Amy didn’t know whether she could believe him or not, but it felt good to be comforted. They sat like that for several minutes, not saying a word, until Amy became aware of her full bladder. “Um, Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“I need to pee.”
“Er, that might be a problem,” he said, standing up. “Let’s see if we can sort something out.”
Together, they went through the basement to look for a solution. Finally, Alex came up with an idea. It took a little work, but after a while, he had a rough toilet set up in the furthest corner of the room. “How’s this?”
With the use of old pallets, a plank, wood glue, and a bag of compost, he’d made a wooden box filled with a layer of compost. Glued over the top was the plank. Next to this on the floor, lay a stack of toilet paper ready for use. A piece of canvas tacked to an overhead beam formed a curtain for privacy.
Amy eyed it with a dubious expression. “How does it work?”
“Well, you sit on the plank with your bum hanging over the edge, and you do your thing into the box. Afterward, you wipe with newspaper and sprinkle a layer of compost over the top. There are one and a half bags left, so it should last a few days.”
“I guess I don’t have a choice,” Amy said.
“Not really,” Alex said, scratching his head. He pointed at a small table next to the makeshift toilet. “That’s for washing up.”
The table, a rickety antique, had a plastic bowl on top, along with a chipped cup, two toothbrushes, toothpaste, washcloths, a hairbrush, a broken piece of mirror, and a bar of soap. Next to it stood an empty bucket and a jug of water.
“It’s almost homey,” Amy managed to say with a faint smile. While it wasn’t luxurious, she was grateful to her brother. “Thanks, Alex.”
“We should go easy on the water, though. There’s no telling how long we’ll be down here.”
“Okay.”
Alex turned away. “I’ll leave you to wash up while I take stock of our supplies.”
“What about me?” Amy asked.
“You can find ways for us to keep busy. Games, books, anything.”
“I can try.”
“It’s important that we keep our spirits up, Sis. We can’t give up. Not now, not ever,” Alex said.
“I understand.”
Once her brother was occupied with his stocktake, Amy used the new toilet. It turned out to work reasonably well, and she was glad he’d thought of it. Afterward, she brushed her teeth and washed her face and hands.
It was warm down in the basement. Humid. There were no windows and only minimal ventilation from above. That meant the air soon felt stuffy, and it wasn’t long before she took off her hoodie and the jersey underneath. Dressed only in jeans, socks, and a t-shirt, she set about looking for something to keep them occupied.
There wasn’t much: Old furniture, gardening equipment, tools, newspapers, and a couple of dust-covered boxes.
Amy opened them and was surprised to find a wealth of old magazines. They were quite varied, ranging from a gun subscription to knitting patterns and fashion mags. “This should keep us busy for a while.”
“Find anything?” Alex asked.
“Just a few old magazines,” Amy replied, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She felt hot, and her cheeks were flushed. Fanning her face with a piece of cardboard, she asked, “Can I have some water, please?”
“Of course,” Alex said, handing her a bottle.
She downed the liquid in one gulp and gave the empty bottle back to him. “You should pee in that. It will keep the smell down and make the compost last longer.”
He took the bottle. “Good idea.”
“I’m going to lie down,” Amy said. “Call me if you need anything.”
Alex frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well, and my head hurts.”
“Remind me to have a look at those scratches later on,” Alex said.
Trudging toward the couch, Amy curled up on it and tried to rest. It felt like a drummer had set up shop inside her head, and she swore he was keeping the beat with the zombies. Bang, bang, bang, bang, over and over until she wanted to scream.
At one point, Alex offered her breakfast. A protein bar and a packet of nuts with another bottle of water. “Here, have this. You need to keep your strength up.”
“Thanks.” Amy forced herself to sit upright and eat the food, even though she wasn’t hungry. The water went down much more quickly, her parched tissues soaking up the precious liquid.
Alex sat across from her on a small stool, chewing on a mouthful of dried apricots. He eyed her flushed cheeks through narrowed eyes. “How do you feel? Hot? Sore? Sick?”
Amy nodded, fanning her face with the cardboard again. “All of the above. My head feels like it’s going to burst, and I’m so thirsty.”
“Let me look at your head.” Alex parted her hair with gentle fingers and sucked in a breath.
“Is it bad?” Amy asked with alarm.
“It’s infected. Those filthy, disgusting zombies. I don’t even want to know what’s under their fingernails.” Alex stepped away. “The soap didn’t help much.”
“What now?” Amy asked, as fear sprouted in her chest. “We don’t have any medicine down here.”
“No, but I did find a bottle of whiskey among the supplies. We can use it to clean the wounds.”
Amy winced. “That’s gonna hurt.”
“Yes, but it’s better than getting septicemia.”
“Septicemia? That’s blood poisoning, right?” Amy asked.
“Sort of. It’s a very severe infection that affects all of your inner organs, causing them to fail one after the other. Not long after that, you’re dead.”
Amy shuddered. “Bring that whiskey.”
Alex fetched the bottle, admiring the label. “Such a shame. This is premium stuff. Real scotch. Saul had good taste.”
“I don’t care. Just get it over with,” Amy said.
“Here,” Alex said, cracking the seal. “Take a few sips. It will numb the pain.”
“Really?” Amy reached for the bottle with hesitant fingers.
“These are special circumstances, Sis. Go for it.”
Amy tipped the bottle of golden liquid into her mouth and took a big gulp. Immediately, the liquor burned through her mouth, throat, and sinuses like liquid fire. She choked and sputtered, gasping for breath.
Alex struggled to keep in his laughter, not wanting to alert the zombies above to their continued presence. He rubbed her back and took the bottle from her limp fingers. “Not all at once, Sis. Little sips. This stuff is strong.”
“It’s not strong,” Amy said, her eyes watering. “It’s vile.”
“Maybe to you,” Alex said with a sigh of regret. He soaked a piece of cloth with the alcohol and dabbed it onto the cuts.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Amy cried, biting on her fist. Even that light touch caused fiery pain to lance through her head.
“Sorry, Sis, but I’ll have to dig in there if we want to clear out this infection. It’s going to hurt a lot, but you can’t scream.”
“Do it.” Amy squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her balled up hoodie.
Alex dived back in, scraping the liquor-soaked rag across each scratch. Amy groaned into her hoodie, her hands balled into fists. It felt like he was peeling away her skin with a dull butter knife. Every nerve in her body was alight with sheer agony. Tears ran down her cheeks and soaked the hoodie. Just when she thought she’d pass out, he stopped.
“It’s done,” Alex said, taking a sip from the bottle of whiskey. His face was pale, and it looked like he wanted to throw up. “Want some more?”
Amy grabbed the bottle and swallowed several mouthfuls. The burning in her mouth echoed the pain in her scalp, but she didn’t care. Fifteen minutes later, the potent liquor kicked in. Her head buzzed pleasantly, and the pain faded to a manageable level.
“Better?” Alex asked.
; Amy nodded. “Yup. Can I have some more?”
“Uh, maybe not. You don’t want to know what a hangover feels like,” Alex said. “Besides, you’re already far beyond tipsy.”
Amy pouted, but her eyelids dragged, and she didn’t have the energy to argue. “Whatever.”
Alex snorted. “The mantra of teenagers everywhere.”
Amy ignored him and curled into a ball on the couch. She tucked her knees to her chest. “Goodnight, Alex.”
“Goodnight, Sis,” Alex said, “but you know it’s just after nine in the morning?”
“I don’t care,” she mumbled, watching him through slitted eyes.
He folded up her hoodie and tucked it underneath her head before draping the jersey across her shoulders. “Do you want my jacket too?”
“No, it’s okay. I’m not cold.”
“Alright, get some rest then. I want you to wake up infection-free, okay? And here’s some water for when you wake up,” he added, placing a bottle next to the couch.
“Thanks,” she replied, drifting off.
Amy slept like a log, only to wake up hours later with a stabbing headache. Her joints ached, and her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth. She uncurled her body from the couch but paused when a wave of dizziness hit her. “Ugh, I don’t feel so well. What’s the time?”
Her watch told her it was past midnight. They’d now been stuck in the basement for just over a day. Remembering the water Alex had left her, she picked up the bottle and took a few sips. Her stomach twisted into knots, and she was afraid of vomiting. “Alex?”
Amy looked around and spotted him sleeping on the floor with his head tucked into his arms. She didn’t want to wake him and walked on silent but unsteady feet toward the toilet. After doing her business, she washed her hands before picking up the sliver of mirror.
Sweat beaded her forehead, and deep hollows sat beneath her eyes, the color of ripe plums. Her body radiated heat like a furnace, burning up from the inside. With shaking fingers, she lifted a lock of her hair and nearly puked on the spot.
The whiskey had been for nothing.
All that pain for no reason at all.
The scratches were red and swollen. Green pus oozed from the wounds, and it stank. The lightest touch caused extreme agony, and she had to fight to hold back her tears. The infection was a lot worse than either she or Alex had suspected.
Without realizing what she was doing, Amy walked up the steps leading to the barricaded door. She stared at it for a second, her hand resting against the stacked pallets. They were holding, too heavy for the infected to move.
The short walk had sapped her strength, and she sank onto the top step. With her eyes closed, she leaned against the concrete wall behind her. It felt cold, a blessed relief to her fevered body.
The zombies hadn’t let up for one second. They banged away at the door without pause. The vibrations traveled through the walls and down her spine. In a way, it was kind of soothing, but also prophetic.
At that moment, she realized they were doomed. The infected were tireless, mindless. They would never stop. Not until she and Alex were long dead. Worst of all, she’d go first, and Alex would blame himself.
Amy felt for her gun, her hand closing around the butt. She considered ending it right there, but no. She couldn’t do that to Alex. With a sigh, she let go of the weapon.
The world was turning dark around her, her consciousness fading in and out. Licking her dry lips, Amy whispered, “I’m sorry, Alex, but it’s time I went home to Mom and Dad. They’re waiting for me.”
Her eyes drifted shut, and her head fell onto her chest. One arm flopped to the side, dangling down the step, the fingers as delicate as a child’s. Beside her, the undead continued their relentless barrage while Alex snored softly below, oblivious to the world around him.
Chapter 18 - Alex
When Alex woke up, he couldn’t see a thing. The basement was pitch-black, the kind your eyes couldn’t adjust to no matter what. The floor beneath him was cold, and he found he was shivering. How long was I out?
He sat upright and rubbed his eyes before feeling his way to the couch. His searching hands encountered the lamp, and he tried to switch it back on. Nothing happened, and he guessed the gas had run out. He didn’t know where the other lamps were either.
“Perfect. Just perfect,” he cried before realizing he was being too loud. He didn’t want to wake Amy. She needed her sleep, and he couldn’t alert the infected to their presence either. The stupid things were still up there, not letting up for even one second. I hate zombies.
Alex crawled across the floor in the general direction of their supplies. He’d placed a packet of candles and a box of matches on top of one of the pallets. If he could find it, they could have light again.
“Ah, shit,” Alex cursed in a low voice when he hit his head on the corner of something hard. With one hand pressed to the sore spot, he felt in front of him. It was the pallet, and he soon found the candles. Within seconds, a soft glow lit the area around him. What time is it?
According to his watch, it was six in the morning. He’d slept throughout the long night, and their second day in the basement had dawned.
“No wonder I’m so stiff,” he groaned, rubbing an ache in his back.
He headed toward the toilet and did his business before washing up. He longed for a hot shower or even a cold one. Anything to wash away the sweat and dirt. Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
After completing his ablutions, Alex headed back to their supplies. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t had a decent meal since the night they fled from the horde. Pancakes would’ve been lovely, but he settled for a couple of granola bars, water, and dried fruit and nuts instead.
With an armful of his chosen breakfast, he trudged toward the couch. “Amy? Are you awake? I’ve got food.”
No answer.
He rounded the corner and stopped abruptly. It was empty. Amy was gone, and he hadn’t even heard her get up. “That’s weird. Sis? Are you there?”
Alex whirled in a circle, searching for her but saw nothing in the gloom. The candle only lit a small area which left the rest of the basement in darkness. Dropping the food, he looked for her in earnest.
“Amy, where are you?” he asked as loudly as he dared. When she didn’t answer, he began to panic.
Finally, after fine combing the room, he found her at the top of the stairs. Amy sat with her head slumped onto her chest, one arm dangling to the side. She didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe, and for one awful moment, he thought she was dead. “No, no, no. Not you. Not like this.”
Alex bounded up the steps and pressed two fingers to her throat. “Please, be alive. Please, please, please.”
After a couple of seconds, he felt a faint flutter beneath his fingertips: A heartbeat. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks and gathered her into his arms. “Come on, Sis. Let’s get you down from here. I’ll look after you, I promise.”
He laid her on the couch and tapped her cheek, alarmed when she didn’t wake up. “Come on, Amy. You’re scaring me.”
He pressed a palm to her forehead. “Jeez, you’re burning up.” Lifting a lock of her hair, he examined the scratches on her scalp and swore. “Fucking zombies!” The wounds were ugly and inflamed. Green puss oozed from the edges like slime.
Alex sank back onto his heels, at a complete loss. He wasn’t a doctor or a medic. He didn’t know what to do. Even if he did, he lacked the medicine to treat her. The infection had moved beyond the wounds and into her bloodstream.
With shaking hands, he grabbed a clean cloth and the rest of the whiskey. It was all he had. After disinfecting the scratches once more, he tried to coax a few sips of water into her mouth. Her lips were cracked and dry, and he feared she was severely dehydrated.
Throughout it all, Amy remained unresponsive.
With a groan of despair, Alex tore into the stacked supplies. “There has to be something I missed.”
Af
ter half an hour of fruitless searching, he admitted defeat. Besides food, water, and toiletries, there was nothing he could use for wounds. With a sense of hopelessness, he pulled up a stool and sat next to the couch. “Amy, please wake up. You can’t give up. You have to fight.”
Amy’s eyelids fluttered open, and her blue eyes stared up at him. “Alex?”
“You’re awake!”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Here, drink this,” Alex said, lifting the bottle of water to her lips. With his help, she managed to drink it all before slumping back down. “How do you feel?”
“I’m…cold. Sssso cold.” The next moment, she began to shake. Her limbs shuddered, and her teeth chattered so hard he thought they’d break.
Alex dropped everything and scrambled to find her jersey and hoodie. He wrapped them around her body before stripping off his clothes. Dressed only in a vest, he tried to warm her as best he could. Even then, she continued to shiver violently for several minutes.
Then, as quickly as it began, it stopped. Her cheeks flushed, and sweat burst from her pores while her skin radiated heat. With a cry, Amy struggled to throw off the clothes that covered her. “Hot. Too hot!”
Alex grabbed another bottle of water and poured it over her body. Dragging up a chair, he fanned her face with a piece of cardboard in an attempt to cool her. The entire time, Amy moaned, her face contorted. “It hurts, Alex. It hurts so much.”
“I know, Sis. I’m here for you. I’m here,” he said in a soothing voice. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. “Please, God. Don’t let her die. I’m begging you.”
After a while, Amy quieted and fell into a deep sleep, but it didn’t last. The cycle repeated itself over and over again.
Throughout the long hours of the day, Alex sat by her side. When she shook and shivered, he held her close. When she grew hot, he cooled her with wet cloths and the crude fan. He forced her to drink water, though she refused to eat and disinfected her wounds again and again until the whiskey ran out.
It wasn’t enough.
Rise of the Undead Box Set | Books 1-3 | Apocalypse Z Page 27
