Quarantined (Book 2): In the End

by Tracey Ward

  My shot alerts the douchebag in the truck to my presence. He turns to me, his gun coming level with my chest. He’s not hesitating, probably assuming I’m an infected considering I’m double dipped in gore. Or maybe he’s just a murderous tool. Regardless, I quickly raise my bat, connecting with his barrel. It sends his shot wide and alerts him to the fact that I’m human. I’m alive. He still moves to bring the barrel around again.

  So that’s how we’re playing this.

  I press my handgun to his thigh and pull the trigger. He goes down screaming, dropping his shotgun as he grips his leg.

  Shooting a person should feel different. It should give me some pause, but it doesn’t. Putting a non-lethal shot into a guy trying to kill me and the girl I’ve spent the last few weeks busting my butt to keep alive? Doesn’t even phase me.

  The driver’s side door of the truck flies open. As the guy steps out I quickly point my gun at his face. I shake my head at him.

  “You don’t wanna mess with me,” I warn him, my voice low.

  He shakes his head quickly as he puts his hands in the air, backing away from me. I imagine what I must look like. Shirtless, coated in blood, gun to his face. What he doesn’t need to know is that I have no idea how many bullets I have left. I never checked the clip because I don’t know how to. I also don’t know how many bullets this clip would hold. I guess it’s good that we’re both ignorant here.

  “You might want to drive your buddy out of here if you can,” I tell terrified guy. “The smell of his blood is going to bring them all running.”

  He simply stares at me, never taking his eyes off the gun.

  “Now.”

  He leaps into the truck.

  When I look down the road the RV is gone but I know where it was headed. I make a break for it, running for the countryside. I burst past living and dead alike, feinting and dodging to avoid them like a running back on his way down the field toward a touchdown. An infected manages to get right in my way, leaving me no time to sidestep her, so I duck my head down and ram her with my shoulder. She flies back into the side of an SUV, crumpling in a stinking, stunned heap on the asphalt.

  Once I make it off the road I break into a dead sprint. There are trees here that I try to stay inside of, using them to create buffers between me and the infected. There are more of them out here. Tons of them. More than I’ve ever seen moving as a group before. It’s unnerving. The sound of their moaning and shuffling all around me is giving me ulcers on my ulcers. The only thing I have going for me is the fact that I’m covered in their kind. Even as some wander past me, they don’t give me a second glance. I think of the day Ali and I wandered slowly through a herd of infected, completely undetected. The only thing that gave us away, the thing that almost got us killed, was another human. My gunshot wound and temper both flare up thinking about it when what I should be thinking about is getting back to the RV and out of this swarm of undead.

  Oh, and the Runner coming straight at me.

  Guy must have sniffed me out because he is coming right for me, eyes locked on like lasers. He’s a big one, bigger than I care to fight in the best of circumstances, and he’s absolutely covered in blood. I can see by the way he runs that he’s in that weird not yet undead but definitely not wholly human phase. I’m thinking that bright, shiny blood is all his. He has logic, reasoning and a heartbeat, but his inhibitions, the ones that normally would be telling him not to tackle me with his teeth, are shut down. I’m screwed. I can’t be sure I can outrun him, I can’t fire my gun without bringing attention to myself while surrounded by more zombies than tweens at a One Direction concert, and I cannot win in a hand to hand fight. Against the zombie, not One Direction. I’d destroy those guys.

  But right now, I’m screwed.

  Though I have no intention of firing it, I raise my gun. The Runner still has enough sense to recognize a gun pointed at his face as a bad thing. He slows. I’m thinking about waiting him out, seeing if I can keep him at bay with the natural fear of a bullet through the brain until he turns into a Shambler and I can outrun him. That could be a long wait, though, and I worry that Ali will come looking for me in that time. I doubt Syd will be on board with a search and rescue, but Ali and I made a promise to each other. One I know she’ll keep, no matter how misguided.

  My Runner begins to circle me. I’m watching my peripheral as best I can as this fool and I go round and round beneath a barren apple tree. I feel my feet slip and sink in the mud and suddenly I miss my shirt. Goosebumps rise up on my arms as my hand holding the gun begins to tremble slightly. I know what’s happening. My adrenaline is leaving me. I won’t be as sharp anymore. Not as fast. I should—

  I’m bumped from behind hard. The force knocks me forward and I slip on the slick ground, nearly losing my balance and my gun. My heart is hammering in my chest. As I struggle to regain my balance, I’m waiting for icy hands to grab onto the bare skin of my back or shoulders, the precursors to teeth and gnawing. But it never comes. Instead, I’m bumped again, pushed aggressively to the side. I slam into the rough bark of the tree trunk and watch as my Runner lunges at me, his hands reaching out, nearly touching my face. I press myself hard against the tree to avoid him. He’s shoved back by the zombie who just shoved me. Three of them descend on the Runner, ripping at his clothes and digging their fingers into his still warm, pliant flesh that’s made slick with the coating of fresh, human blood. I watch with breath frozen in my lungs as the three of them, with two more on the way, drag the Runner down to the ground and proceed to tear him apart.

  The eerie thing is, eerier than the fact that the undead are accidentally eating their own, is that he doesn’t make a sound.

  Chapter Four

  “Jordan, thank God!” Alissa cries when she sees me running toward the RV.

  She’s parked on the roof with a gun, surveying their surroundings as they slow roll at about 5 miles an hour down the road. It’s smart. They gave me time to catch up but they never stopped moving. They only need to move faster than an infected and as long as they aren’t fresh, that’s not hard to do.

  I jump onto the ladder attached to the back of the RV and climb up slowly. My limbs feel like jelly. My arm is burning beneath the bandage and duct tape.

  “I was so worried. I was just about to tell Syd to turn—Holy hell!”

  I’ve crested the top of the camper and given her a full view of my situation, of the black gore coating my front.

  I nod in grim agreement as I sit down, keeping my distance. “Yet another reason I don’t like guns.”

  “Sure, yeah. You need to get cleaned up ASAP. Is your arm still covered?”

  I lift my arm, glancing at the injured area. “Yeah, it’s fine. The duct tape is keeping everything out. Hopefully I didn’t have any other open wounds anywhere. Even a paper cut right now could kill me.”

  When Alissa doesn’t answer I drop my arm, looking up at her. Her face is a mask of worry.

  “Ali,” I say, getting her eyes on mine, “I’m fine. No cuts, no scrapes. Nothing. I’m okay.”

  She nods weakly. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” I sit up and head toward her, still being careful to keep away. I get on the roof of the cab and lean over so I’m hanging my head upside down in the driver’s side window. “Hey, Syd, think we can find somewhere safe for me to get cleaned up?”

  He glances at me, then quickly does a double take. “Probably for the best. I don’t want you coming in the RV like that.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s too risky. I need to ditch these clothes too. The jeans are toast.”

  “Gonna be going through a lot of clothes if that’s true.”

  “Do you trust washing them?”

  He shrugs. “You’re the expert. What do you think?”

  I think on it, surprised by his ‘expert’ comment. He seems to be hell bent on taking charge here, but apparently laundry can be my domain.

  “I don’t know. Maybe if we soak things in bleach first.”

 
“Sounds good.”

  “Our clothes are going to get ugly fast,” Alissa says behind me.

  I sit up to look at her. “Yeah, but we’ll still have clothes. Supplies are going to be limited. We can’t go throwing things away with every wear.”

  “Too bad we can’t cover them somehow. Protect them. Like with painter’s suits.”

  I grin, picturing it. “You want to wear a painter’s suit all the time.”

  “Not all the time, but maybe when we know we’ll be around infected.”

  I lift my hands to gesture to our surroundings. “We’re always going to be around zombies. When have we not been among them lately?”

  “The sporting goods store.”

  “But we’re not doing that again.”

  “Because of the walls?”

  Partially. “Because that place was destined to be overrun.”

  “They had a good system. I don’t think the zombies were a huge threat to them.”

  “No but humans were. They had something good, something worth protecting which means someone was inevitably going to take it from them. If they still have control of that building, it won’t be for long. You saw what happened with the truckers. When we left, that wasn’t over yet. We just bailed at half-time.”

  Alissa nods her head, looking away. “I still feel bad about that. About leaving them.”

  “Me too,” I agree, thinking of Taylor and Mitch. Evey and Meredith.

  And then, without wanting to, I think of Snickers. I think of her blond hair and innocent, agonized eyes. Of the way she clung to Ali. How she trusted her entirely and how it felt to see them together, protecting each other. How much it made me respect Ali. Then I snowball and think of Beth. Of how I failed her. How I let her die. How Alissa did the same to Snickers, and before I can stop it I’m angry. Angry at me and angry at Alissa. I’m angry at us for failing. Angry at us for surviving.

  “Jordan?” Alissa asks, frowning at me. She must read it in my expression. The anger, the annoyance.

  I lean down to Syd, ignoring her. “Where are we on the cleaning thing?”

  “There’s a field just up ahead. Looks like it has a pond.”

  “Perfect.” I turn to Alissa. “When we stop, will you go inside into my bag and get me a change of clothes? And a plastic garbage bag if you can find one. I need something to stow these jeans in until we get our hands on some bleach.”

  “Yeah, of course. Anything in particular you want?”

  I shake my head, looking toward the field and pond. There are zombies in the distance following larger, main roads but the immediate area is pretty clear. A pond at the tail end of winter, though. This is going to be cold.

  “Grab me something warm.”

  ***

  I’m able to strip down and dive into the pond without incident. Alissa hands me a bottle of body wash (Pomegranate something or other which means I’ll smell like a fruit salad) before I go and I scrub my skin raw in the chilled water. She and Syd stand watch while I get cleaned up but I’m grateful to get back inside the RV and on the move quickly. Zombies are starting to close in on the area and it’s hard to enjoy a frigid bath in the open when you’re surrounded by groaning and gunfire.

  We drive for hours in relative silence. Alissa turns on the radio for a bit but it’s silent as well. All static all the time on every channel. She keeps searching through them anyway and the sound begins to grate on my nerves. I’m just about to tell her to stop when we hear something.

  “Fe—dead and dy—“

  “Stop there!” I shout, throwing off my blanket and coming to kneel between the seats up front. “What did he say? Was it about The Fever?”

  Alissa rolls the knob back slightly but the sound doesn’t get any better. It might get worse. I can still hear a man’s voice talking faintly through the static but it’s nearly impossible to understand.

  “No pass—no exceptions. The qua—areas confir—so far are…”

  “Ali, hand me that marker from the glove box,” I tell her urgently.

  She hands it to me as I lay the map out on the ground in front of me. I strain my ears trying to hear the announcer through the static. I wish that Syd would pull over to let me hear this but after what happened when we stopped at the highway, I get why he doesn’t.

  “Quarun—down throu—Eugene and Springfi—“

  “Yeah, we know,” I say impatiently. “Come one. What else have you got?”

  “On the coast—tine south of Lin—City.”

  “South of Lincoln City,” Alissa mutters, squinting her eyes as though it will help her listen.

  I mark Lincoln City and Eugene with big red Xs on the map.

  “Stopped just s—oma.”

  “Stopped south of Tacoma?” Alissa asks.

  Syd nods. “We already knew that. There are two military bases up there. They were trying to stop it in Olympia.”

  “Shhh!” I say adamantly. Who knows if this will repeat or not? I see Syd glance back at me in the rearview with annoyance but he stays quiet. He knows I’m right. He’s just mad he got shushed by kiddo.

  “To the ea—Maupin.”

  The radio goes back to full static. I’m not sure if it was the end of the broadcast or our entrance into the trees, but it’s gone.

  “Maupin?” Alissa asks, coming back to sit beside the map with me. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Here it is on the map. It’s almost a straight shot east of Salem and right on the river running north and south. I bet they used the water to help build the quarantine. It would be a natural barrier. All they’d have to do is blow bridges. Which means,” I draw a large irregular oval connecting the cities mentioned on the radio. “This is our quarantine zone. This is where we live now.”

  Alissa stares at the map for a long time. “It’s not very big.”

  “No,” I agree, shaking my head. “It’s not very big at all. And considering all the infected inside this bubble with us, it’s smaller than it looks. Not a lot of places to hide.”

  “Makes you feel kind of claustrophobic, doesn’t it?” Alissa chuckles faintly. I look over at her, surprised by her tone. She’s pulling at a strand of her hair lightly, worrying it between her fingers over and over again.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” she mutters, still staring at the map.

  “Al?” Syd calls.

  “I said I’m good.”

  “Ok.”

  “So where do we go?” she asks me.

  “We—“

  “We get over the mountains,” Syd answers, talking right over me. I clench my jaw in annoyance. “We head as far east as we possibly can and we bunker down. Maybe team up with some other people, some that aren’t acting crazy. This is going to make the wackjobs wackier and trigger happy.”

  “Like on 34.” I mutter.

  “We need to steer clear of them,” he continues, ignoring me. “There’s safety in numbers as long as we can find like-minded people.”

  “Actually, that’s where you’re wrong,” I interrupt because I simply can’t stand it anymore. “If we only had to worry about other people then, yes, there is safety in numbers. But when you’re dealing with zombies the opposite is true. Every person you get close to is another possible infected. They’re another chance for The Fever to find footing and kill us all. We need to head into the mountains, get as high as we can and as far away from other people as possible.”

  “Why high up?” Alissa asks, settling in with her back against her dad’s seat.

  “Because zombies can’t climb. They rolled down I-5 because it’s mostly surrounded by farmland. It was a level plain to cross. Mountains are going to slow them down and higher elevations, preferably with rocky terrain, that’s going to all but keep them out.”

  “We should really make camp with other people,” Syd grumbles.

  “Shush,” Alissa tells him, smacking the back of his chair with her palm. “Jordan says we shouldn’t so we won’t. He knows about this stu
ff, just let him do his thing.”

  I can’t help but smile at her. “Where was this blind faith when we were coming down the river?”

  “I listened to you,” she protests.

  “Barely.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You fought me a lot.”

  “Yeah, on looting. We needed stuff!”

  “And bathrooms. And walls.”

  “You have such a weird phobia.”

  “It’s not a phobia, it’s common sense. And while we’re on the subject, you have an unhealthy obsession with showers.”

  She puts her hand up. “Don’t start. Syd will actually agree with you on that one and I have no interest in being ganged up on.”

  “It’s bad for your skin to shower every single day,” Syd says.

  “What’d I just say?!”

  “I’m not starting in on you. Just stating facts.”

  “What are you? A Snapple cap? Sorry I like to be clean.”

  “Do you have Wet Ones in this RV?” I ask her.

  She purses her lips at me as Syd bursts out laughing.

  “Bulk pack!” he shouts, pointing over his shoulder. “Top cupboard over the sink. Will not go camping without them.”

  I smile at her. “Rigid.”

  “Racist,” she fires back, also smiling.

  “What?” Syd asks.

  “Nothing, never mind. No one uses my wet naps but me, understood? Haters be warned.”

  “Uh oh,” Syd mutters.

  I can tell from his tone he’s not lamenting the Wet Ones.

  Alissa and I both leap up so that we’re kneeling on the floor together to get a view out the windshield. We’re cruising through a small town, one that was barely alive before death came knocking on its door. I see a small, ancient gas station, an even smaller grocery store that’s really a glorified convenience store and a few scattered houses. It’s hard to notice much of anything else through the thick swarm of infected shambling through the streets. They’re everywhere. They’re moving in and out of houses, up and down the highway, bumping into each other and stumbling in every direction. But there are no cars parked at weird angles or crashed into anything. This place was taken by surprise, probably in the night. From looks of things I doubt anyone got out.