his other hand and swung, smashing the zombie into the refrigerator so hard that the doors bounced open, a foul stench of rot escaping before the doors bounced shut. The zombie held firm. He did it twice more before he felt the zombie’s grip loosen just a bit. He swung once more, yanking his arm back as he did. The zombie released him, its hand sliding back over his before it dropped back to the ground.
Mick felt a burning on his wrist as the zombie hand passed over, thought “Uh-oh” for a brief second before instinct took over. He reared back and kicked the zombie as it strained for him, his size 13 boot caving its skull. As soon as he was sure the creature was finally dead, he looked at his wrist. Just above his glove was an inch-long scratch. “Fuck!”
Holding his right arm down by his side, he used his left to rip open the remaining cupboards, looking for a first aid kit. Nothing. He stepped over the corpse on the floor and moved down the hall. The first door he came to was a unisex bathroom, the door open. He went in, moving the flashlight around the room. Mounted on the wall was a white box with a red cross.
He pulled the first aid kit from the wall and set it on the sink. Quickly, he opened the lid, shining the light inside. It was a well-stocked kit, capable of handling every minor emergency. After a minute of digging, he found a small bottle of alcohol. Setting the flashlight on the back of the toilet, he broke the seal on the bottle. In the meager light, he poured half the contents on his wrist, washing away pinpoints of blood, wincing at the pinch of pain. He capped the bottle and threw it back in the kit as he dug around for a bandage. He spotted a tube of anti-bacterial cream. He smeared a big glob of it on the scratch. Finally, he covered the wound with a large bandage and pulled his sleeve down to cover it. He took the first aid kit with him when he left.
He headed back to the break room and put the first aid kit on the counter. Keeping an eye on the corpse on the floor, he collected the items that weren’t smashed or trampled by their struggles. Many of the coffee packets had broken open; most of the tea bags were covered in dirty foot prints. He ended up with half a box of salvage. Shaking his head at his stupidity, he left the room, box and flashlight in one hand, first aid kit in the other. His wrist burned.
CHAPTER THREE
Mick ran through the building and into the parking lot, scanning the area for his brother. He saw him three rows in, parked in front of a Forest Green Explorer. He jogged down to Ryan, whose first words were “Where the hell have you been?”
“Got some supplies,” Mick said, showing him the box and first aid kit. He tossed them in the back of the Jeep.
“Find any candy?”
Shit! Mick thought. Didn’t even check. He just said “Nah. Coffee and tea, though.” He moved to the front of the vehicles, which were parked facing each other. “What’re we doing?”
“Ford won’t start, like you thought. Gotta jump it.”
“Let’s get to it, then.”
“In a hurry?” Ryan asked with a grin. “Sarah waiting for you?”
“Fuck you, Ryan, let’s just get it done.”
The wound on his wrist was at the forefront of Mick’s mind. Even as he attached the jumper cables to both vehicles, waited for the Ford to start and added fuel to the vehicle, his mind was on his wrist. Would he get infected? Would he turn? He couldn’t burden Sarah with this, not in her condition. When he felt it coming, when he felt like he was changing, he’d leave the group. Walk far into the woods and put a bullet in his brain. He wouldn’t become one of those things.
“I said are you ready?” Ryan’s voice broke into his thoughts.
“Yeah, sure.” Mick looked at the dealership, wondering if he had left his life there, then got into the Jeep.
♦
They saw a few old zombies on the way back – emaciated creatures that looked only a breath from the grave. The change in weather must have brought them out, woke them from whatever slumber they were in during the winter. Ryan wanted to make a few stops along the way, but Mick declined. He just wanted to get back.
When they arrived back at the cabin, everyone was in the garden, taking advantage of the mild weather. Mick parked and walked quickly to Sarah, who was shoveling compost onto the newly turned soil. “What are you doing?” He asked softly.
“What does it look like?” She didn’t stop shoveling, just glanced up at him.
“Should you be doing that? Now?”
“Why not?’ She flung a final shovelful of compost onto the soil then slammed the shovel into the heap, leaning on it. “Nothing’s changed, Mick.”
“Everything’s changed.” He glanced around, saw no one in earshot. “You’re carrying my child. You’re my hope. Everything’s different.”
She knew this argument would come up. “I’m not some delicate flower, Mick,” she said. “Women for years have been doing physical labor while pregnant. There’s no reason for me not to do it.” Something else he said tickled the back of her mind.
“But this?’ He indicated the shovel. “Couldn’t you do something easier?”
“Like what?” She looked out over the garden. Dylan, April and Jack were pushing wheelbarrows full of dirt and compost to various spots in the garden. Becca and Dominic were digging holes and plan
ting. The kids were watering the plantings. Julianne was the only one not involved in active physical labor, but that was only because she was carrying a tray with glasses of water, passing them out to anyone who requested one. “Everyone is doing something, something that needs done. I’m not going to sit on my ass while they work.” She reached for the shovel. “Besides, they don’t even know I’m pregnant.”
“Sarah, I –” He stopped. What could he say? “Be careful, OK?” He kissed her cheek then headed back to the Jeep.
She watched him walk away. What the hell had he said? She went back to shoveling compost, replaying their conversation in her head. The shovel dropped from her hands as the implication set in. She wanted to run, she wanted to scream. Instead she walked calmly away, waving at Jack that she was taking a break.
Mick was in the kitchen, his back to the door, emptying the box of supplies he had brought back. She stopped in the doorway. “What happened?” She asked, hating the way her voice broke.
“What? Nothing.” Mick continued emptying the box, his back to her.
“Mick…” The fear was overwhelming her. “Please look at me.”
He turned around. His brilliant blue eyes settled on her face for a moment, then skittered away. She saw something – pain, fear – she didn’t know what it was, but it scared her even more. “What happened?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Did—did you get bit?”
He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “No, I didn’t get bit.”
She crossed the room and stood in front of him. “Then what happened?” She reached out, touched his stubbled cheek.
He closed his eyes, let out a breath. “I was scratched.”
“Scratched?” Sarah breathed. “Where? Let me see.”
He pulled back his sleeve. Sarah went for the bandage, but he pulled his arm away. “I’ll get it. You shouldn’t touch it,” he said, pulling the bandage off.
With an exasperated sigh, she grabbed his arm and used a finger to wipe the excess cream from his wound. “Sarah!” He exclaimed, pulling on his arm but she held tight.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” she said, peering at the wound. It was slightly red, but not inflamed.
“Why the fuck did you do that?” His voice was thick with emotion.
She looked up at him. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s just a scratch.”
“Sarah, we don’t know what will happen. It could be infectious. I could be changing as we speak.”
“You’re right, we don’t know.” She took his hand in hers. “Whatever happens, we face it together.”
Mick looked down at her, her face smudged with dirt, her eyes shining. “Sarah, I –”
“Sarah! Mick! Ryan found some chocolate in the shed!” Mikey came running in, Elizabeth on his heels. Ryan was behind them.
Sarah turned, pulling Mick’s hand down. She hid it between them. “Real chocolate?” She asked with a smile.
“Yes, two bars!” Mikey was practically dancing.
“We can each have a piece if we eat all of our dinner!” Elizabeth piped up.
Mikey and Elizabeth were growing fast, shaking off their shyness and fear. Everyone had taken the children under their wings, teaching them what they knew, even Dylan. The kids worked, just like everyone else, but they also got to have fun. No one wanted them to lose the little innocence they had left.
“Are you going to eat all your dinner?” Sarah teased. “Even if we have lima beans?”
Mikey at seven, didn’t like lima beans, but he nodded. “I’ll eat all the lima beans,” Elizabeth said. “Even yours.” Just a year younger than Mikey, she was almost as tall as he was.
The adults laughed. “I’ll make sure you don’t have to, Elizabeth,” Sarah said. “Why don’t you guys get cleaned up for lunch?”
“OK!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Can we get chocolate for lunch?” Mikey asked slyly.
“No, kid. Just for dinner.” Ryan ruffled the boy’s hair, gave him a little shove. “Nice try, though.”
The kids headed into the bathroom to get cleaned up for lunch. Ryan walked into the kitchen. “You tell Sarah what happened?” He asked.
Sarah’s eyes flew to Mick’s face. He shook his head, the movement so slight she wasn’t sure she saw it. “No,” she finally said. “What happened?”
“I almost ended up with a Ford Focus,” Ryan said. “A zombie was trapped in the office with the keys and knocked them all over the floor. Mick crushed its skull with his foot.”
“Wait, office?” Sarah asked.
“We got the Explorer from a dealership,” Mick explained. “There weren’t any decent wheels on the road.”
“Mick’s idea,” Ryan said, opening a cupboard and pulling out some cans.
“That’s ‘cause I got the brains and the beauty,” Mick said with a wink.
“Ha.” Ryan laughed.
“You on lunch duty this week?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah. Can you take over for me the rest of the week?”
“Hmm, out on the road or heating up some lunch,” Mick said. “I’ll take lunch duty.”
“Figured you would.” Ryan pulled down a couple more cans. “Potatoes and peaches?”
Sarah shuddered. “God, I hate peaches.”
“Yeah, but you’ll eat ’em,” Mick said. Sarah looked at him. “We’re all eating things we don’t like.”
“The days of picky eaters are over,” Ryan said. “Lunch in about fifteen. Wanna get cleaned up and get the others?”
“OK.” Sarah pushed Mick ahead of her, careful to keep his injured hand out of Ryan’s sight.
The kids had finished washing up. “Why don’t you go get everyone for lunch?” Sarah asked.
“OK!” The kids bounded from the bathroom. Sarah marveled at their energy. She wished she could borrow some. She was so tired.
She closed the door after the kids left. “Let me see that wrist,” she said to Mick.
He held it out to her. “Nothing’s changed, Sarah. The scratch is still there.”
“Just let me see it!” She held his arm, turning it this way and that. The scratch looked no different than it had earlier. It wasn’t a deep scratch, no longer bleeding. But it was there.
Holding his hand over the sink, she uncapped the jug of wash water and poured some over the wound. The water that filtered down the drain was clear, no signs of danger. She lathered his hand and wrist with soap, the thick white foam covering his skin. She rinsed that, finally patting the area dry with paper towels. She pulled a small bandage from the medicine cabinet and slathered it with antibiotic cream. She put it on his wrist then pulled the sleeve down to cover the bandage. “There,” she said. “Just keep your sleeve down.”
“What? Sarah, we have to tell them.” His voice was a harsh whisper.
“No, we don’t.” She shook her head emphatically. “I don’t want them freaking out. And you know Dylan will.”
“Sarah, they have to know. They have to be ready if something happens.”
“Nothing’s going to happen!” She exclaimed; her eyes wide. “It’s just a scratch!”
“We don’t know that,” he said gently. “They have to know, just in case.” He took her hands in his. “You would tell them if it was you.”
“But it’s not me.” She swallowed. “They don’t need to know. They’ll start acting all weird and things will be weird enough with Jack and Ryan gone. I’ll stay with you.” She looked down at the floor. “If something happens, if you…” She trailed off then looked up, meeting his eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”
“You mean it?” He took her hands in his. “If something happens, you’ll take care of me?”
She swallowed again, nodded. “I will, I swear,” she whispered.
He sighed and pulled her into his arms. “This is wrong, you know,” he whispered into her hair.
“I don’t care.” She held him tight, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.
♦
Lunch, potatoes and peaches, was eaten on the
front porch, taking advantage of the warm weather. They ate quickly, not taking time to savor the meal. That was a luxury they could no longer afford. There was too much to do and not enough time to do it. Every minute sitting was another minute wasted.
Sarah ate all of her potatoes and a bite of her peaches. Despite the fact that food was scarce, she couldn’t bring herself to finish them. After pushing them around on her plate for a few minutes, she motioned for the kids. “I’m full; do you guys want my peaches?”
At one time or another, they had all given up food for the children, but Mick’s head whipped around at her words. “Do you want some of my potatoes?” He watched as the children devoured the peaches on her plate.
“No, I’m fine.” She avoided his gaze as she stood, taking her now empty plate into the kitchen.
He forked the last couple bites of his lunch into his mouth and followed her. “Sarah, you need to eat.”
“I know what I’m doing,” she said, taking the pot of hot water from the stove so she could pour some in the sink. The pot was heavy and her muscles tensed as she picked it up.
Mick reached for the pot. “Here, let me –”
“I’m not helpless, Mick!” She exclaimed, jerking the pot away from him. The water splashed up on her arm and she winced.
“Shit, Sarah…”
She set the pot back on the stove. “I’m not helpless,” she repeated. “I’m still the same person I was a week ago, a month ago.” She rubbed her brow. “You really need to stop treating me like – like –”
“Like the woman who’s carrying my baby?’ Mick interrupted. “Not gonna happen, babe.”
She sighed. “You can’t treat me any different. You can’t.”
“I can’t help it,” he said. “I don’t know what else to do.” His voice got even lower. “Especially now.”
