With a piece of sock stoppering the bottle, we set off, walking in absolute silence. From now on, any noise was the enemy.
Chapter 7 - Narrow Escape
With the sun as my compass, I headed east, sticking to higher ground wherever possible. Zombies weren’t fond of heights. Their awkward gaits made it difficult for them to walk uphill, and they naturally tended to congregate in valleys. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t chase something up a hill or even a mountain top. Once they spotted food, they were relentless and never gave up.
A faint path curved up ahead, and I stuck to it, placing each foot with care. My fingertips hovered above the handles of my knives, now my primary weapons. I longed for my machete with its heavier blade. It packed more of a punch and could cleave through flesh and bone when needed.
A belt of scraggly trees appeared to the left, and I slowed. My eyes roved across the undergrowth, wary of being ambushed. But birds twittered in the branches, and I relaxed a bit. No bird would be sitting around practicing its vocal cords with the undead in the vicinity.
It was a fine morning, the weather mild and the air fresh. My muscles loosened up as I walked, and my heart beat slow and steady in my chest. It felt good to be active, and it sure was better than sitting in the perpetual darkness of the bunker.
It wasn’t long before I noticed something, however. The scuffing of dragging feet. I looked behind me at the culprit. Robbie followed along without a word, his eyes downcast and his stick clutched in both hands. His attitude spoke of great despair.
I felt sorry for him.
I did.
He’d lost both his mother and his aunt in one night. Not to mention the only home he’d ever known. I couldn’t afford to coddle him, though. Not now. The last thing I needed was a sobbing wreck of a boy to bring down every infected in the vicinity. I also needed him to have my back and not be moping around in a daze. That was the quickest road to death for both of us.
I paused and waited until he reached me. Lost in his thoughts, Robbie almost walked straight by me without even noticing. I kept my voice low when I spoke. “Robbie.”
He stumbled to a stop and frowned up at me, fear washing across his face. “What’s wrong? Is it zombies?” He spoke in a whisper, the only thing I could give him credit for right then.
I shook my head and pinned him to the spot with a fierce glare. “Not zombies. You.”
“Me?” he asked, clearly confused.
“Yes, you. You’re stomping about like an elephant, making so much noise every infected in the country can hear you.”
“I, uh, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quieter,” he stammered, blushing bright red.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” I answered. “I risked my life last night to get you out. The least you can do is pay attention now. Remember your lessons. Eyes and ears open. Be ready for a fight. Can you do that?”
Robbie swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I can do that.”
“Are you sure? Because if you can’t, you’re condemning us both to death.” I sighed. “We’ve got a long way to go, Robbie, and I can’t do this alone. I need you to pull your weight, okay?”
“You…you need me?” His eyes widened, the thought of being needed clearly an unusual one.
I nodded. “I do. There’s no way we’ll make it otherwise.”
Robbie stood stock still for a second as he absorbed the information. Finally, he straightened his shoulders and looked me in the eye. “I won’t let you down. I promise.”
I blew out a sigh of relief. “Good to hear that, kiddo. Now let’s go, quietly this time.”
As I took the lead once more, I felt a tiny bit better. Whether Robbie kept his promise or not, at least we were now on the same page.
***
Three hours later, I called a brief halt in the shadow of a ginormous oak tree. It was so big I couldn’t see the top even if I bent over backward all the way. Its trunk provided the perfect backrest for us while we rested, keeping an eye on our surroundings.
We had no food and finished the last of the water in the bottle Robbie had found. With our supplies running dry, I knew we’d have to figure something out soon, or we wouldn’t last much longer.
“Come on. Let’s go,” I said, egging on Robbie who got up with reluctance.
We set off again, and once more I had every sense on high alert. It was exhausting but necessary. Especially as the trees around us grew denser, the foliage above letting less light through than I liked.
I planted my feet with care, avoiding patches of dried leaves and twigs. To my surprise, Robbie followed my example, and we were able to move silently through the stretch of woods we’d entered.
My stomach growled at me, reminding me I hadn’t eaten in over a day, and my tongue felt like a stick of dried wood. Dehydration was setting in, and I knew we needed to find water.
With supreme reluctance, I abandoned the ridge we were on, moving toward lower ground. It meant two things. The likelihood of finding water rose the lower we went, but so did the chances of running into zombies.
One look at Robbie’s drawn face was all I needed to show me we had no choice. The boy wouldn’t last much longer without water…and neither would I.
I reached a grassy slope, and after shooting Robbie a warning look, I slid down on my haunches until I reached flat ground. With my hands outstretched, I helped him down as well before surveying our surroundings.
The trees had thinned out, and the sun was high in the sky. All was quiet except for the insects and birds, and after a while, I spotted a faint dirt path probably used by deer. It could lead to water, so I decided to follow it.
It wound ever downward, looping around obstacles and trees until I heard the sound I was looking for. Water. Fresh water bubbling over smooth, river rocks. My thirst intensified, and I was tempted to rush forward, but caution slowed me down.
Holding up a hand to Robbie, I eased forward through the green ferns lining the banks of the stream. It was little more than a trickle, run-off from the mountain, but the water was clear and algae free. A quick taste determined it was clean, and I called for Robbie to join me.
Together, we slaked our thirst and washed our hands and faces, steering clear of the zombie gunk on our clothes. I reached for the empty bottle at my waist and quickly filled it with the precious liquid, still crouching among the ferns. I stoppered it and retied it to my belt before scooping up another handful to my mouth.
As I swallowed the cool water, my hands froze mid-air. A set of eyes were studying me from across the bank. Golden brown eyes set in the face of warthog. It was a big boar, its snout bristling with stiff whiskers. White tusks the length of my hand stuck up from its bottom lip.
I lowered my hand and gripped Robbie’s forearm. He stilled, turning frightened eyes my way. I jerked my head backward. We needed to leave before the boar decided to attack. A fully-grown male warthog was nothing to play with. It could rip us apart as easily as any zombie horde could.
Together, Robbie and I eased back from the bank only to pause when a new sound reached my ears. The moan of a zombie. My head swiveled as I searched for the infected, picking up several more of them. The brush along the opposite bank shook with their stumbling movements, and I quickly discerned their shriveled forms among the tree trunks.
Movement to the right and left of us caused the blood in my veins to freeze. They were everywhere, drifting around us like ghosts in the afterlife. Only these ghosts were hungry, and they had teeth. I prayed they wouldn’t smell us. That the zombie guts and blood on our clothes would hide our scent.
The warthog shifted its attention away from us toward them. It snuffled the ground and air, its moist nose twitching as it smelled danger. Its beady eyes fixed onto the nearest zombie, and it grunted a fierce challenge while pawing the earth with one hoof.
I held my breath the entire time, my heart bouncing in my chest like a rubber ball. My fingers tightened around Robbie’s arm, warning him to stay stil
l. If the infected spotted us now, we were doomed.
The pig attacked, storming the nearest zombie with an enraged scream. It slashed at the infected’s legs with its tusks causing fearful damage. Unable to stand, the zombie fell to the ground with the warthog digging into its stomach. It groaned and grabbed for the animal, catching a handful of bristly fur. This angered the pig even more, and it attacked with renewed vigor, tufts of flesh and skin flying.
The other zombies honed in on the loud noise, and they streamed toward the struggling duo. As the area around us cleared, I realized we had a chance to escape, a small window of opportunity.
I nudged Robbie and pointed back the way we came. Easing out of the brush, we slipped away, leaving the majestic warthog to its unfortunate fate. As we climbed up the slope once more, its agonized squeals announced its gruesome end. I was saddened for the poor thing, but its death had allowed us to escape.
Once on the ridge, I set a punishing pace. We needed to get as far away from the horde as possible. For several hours, we walked until the sun began to set. Traveling at night was suicide. There was nowhere to hide, though, and I began to think we’d never find a place to hide.
As dusk settled around us rendering the trees in hues of gray, my feet hit asphalt. Surprised, I looked around. We were standing on an old road, or what was left of it, at least. Patches of grass poked through the crumbling tar and enormous potholes pitted its length. A rusted car stood in the distance, and its bulk gave me an idea.
“Come on,” I said, heading for the vehicle.
Robbie followed without protest, and I inspected the old car in hopeful silence. It was ancient, of course, quietly rotting away like everything else that was man-made. Its tires were in tatters, the inside moldy and the windows broken.
I pressed the button on the boot, and it popped open releasing a waft of stale air and dust. With a cough, I examined the inside. It was spacious. Big enough for the two of us. It stank of mold and dirt, and the mats were spongy to the touch, but it would have to do.
“Say hello to your new bed,” I said.
“What?” Robbie asked. “Why?”
“It’ll keep us safe for the night.”
“We’re sleeping in there?”
“Yup,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “I don’t like the idea any more than you do, but it beats being eaten alive.”
The notion of becoming dinner made up Robbie’s mind for him, and he nodded. “Fine.”
First, I got in and kicked out both tail lights to ensure adequate ventilation. Secondly, I searched the boot for anything useful and found a wheel spanner. It had a solid weight to it, and I decided to add it to my weapon’s arsenal.
“Right, you first,” I said.
With great reluctance, Robbie climbed inside and moved over as far as he could. I tore a piece of cloth from my shirt and tied it to the inside of the lock before joining him. Closing the lid until only a tiny crack remained, I tied the end of the material to a piece of protruding metal. We were sealed inside but not locked in. As added insurance, I wedged the wheel spanner into place below the lid so nothing could accidentally shut the boot on us. I did not relish the thought of being stuck in there.
I shifted around until I lay with my back to Robbie, my eyes fixed on the tiny slit of light. It stank, a cloying mixture of zombie guts, rotten sponge, moldy rubber, and who knows what else that clung to the inside of my mouth until I wanted to gag.
It didn’t take long for Robbie to begin fidgeting either, and much as I wanted to blame him, I couldn’t. It was pure hell inside that trunk, uncomfortable and claustrophobic. Yet, what choice did we have? Finally, I sighed. “Robbie, close your eyes and imagine you’re somewhere else. Imagine a sunny beach with golden sand and green palm trees. Imagine the feel of the waves washing over your feet, the smell of salt in the air and on your lips. Make it real until it is.”
“Have you done that before? Does it work?” he asked in a shaky voice.
My mind flashed back to my five-year-old self, hiding inside an air duct while a monster tore my mother to pieces. I remembered her cries, the smell of blood, and how I’d closed my eyes and imagined myself far away. “It works…for a time.”
I guess he tried what I suggested because it wasn’t long before he fell asleep, his breathing smooth and even in my ears. I did the same, allowing exhaustion to carry me away and into a deep sleep.
Chapter 8 - The Long Walk
The next day, I woke up with a start, bumping my head on the boot with a bang. Pain lanced through my brain, and I swore beneath my breath. “Shit, what a way to start the day.”
Robbie stirred beside me with a groan, and I became aware of the intense pain in my joints from being locked in place too long. I peered through the crack in the lid, checking for any signs of zombies.
Nothing.
Only loud and vigorous birdsong.
I twisted my head. “You up?”
“I’m awake. Can we get out now?” he asked with another muffled groan.
“My pleasure,” I muttered as I untied the cloth. Opening the boot, I climbed out, relishing the feel of fresh air in my lungs. “Oh, that’s so much better.”
Robbie followed, and we spent the next few minutes stretching our muscles and drinking water from our single bottle. I did a quick sweep of the area to make sure the undead from the river hadn’t followed us. If they had, I’d probably have heard them passing the car in the night, though, and I didn’t spot any tracks.
Refreshed and reassured, I set off once more, heading for my old home. The road headed in the right direction, so I stuck to it, setting a ground-eating pace. To his credit, Robbie didn’t complain or ask for more water, and my estimate of him rose.
Around noon, I spotted an odd sight. A trolley was lying on its side with a tarp partially covering it, one end flapping in the wind. Next to it lay a bundle of bones, the skeleton of some poor long lost survivor.
Even after an investigation, I couldn’t tell how he’d died and turned my attention to the trolley. Inside, I found what must have been his mobile cupboard. A rusted steak knife, a few cans of food, a can opener, two bottles of spring water, and a ratty blanket that disintegrated to the touch. The knife and blanket I tossed. The rest I kept, smiling like the cat that got the cream.
“Who do you think that was? How did he die? Or she?” Robbie asked.
I shrugged. “Dunno. Hard to tell. Probably a survivor like us, trying to stay alive. Maybe he or she got bitten, or sick. Who knows?”
We split a can of peaches between us and finished our bottle of water, saving the rest for later. The nourishment revitalized us, and we were able to make good time, not spotting any infected either.
I couldn’t believe our luck, to be honest. I thought we’d be zombie chow long before this and was amazed at the lack of undead. Had something happened while we stayed in the bunker? Had some big thing occurred to thin their numbers while we kept ourselves locked away inside a mountain? I could only speculate.
That night we spent inside an abandoned farmhouse, sleeping in the attic just to be safe. It was the first of many as we crossed the country, the distance between us and my old home gradually shrinking.
We scavenged when we could, living off what we found and avoiding any cities and towns. Often we went hungry or thirsty before stumbling on a lucky find. I saw infected twice, big groups traveling towards some unknown destination. Both times, we gave them a wide berth.
Once, I came upon an old couple trapped inside their farmhouse. I killed them with the wheel spanner, bashing in the one’s skull while Robbie distracted the other. As the days passed, he’d matured, becoming less scared and more sure of himself. A good thing, as his new people would expect him to carry his weight.
Around the sixth day, we came across a handmade sign announcing that St. Francis was nearby and that all who came in peace were welcome. My heart lifted at the sight, and I couldn’t wait to see my old friends again. Everyone I’d left behind so many years be
fore.
We spent our last night in the back of an old mini-van abandoned by the side of the road, sharing a few apples we’d plucked off a tree in a field. It was a lucky find, and I relished the tang of the sour green apples on my tongue. Afterward, we each chose a couch and fell asleep, dreaming of a better tomorrow.
Chapter 9 - The Wall
When morning came, it brought the rain with it. The sun refused to show its face, and a steady drizzle fell from the heavens. A cold wind whistled through every nook and cranny, carrying an icy touch. I peeked through the minivan’s windows at the grey skies and shuddered. We weren’t dressed for the cold. Luckily, we don’t have far to go now.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” I said, coaxing Robbie from his spot on the one couch. “Time to go.”
He sat upright with a broad smile. “Will it be today?”
I nodded. “It’s an hour’s walk away.”
He jumped up and gathered his things. “I can’t wait.”
“Neither can I,” I said, finally admitting out loud to the longing for home I harbored inside.
As we climbed out of the bus and started walking in the ever-present rain, Robbie asked. “Can you tell me about this place? The people. What they did. What you did.
For a second, I hesitated, loathe to part with my secrets, but his eager face overrode my objections, and I began talking. Words spilled from my lips of their own volition, and I told him about five-year-old Lucy, and the kids who rescued her.
Kids who later became friends. Ryan, Jonathan, and Kerry.
I told him about the farmhouse and the other kids who’d trickled in to join us after the outbreak. Cat, Dee, Aiden, and so many others.
I told him about Max and Breytenbach…Julianne and her kids, Meghan, and baby Sam.
I described the fight with Hiran and the journey to a new home at St. Francis with Max’s old buddy Martin.
In detail, I described what St. Francis looked like, and what it was like living there. Heaven compared to the old bunker.
Children of the Apocalypse: Mega Boxed Set Page 154
