The Last Letter

by Welch, WB

  I have to wrap this up. I don’t know how much longer I have left, and if you do ever read this, I need you to know what happened.

  I told Herb he’s going to have to kill me. He said he doesn’t have it in him, but I put the gun in his hand anyway. You know what he said? “Nah, honey. If you come back from the dead, I’m gonna let you tear me to pieces. When I get to where I’m going, I’ll tell ‘em all I died because a pretty girl couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

  He had a good laugh, but then he started apologizing, saying he didn’t mean to make me cry. I didn’t even know I was crying.

  I swear I can’t feel a thing.

  If somehow you make it here and Herb is still alive, just know he had to do it. I made him promise. Don’t be mad at him.

  And don’t be mad at yourself. I know you’re going to kick yourself for flying that last letter into the yard with a herd of the dead right outside the fence. You couldn’t have known what would happen. Herb and I should have boarded up the windows instead of sitting around smoking weed and eating tomatoes.

  Just forget about me and move on. Survive. No matter what.

  You’ll find the rifle and the shotgun in the bathroom, along with some extra ammunition and the key to Herb’s boat. I hope you and Tandie make it to the river safe. I hope the boat is still there. I hope you figure out how to drive it and you find somewhere to wait this thing out.

  Remember the woman in the bathrobe? She looked like a normal person the first time I saw her. I can see her now. She’s in the crowd that’s formed below the balcony. In just a couple of weeks, she’s rotted to the point that she can’t raise her arms. There are more of them like that. Some of them can hardly stand. Some of them are lying on the ground, barely moving. They’re starving, Morrigan. I think this whole thing is going to come to an end.

  Just keep Jacob in mind when you run across new people. Be cautious. Even if all the dead die off for good, it’ll be hard to know who to trust in the new world.

  Herb’s friend Donald didn’t raise his blinds today. I didn’t tell Herb. If he asks, I’ll probably lie. He can’t even stand up now.

  sitting on the balcony talking about [illegible] thinks it’ll be him

  wait I said that

  hungry now

  want [illegible]

  man here has gun

  [illegible] hurts cant see

  cant see

  stay see

  [illegible]

  stay see attic help

  14

  Dear Laura,

  I remember the way the air in the room felt when the fire chief walked in and told us how serious it was. Bob was his name. He was nearing sixty and balding, but he’d done a good job staying in shape. He was thick, solid, with a proud chest that he’d earned as a result of his daily push-ups. This man, our boss, our rock, the man with all the answers, looked at us with soft, scared eyes and told us to go home and either get out of town without even packing, or start boarding everything up.

  “What is it, Chief? Is this some type of attack?”

  “I…they…no one knows. Fucking zombies. I don’t know. But it’s spreading quick. It’s here.” He dropped his head, ran his hands along his sweaty scalp, slicking down the little bit of hair he had left. “You know I’m always the last man here, but I have to get home to my wife. It’s time for you all to do the same. We can’t fix this. It’s too big. Go home.”

  The room filled with static and mumbling. Some pulled phones from their pockets and started texting, messaging, calling; others passed hugs and reassurances; a few raised loud questions to the chief, all trying to talk over one another.

  What did I do? I sat there. I hadn’t moved; I’m not sure I’d even blinked. The air seemed to lightly raise the hair on my arms. It was cool. Caressing. I felt as if I recently came out of anesthesia…not really inside of my skin, not really in control of my hands…my fingers were weak, my knees were stiff. I was completely locked in that moment. What might have been thirty seconds felt like an hour. Then time seems to have blinked. After that, all I remember is walking into my house and locking the door behind me. I looked at the deadbolt and laughed, then dropped my purse and tried to decide what I should do.

  When I looked at my phone to call my parents, I saw that I already had, I guess during my drive home. Had I driven home? My car was there, so I must have. Heathcliff seemed to know something was wrong. He walked to me with his head down and his tail hanging low behind him. I squatted and took him into my arms, then started sobbing. I cried so hard it felt like I might never catch my breath. When I finally did, I rinsed my face with cool kitchen sink water, then went to my basement to grab some plywood and tools.

  If only I thought to call you first…

  Laura, I’m so sorry. I should have been there for you sooner. Stacy shouldn’t have left you on your own. We shouldn’t have listened to Jacob. There’s so many things I regr…tears smudge end of sentence.

  Tandie and I couldn’t find a window. The time was never right. We didn’t even have enough of a lull to make it to the four-wheeler and get it started. We decided to just make a run for it. I planned to go back for the vehicle once we were ready to run for the boat.

  I was wrong. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Fuck.

  I told Tandie to wait in the garage with our things while I prepared a few Molotov cocktails. I went to my upper east window, the one through which I’d talk with Tyler and Stella. Stella left their window open after the last time we spoke. I struck my lighter, held it to the end of the cloth tucked in each bottle, then launched them across the yard. The first one shattered on the side of the house, spilling fire onto the paneling and curtains. The next one made it inside and spread across the carpet in a widening blaze. The last bottle landed in the middle of the flames, causing the fire to roar and expand. I watched. I waited.

  The fire was mostly internal at first, so the deads didn’t notice. As the flames grew and started to take over the walls and the roof, they trickled in. Just a couple at first, then a few more, then more still. Their eyes were wide and locked on the tall flames. That’s when I decided it was time. I ran downstairs and into the garage where Tandie waited.

  She slung her backpack on her shoulder and racked a shell in her shotgun.

  I whistled for Heathcliff, who came to my side.

  Tandie looked at me with round eyes.

  “Run as hard as you can. If you pass me, keep going. You can climb chain-link. Don’t wait on me. If they grab your pack, ditch it. We can find supplies, but if they get you, that’s it.”

  She nodded.

  “Are you ready?”

  She nodded again, then bit her lip and started crying. I pulled her in tight, hugged her, rubbed the sweaty hair off her forehead.

  “We’re just changing houses, okay? We can’t move everything from his house down here, and the fence around the detective’s house is an extra layer of safety. It’s better for us.” I held her shoulders and pushed her back far enough that I could see into her eyes. “Everything is going to be okay.” I gave her the same brave face I had given so many others while we looked over their smoldering belongings. I told them everything was going to be okay, too…

  I didn’t know if everything would be okay. I just knew it was time to go.

  We steadied ourselves. I pulled the release cord to disengage the garage door motor, slid out the lock, then held her gaze once more. “Don’t stop until you are safe inside the fence.”

  “Okay.” She spoke so softly I barely heard her, then gasped for breath.

  I raised the garage door and grabbed her hand. Then we took off.

  They were everywhere.

  Old men, young men, old women, young women, kids and teens; some were obese and some were thin. You were right, though. They were in various stages of decay. The fresher looking deads moved faster and seemed to have heightened senses. The more rotten ones relied on other deads for cues. Once a few noticed us, they all did.
<
br />   We flew. It was almost as if I pulled Tandie along behind me like a kite. Heathcliff stayed on our heels. We did okay the first five hundred feet. They chased, lunged; we ran, dodged. We ran from my house to Margaret’s, then back across to Tyler and Stella’s yard, then tried to cross the street again but had to change course and backtrack a little because a couple fresh deads started sprinting for us.

  “Morrigan, watch out,” Tandie screamed as I was being tackled.

  I hit the ground hard. My head slammed the pavement. My ears rang. I couldn’t see. The sun was too bright. I had to close my eyes. Heathcliff started barking incessantly. I kind of came back to myself then. I felt the body struggling on top of me, heard teeth snapping. I realized I was holding a zombie back by its shoulders. It drooled something warm on my neck.

  With a loud scream, Tandie put her shotgun to the zombie’s temple and pulled the trigger. Cold blood splattered across my face and chest. I rolled over, starting spitting. Had it gotten in my mouth? In my eyes?

  “Thank you,” I managed to say. I lifted my shirt to wipe my face. “All right, let’s move.” I wiped my eyes, then dropped my shirt. When I opened my eyes again, I saw her, but I was too late.

  It was your bathrobe zombie.

  She could barely walk. She couldn’t use her arms. She just opened her mouth and fell towards Tandie. I lunged at them, but she had already latched onto Tandie’s neck. I ended up bear-hugging and tackling them both, causing them to separate. The woman in the bathroom hit the ground with a splat. One of her arms fell off, and both of her legs folded back on themselves, snapping her knees. She lay there on the ground, writhing, snarling, drooling, biting the air. She couldn’t move, but she still couldn’t die. I put two in her with my Walther. Then I heard Tandie scream.

  I turned in time to see another zombie gnawing on her. A middle-aged dead man in a suit was chewing on her arm. Tandie fought to pull her arm out of his mouth. As I aimed at his head, another bit her shoulder and another got her calf. She looked at me, locked in the jaws of those dead strangers. Her eyes begged me to do something.

  I could only offer relief.

  I aimed.

  Squeezed.

  Tandie’s blood splattered all over me. It was warm. Iron was heavy in the air.

  I felt like I couldn’t breathe. A dead hand grabbed my shoulder. I turned, aimed at its owner’s head, then squeezed the trigger. He fell, went into violent seizures. His whole body convulsed. His fists were clenched tight holding his thumbs. His head was gone. I turned and shot the three deads who’d hurt Tandie, then reloaded and whistled for Heathcliff, who’d been dodging reaching hands. Once he was beside me, I clicked my tongue, indicating he should follow, and we ran.

  My heart pounded, my lungs burned, my knees were soft. I didn’t bother with the keys when I reached the metal fence. I threw my bags over, gently tossed Heathcliff into the tall grass, then hoisted myself over and rolled when I landed. I think I might have fractured a rib. It still hurts a little when I breathe.

  I left my bag in the yard and went inside with Heathcliff on my heels. He was barking at the crowd attacking the fence, happy to be free of them I assume. After pouring a bottle of water into a large bowl for Heathcliff, I opened bottle after bottle and emptied them on myself until all the blood was off my skin.

  I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save anyone. Since this whole thing started, all I wanted to do was help those left. Being in my profession, I guess I felt like I would be able to actually do something. I was only delaying the inevitable. I made so many bad choices.

  Once I dried myself off and retrieved my bag, I tried to decide the best course of action. I couldn’t come to you without a plan. After losing Tandie, I was scared of either one of us making a move. Then I remembered you were supposed to signal me when you’d finished your letter.

  I tucked myself in front of a second story window with a pair of binoculars. That’s when I saw Herb’s fence and the open front door. I freaked. I almost disregarded my previous decision and ran to his house immediately. I reminded myself that wasn’t going to solve anything, though. I watched. I waited for something, anything. The sun set, then rose, then set and rose again. The flow of deads was never-ending. They were so thick. I had to start moving about the house to take care of a few things, but I returned frequently to keep an eye on Herb’s. I never did see you guys though. I was hopeful you’d been able to retreat to Herb’s room when they broke in, but I couldn’t see a balcony anywhere, so I guessed it was on another side of his house.

  At dusk on the fifth day, there was a moment, a break in the pack. I could see more coming, but there was a small frame of time. I loaded my pistol full of ammo and packed two reserve clips, then loaded up one of the detective’s automatic rifles. It was time.

  The distance from the detective’s house to yours was much shorter than the trek I made between his house and my own. Nonetheless, I picked up a trail of deads before I reached my destination. I turned and unloaded several bursts from the rifle. The front line of deads fell, revealing another line behind them. I fired several more shots and dropped at least four more deads before I navigated my way over Herb’s fence rubble.

  I managed to get his door closed, but the deads were already piling up and pounding on the wood. The frame was splintering. There were three of them in the living room, almost upon me. I hadn’t been counting shots, so I switched to my Walther and unloaded the clip. Two of them went down, but I missed the kill shot on the third one. I just skimmed the side of his neck. He fell on me with his mouth snapping and drooling. I rolled myself out from underneath his writhing body, kneed his face, then took a step back, aimed with the rifle, then shot. I hit my mark. I exchanged clips as I ran upstairs, prayed the front door would hold a little longer.

  There were two more in the hallway. They went down easy.

  Then I saw the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall.

  “L-Laura…” I called out. I swallowed, listened. I could hear a light snarling and slopping. I checked behind my back, looked over the banister down into the living room. “Laura, are you guys in there?”

  I walked slowly towards the door. I knocked, then knocked again, then called for you three more times. The deads were still pounding on the front door. I didn’t have long. I had to make a choice. If I broke the door down, that would remove that last of Herb’s defenses, and he would have to come with us back to Barrone’s house. Leaving without you wasn’t an option, though. I slung my rifle onto my back, braced myself, lifted my leg, recoiled and poised, then released. My boot slammed into the door with all the force my tired body could muster. The shockwave traveled up through my knee and into my core. Nothing but a light splintering sound.

  I raised my leg again, recoiled, then released it. Slam. Another light splintering. Again. Raise, recoil, release. Raise, recoil, release. Finally, the door loosened on its hinges. A crack opened between the door and its frame. I could see into the room, but only slightly. The sunlight coming in from Herb’s balcony window cast a bright beam through the opening, warming my skin. The dead blood was drying on me. I tried to peak in, but I couldn’t see much. Raise, recoil, release. Raise, recoil, release.

  The door separated from its hinges. It flew open and slammed into Herb’s dresser.

  That’s when I saw him…and you.

  Herb’s face lay in a pile of blood; his skin sagged loose from his skull, and his eyes were wide.

  You, my dear Laura, were hovered over him with your face buried deep into his core, chewing on his intestines. You looked up from your meal, made eye contact with me, and screamed, splattering blood with your cries. Then you jumped to your feet and lunged across the room. I still hadn’t had time to process or accept what I was seeing, but my body reacted for me. I ducked under your grasp, then slid across the room and tripped over my own big feet. I dropped one of my handguns, which slid under the bed, and slammed my head into the nightstand.

  I heard your grandmother’s bell rattle
on the nightstand’s surface.

  You recovered instantly, then lunged at me again. I shook off the stars I was seeing and pushed both of my feet into your abdomen as you neared. You sprang across the room, giving me a second to get my rifle situated. I aimed, squeezed the trigger. It jammed. I tried again. Nothing. In a quick adjustment, I used the rifle as a bat. It slammed into your forehead. When I saw the gash, I almost vomited. I swallowed the bile back down, ignored the sour taste.

  You found your footing again quickly and ran at me.

  All I had in my hands was the rifle. I struck you again. You stumbled, but you weren’t nearly as shaken as you were with the first blow, and this time, I lost the grip on my rifle. It flew across the room. Without even thinking, I grabbed your grandmother’s bell off of the nightstand and rang it as hard as I could. The shrill ring filled the room. The sound pierced even my eardrums. Then something happened. You stopped. You stopped snarling and biting. Your erratic breathing even slowed. You just stared at me, at my hand holding the bell. I tried to reorient myself, tried to analyze the situation. Had you not completely turned? If some part of you recognized the sound, then there was some chance you were in there, right?

  The moment passed quickly. There wasn’t any lingering consciousness that recognized the sound of that bell. The dead are just ultra-sensitive to sound, and I was desperate to not believe what was happening. You snapped out of it, screamed and spit at me, then dove at my jugular. I jumped over the bed and grabbed my Walther from the floor, then unloaded three rounds into your face. I almost instantly turned the gun on myself.

  The not knowing is the hardest. Like you said.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know where I’m going to go. I’ll start for the boat, then see where I end up, I guess. It’s just me and Heathcliff. I don’t want to live on my own. More than that, I can’t stay here now. Too much has happened. I don’t feel like I deserve to be alive, but I also feel like I need to be. The future will need people. To rebuild, to establish.