Quarantined (Book 2): In the End

by Tracey Ward

  “Well it’s not working. It’s causing hesitations that are going to get us killed.”

  “I caused hesitations and we’re still alive. Look, this is all new to him just like it was for me. It’s going to take time for him to get used to what’s happening.”

  I shake my head. “Then he should be listening to us. We’ve been dealing with it. We know what we’re doing.”

  “He’s asked for less of you than I did in the beginning,” Alissa counters, sounding irritated. “But you happily stuck with me. What’s the difference?”

  I raise my eyebrows at her. “I think you know what the difference is.”

  “What? Breasts?” she asks, gesturing to her soaked T-shirt literally clinging to her body. That’s not what I meant, not exactly, but it’s what I’m thinking now. “Go give his a squeeze, they might surprise you.”

  And killed it.

  “Gross.”

  “Remember, he helped make me. I’m half him.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m attracted to the half that takes after your mom,” I grumble, hating where this conversation has gone.

  “Just try and tolerate him, alright?”

  “Yeah, alright.”

  Anything to end this conversation about her father’s breasts.

  Chapter Eight

  We spend the rest of the day starting a small fire with blessedly dry matches but regrettably sodden grass and wood. Syd and Alissa are used to camping so I’m not surprised to see them pull out their gear sealed up tight in waterproof bags and containers. My gear? Ruined. Any protein bars I packed are soaked through the wrappers, all of my clothes are sopping wet. The only thing that stayed safe from the water was my water. I’d laugh, but I just don’t feel like it.

  Throughout the afternoon we stay quiet, keeping most of our communications to hand signals or stern looks. I get a particularly communicative glare from Syd when Ali signs to me that my hair looks crazy and I smile, flipping her the bird. In hind sight, probably not appropriate in front of her dad and he let me know it.

  Once the small fire is going, the tent is up and airing out while whatever gear we have that is drenched (mostly mine) is draped out to dry, we sit around in a circle staring at each other as we listen to the sound of infected shambling past. They’re on both banks, though the east bank where we came from is the worst. There’s a steady flow of them that blends in with the sounds of the river flowing by, something almost rhythmic and soothing if it weren’t so deadly or disconcerting. I can see the stress in Syd as the sun begins to fade and the fire casts shadowy lines over his face. I can also see Alissa in there, too. In the shape of his eyes, the round of his chin. I make sure not to look at his chest.

  “We’ll need to sleep in shifts.”

  I jerk to attention when Syd speaks, his voice gravelly and low. No one has spoken in hours. His voice sounds louder than it is.

  “I’ll take first watch,” I whisper.

  “No, I got it,” Syd replies, staring into the building darkness behind me. “I couldn’t sleep right now if I tried.”

  I nod my head, catching sight of Alissa doing the same beside me. None of us sleep very well anyway, but being outside like this is brutal. Every little sound wakes you up. Every single noise means death is at your door. The night Ali and I had to do it was made worse by the fact that we had just lost Snickers. We were angry at each other, at the world, and sleep just would not come for either of us. I can see now that Syd is tired but I firmly believe he will not fall asleep on watch.

  “I’ll take second shift.”

  He meets my eyes over the fire before staring into nothing again. Finally he nods once. It’ll give Alissa the most sleep up front, something I think we all know she needs. I’m also looking to avoid having her on watch in the dark. Whatever happened in the dark at Syd’s house still has me freaked and I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t worried it’ll happen again. Much as I like her, if she puts a gun to my face again I might start to rethink this relationship. Alissa sleeping at night is a non-negotiable as far as I’m concerned.

  “Why don’t you kids get to sleep? Jordan, I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

  I stand, looking down at Alissa. “Once you’re inside the tent I’ll make a bed right outside the door with some of the clothes.”

  “Deal,” she agrees quietly.

  I unzip the tent door, turn to Alissa and hold it open for her expectantly. In the dark I think I see the corner of her mouth twitch as she tries not to smile. I know what she’s thinking but it shouldn’t surprise her. Just because society has fallen like Rome it doesn’t mean I can’t still be a gentleman now and then.

  “Goodnight, dad,” Alissa whispers as she passes into the tent.

  “Night, Al.”

  “Goodnight, Jordan.”

  “Goodnight, Ali,” I whisper as I zip her tent closed.

  “Goodnight, zombies,” she calls, her voice barely above a stirred breath.

  The infected shamble by in silent response.

  Two hours later I’m staring up at the sky watching clouds roll over the stars, trapping and releasing them, and I wonder if it will rain.

  “Are you asleep?” Alissa whispers to me through the tent, her voice directly beside my head.

  “No. What’s keeping you up?”

  “I can’t get comfortable. You know what I mean?”

  I do. It’s not a branch in the back or rock in the sock kind of camping comfort issue. It’s more of a slow moving, gnawing, slobbering death march cruising by that’s keeping us awake.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  I hear her shift in the tent, probably turning to face me.

  “Do you believe in the afterlife?” Alissa whispers suddenly. “Heaven and hell and all of that?”

  I can’t help it, I chuckle softly. “We’re on the run from zombies. I believe in the Easter Bunny at this point. I even believe in the Energizer Bunny.”

  “Why wouldn’t you believe in him?”

  “What? Which one?”

  “Energizer. They’ve never said he’s alive. He’s always been represented just as he is; a battery operated toy. Saying you don’t believe in him is like saying you don’t believe in Mentos or Preparation H.”

  I frown. “That’s an odd pairing.”

  “Just because you’ve never eaten them or rubbed them on your ass,” she says, ignoring me, “doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

  “What made you pick those two things?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I made the assumption you’ve never had hemorrhoids and no one eats Mentos.”

  “Hmm. Well it worked.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This conversation has distracted me from the wall of undead just over the river.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m busy rethinking my entire Mentos-butt cream belief structure now.”

  “Are you going to answer the original question?”

  “No,” I say without hesitation.

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause you won’t like my answer.”

  “Is it no?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re right,” she says, turning away from me. Her voice sounds more distant than true distance can explain. “I don’t like it.”

  “Do you believe in it?”

  “In what?” she mutters

  “In hemorrhoids,” I say sarcastically.

  “No.”

  “Then why do you care if I don’t believe in it?”

  There’s a long silence before she answers and I wonder what, or whom, she’s thinking about.

  “Because if you believed,” she says so softly I have to strain to hear her, “I think I could consider it.”

  I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, the water rushing in the river, the infected feet rushing through the forest. It’s all so loud I can’t even hear myself think anymore. So I don’t. Instead I give up, I roll over, away from her, and I stare at the fire until my e
yes burn too painfully to keep open. I let them fall shut and I fall asleep. Finally.

  ***

  She’s dead. She’s rotted out. Her pale skin is turning gray before my eyes as it begins to hang from her bones loosely. Her lips fall useless around her yellowed teeth tinged with black around her sickly green gums. It’s her eyes that bother me most, though. Her once vibrant, warm eyes are Death staring me down. There’s a want there, a need to see me dead and destroyed beneath her gnarled fingertips. To see me just like her.

  I want to give that to her. I want to die beside her, for her, by her hand. Whatever it will take to make her happy. To show her I love her. That I’m sorry. I want the wrong things and I know it, but I still want them. The worst is, though, that I’m also still terrified. I’m as scared sitting here across from her in the nothingness of this dark room as I was in the dorms when it first began. When everyone was running and screaming and tearing each other apart with their teeth. I’m a coward running for my room so I can shut the door and hide from the madness. I should have gone looking for her. I should have grabbed my bat and ran through the masses of terrified people looking for her pretty, horrified face. But I didn’t. I let her come to me, to them, and they found her first. I let her die.

  I should have died then too.

  I shouldn’t be alive.

  Right now, I’m not so sure I am.

  Chapter Nine

  “I think we’re in the clear,” I say, crouching in the bushes on the far edge of our island. This is day two and I know we’re all itching to get out of here. Luckily the zombie noises have died down and we haven’t seen or heard anyone or anything in the trees for hours. If there are still infected, there aren’t enough to be so concerned about. “Are you ready to move?”

  Alissa nods beside me, her pack already on her back. Syd is behind us stuffing the last of his gear in his bag hastily. I woke him up late. I waited until Alissa and I were already set to go and he’s scurrying to catch up with us. Was it on purpose? A power play of some kind? A petty manipulation on my part to feel in control?

  You bet your ass it was.

  “Syd?” I ask, feigning infinite patience.

  He gives me a quick glare but otherwise ignores me.

  “Alright, let’s head out. We don’t have far to go and we might be able to touch bottom for a while so try and hold your pack above your head. It’ll save us the drying out period again.”

  So that’s how we cross, arms held high with our bags above us. Eventually we have to swim, our legs being swept out from under us, and I’m reminded briefly of playing Oregon Trail as a little kid. I always, always lost at least one of my oxen or a family member to drowning in the crossing. Or later to typhoid. Scarlet Fever. Indians. The common cold. Really, it’s a miracle anyone survives the opening credits to that thing.

  Once we touch land, we’re on the move, running through the bushes as fast as we can. Its all clear the entire way, something that bothers me more than finding infected, and soon the RV is gleaming in the distance. Despite the time it spent surrounded by infected, it’s none the worse for wear aside from some nasty black smears up and down the sides. Oh, and the cracked windshield I’d managed to forget but now it sends my heart plummeting. The tire I hadn’t forgotten. That suck was always on my mind, even on island time.

  “You know how to change a tire?” Syd asks me as he unlocks the RV and tosses his gear inside.

  “I do, yeah. We go mudding a lot back home. I’ve popped my share of tires.”

  He frowns at me. “In Boston?”

  Alissa chuckles. I glance at her with a smile. This is the same reaction she had when I told her I could fish and had a four wheeler.

  “They have mud in Boston,” I tell Syd, pushing up my sleeves.

  “Ask him about his beer cozies,” Alissa says.

  “You’re both underage,” he reminds her.

  “By a matter of months.”

  “Some of us more than that.” I say.

  Ali snaps her eyes to me. “Wait, what? How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “What?!”

  “Cradle robber,” Syd scolds.

  She glares at him. “Fix your tire, old man. Jordan, you’re seriously eighteen?”

  I shrug. “Last time I checked.”

  “I am a cradle robber,” she whispers to herself. Then she yells at the tree tops, “I want a drink so bad!”

  “Can you wig out quieter so we all don’t die today?”

  “Some laws are still going to apply,” Syd tells her sternly, turning serious.

  “Are you serious?” Alissa asks incredulously. “You’re going to enforce drinking age?”

  “I shouldn’t have to.”

  “Well, you’re gonna.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It means I’m finding booze and you’ll have to rip it from my cold, dead fingers to stop me from drinking it.”

  “That threat has a lot more impact these days,” I tell her, not enjoying the imagery.

  Syd drops down with the jack to get to work on the tire.

  “Al, you’re on watch.”

  “Booze watch,” she mutters, pulling out her bow.

  “Al.”

  “Syd,” she growls back

  “Jordan,” I say for the hell of it.

  Thus ends the debate on underage drinking. Personally, I don’t care. He’s not my dad, and if I’ve mastered one thing (aside from surviving the zombie apocalypse and the Veteran difficulty level of Call of Duty 4) it’s sneaking alcohol. It’s a terrible idea in these ugly times because we need to stay sharp always and forever, but if I’m going to be listening to these two bicker for the rest of my life, I’ll need a little help from Uncle Jack.

  Once the tire is fixed we hit the road. Still no zombies. It sounds great, like a dream come true in this waking nightmare we’ve found ourselves in, but it’s unsettling. You get used to seeing them everywhere, and to suddenly find yourself Z free? Well, it’s off-putting to say the least.

  “Where are they all?” Alissa muses quietly, scanning the roadside as we cruise along.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. Ahead of us, I guess. That swarm moved past us only recently.”

  “But they walk so slowly,” Syd disagrees. “And we’re doing 60. We should have caught them by now.”

  “If they stayed on the road, which they must not have.”

  “Where would they go?” Alissa asks. “A town?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter.” Alissa flips on the radio, filling the space with static. “They aren’t around. Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “—peat, all persons must vacate the Portland/Vancouver area immediately!”

  The announcer is coming in loud and clear, not at all like the broadcast before. The voice sounds cold, efficient. Distant. Whoever it is, they aren’t inside the quarantine.

  “The Portland/Vancouver area has been found to be unrecoverable. Proceed quickly and cautiously out of the city limits taking care to avoid other heavily populated areas as these too are highly dangerous and prone to the spread of infection. We repeat, all persons must vacate the Portland/Vancouver area immediately. The Portland/Vancouver area has been found to be unrecov—“

  Alissa spins through the channels, landing on one at random.

  “Proceed quickly and cautiously out—“

  She scans the band again, coming to stop on another channel. The broadcast is crystal clear on every one of them, continuing on its loop.

  “That’s the government, isn’t it?” she asks of no one in particular.

  “Yeah,” Syd answers. “They’re the only ones with the means to take over all the stations like that. It’s the Emergency Broadcast System.”

  “Emergency Alert System,” I correct quietly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. You’re right, it’s the government. They’re evacuating Portland.”

  I hear Alissa
sigh as she flicks the radio off. “Do I dare ask why?”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “They’re gonna bomb it, aren’t they?”

  “Probably,” Syd says darkly.

  That truth effectively sucks the life out of the vehicle. We all fall silent for a long time afterward, each of us probably contemplating what a loss of life this is going to be. It’s not like we haven’t seen it enough out here. It’s not like it isn’t a daily, even hourly occurrence. But this is different. This is preventable. This is unnecessary. Unless, of course, you’re not trying to survive but rather trying to eradicate the issue. Trying to put a lid on Pandora’s Box. It makes you wonder how long before the lid comes our way? How far can we run? They’ve set up barriers, so not far. Never far enough.

  “We’re going to die in here,” Alissa says quietly, running her fingertips down the glass of her window slowly. They leave behind a trail in the forming condensation created by the cold of the outside colliding with the heat of our inside.

  One way or another, I think.

  I actually consider saying it. I open my mouth to do it, but then I stop. Her tone reminds me of lying beside her by the river, of what she asked of me. Of what I didn’t understand.

  “Because if you believed, I think I would consider it.”

  That’s a lot of pressure to put on a guy, to base your faith on his beliefs. It’s out of character for Ali to lean on me like that. To ask me what to believe. I don’t especially like it but I think I understand it. I went at her about her dad and my issues with him. I’ve been thinking about Beth and Snickers, never wondering if Snickers is heavy on her mind as well. I didn’t think about her condition and her stress level, about how high I amp it with every conflict. I don’t regret being honest, but I should be ready for the aftermath. For the pain and doubt she’s plagued by to pull outside the reach of her meds and begin to drag her under.

  Most girls I wouldn’t have to worry about that, but Ali isn’t most girls. While she comes with a big side of kick ass that makes me wonder what I ever saw in other girls (even before they all became undead, brain cravin’ crazies), she also has a staggering amount of baggage that I haven’t even begun to figure out how to handle.