Over the next two days, however, Beth said that Ethel began to get sicker and sicker, to the point where she wouldn’t even leave her bedroom. She said at that point she knew what was happening and what she had to do - put Ethel out of her misery - but just couldn’t bring herself to do it after all Ethel had done for her. I nodded like I understood, but on the inside I was cursing her compassion. I would have walked in the room and shot Ethel in her face once I realized she was turning - friend or not, it wouldn’t have mattered. There was no reason for her to put herself at risk like that, and I most definitely would not have.
She said that on the morning of the fourth day after we had left - the same day we were on our way there - she had heard a loud thud in Ethel’s room and went to check and see if she was hurt or dead. She figured on dead.
“I turned the knob and only had the door open an inch, when Ethel crashed out, fully turned, and nearly knocked me off my feet,” Beth said. “If I hadn’t hit the wall behind me, I would have fallen on my back, and she would’ve been on top of me. Luckily I didn’t, and was able to turn and run away. I wasn’t about to leave a safe house when there was only one zombie in here, and millions out there, so I ran to find a weapon.”
We were in the kitchen while she told us her story, with Frank, Gus, Sue, and Beth sitting in the chairs at the newly-righted table, and me leaning against the wall. Beth stopped for a moment then to sip out of a glass of water Frank had got for her. Even though she wasn’t crying as she told us what had happened, I could tell she had at one point, ‘cause there were clear paths in the blood from her eyes to her mouth and chin. When she was ready, she continued her story.
“I don’t know why, maybe because I was so scared, but I couldn’t remember where Ethel kept her guns, so I ran to the kitchen and dug through the cupboards and drawers until I found a hammer.” Gus and I looked at each other and smiled at that, as we both had had some hammer-time ourselves. “Just as I had the hammer in my hands, she came nearly running into the kitchen and crashed into the table, knocking it over. She fell down hard and was jerking and all spastic on the floor. I ran over to her and started to hit her with the hammer over and over again on her head and body…”
She stopped again, this time not to drink water, but to gag and retch at the thought of what she had been forced to do. Sue got up and went to her and consoled Beth until she got in control of herself, and was able to speak again. Us guys just stayed where we were at, like idiots, and watched - none of us was the touchy-feely type, and felt stupid at our inability to handle a situation that didn’t require tools, beer, or guns. Or beer. Beth finally said she was okay, took a drink from her glass, and Sue went back to her seat.
“She quit moving after a while - I don’t know how long I was hitting her, I lost track of who I was - and I got up and went to her recliner and sat down. That chair is so comfy I fell right asleep. I don’t know what woke me up, but when I opened my eyes, Ethel was lunging at me… I rolled off the side before she hit, and she crashed into it and fell back to the floor. I… I… jumped on her back and brought the hammer to her head again and again until she stopped moving… then did it some more I was so pissed at her… I then passed out, I guess, and came to when you guys started knocking at the door.”
Again, us guys were too manly or stupid or whatever, and it was Sue to the rescue.
“That’s so horrible, honey,” Sue said as she got out of her chair and went to Beth’s, got her up and went towards the living room with her. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. Let’s go and get you all cleaned up, okay? You’re a mess!” They both laughed at that. “Assholes! Where’s the bathroom?”
I had a feeling she meant us, so I told her where it was at, and they both went up, where I imagined they washed each other - slowly, very slowly… and passionately - while candles burned and Yanni or some other gay shit played quietly in the background. So I’m a perve, sue me.
When they came back down to the kitchen, us three guys had already burned through a twelver-plus like it was nothing - it was only around fifteen minutes or so they were gone, so that was some serious fuckin’ drinking. The girls sat back down in their chairs, as I didn’t take one since I prefer to drink on my feet, and Sue got one for herself and refilled Beth’s water. After Gus, Frank, and I had finished the beers we were on when they got back down, we went to the living room where we took out Ethel’s body, mopped up the blood from the floor, and righted Ethel’s favorite recliner.
We stayed that day and night, and left at the ass-crack of daylight the next morning. Beth didn’t have a problem coming with us to Gus’s house, as she didn’t want to stay in a place - all alone, ‘cause we weren’t staying there - where she had to kill someone, especially someone she knew. We left Ethel’s, locking the place up tight behind us - keys in hand - and went on our way. The trip back to Gus’s was basically uneventful, at least for everyone but Sue, who insisted on being point again and killed all the zombies we encountered, and we got there in no time flat, safe and sound. Plus one person, minus five cases of beer.
48
Beth got along real well at Gus’s. After her first few days, it was like she’d been there the entire time - she meshed really good with the group, was like a sister to Sue, and she even started to drink beer, something I was pleased with and Frank was very happy about (he had started working on her the first day she was there, and with Beth drinking beers - the secret weapon - it was only a matter of time before the two of them hooked up).
So she had some clothes to wear, Gus and I went on another looting run through the ‘hood and got a shit-ton of clothes for her - she gave us her sizes and shit, and we were actually able to find a bunch of stuff that fit her pretty well, clothes that she actually seemed to like. I moved outta the spare room and bedded down in the living room with Frank, giving Beth a nice, comfy bed to sleep in.
When the first week with Beth in house had passed by, Frank had already scored a home run with her and was sleeping in the spare room, and I had finally decided that it was time for me to leave. I was now a fifth wheel, a spare tire, and it was a feeling I did not like at all. I didn’t let anybody know how I felt - that’s not my thing, even though if I did and told some girls (one in particular), I would’ve had some damn good relationships - I just acted like everything was A-okay. Although, I did start spending a whole lotta time outside amongst the dead, away from everyone inside. And surprisingly enough, no one even questioned what I was doing or where I was disappearing to for hours on end - they were all too busy having couples time in Gus’s house.
On my trips out to the wild, I started gathering supplies for when I eventually left. I had decided that I was gonna stay for one more week (or less), and leave in either the middle of the night, or at first light, and not tell anyone - sure, it was the cowardly thing to do, but I didn’t think anybody would care.
I figured that to walk clear to Streator would’ve been stupid and taken days and days, so I scouted for a vehicle that wasn’t so big that it couldn’t travel through a bunch of stalled cars like on 251, and be fast and maneuverable enough that I wouldn’t get caught by a swarm and eaten - and found me a sweet little hot-pink Vespa that fit my needs perfectly. Sure, it was gay as fuck, but who was gonna laugh at me, the zombies? I’ll kill the fucks!
The Vespa had a large basket on it, over the rear wheel, so I gathered up a couple five-gallon gas cans, filled ‘em up with siphoned gas, and strapped them down inside it. I also scrounged up a good weeks-worth of non-perishables, a -50 sleeping bag, another bag full of clothes for myself, some tools (you never know when you’re gonna need ‘em), a one-man tent, and some other odds and ends. I didn’t think I would really need the tent, as there were most likely plenty of houses I could crash in along the way if the need came along, but I figured it would be a good thing to have, just in case. He’s a popular guy, Justin Case is.
After I had my bug-out gear all ready to roll, I only had one more trip to make out into the wor
ld before I left for good - to make some phone calls. But as I was on my way out to do it, I was stopped at the door by Sue. It turned out I was wrong about no one noticing or caring that I wasn’t there - they were worried about me, but didn’t want to get in my way or try to stop me ‘cause they were afraid of what I would do had they did.
It turned out that they had all noticed a drastic change in my behavior - one that I didn’t even know was there - and were afraid that I was going to react violently if confronted by one of them. Thankfully, Frank had either completely forgotten about my plans to leave, or was still waiting for me to say something on my own, so they didn’t have any idea that I was preparing to do just that. I assumed the latter, that Frank forgot. After assuring Sue that everything was fine, and that I just wanted a little privacy while I made some important calls, I stepped around her and walked out the door.
The calls I had to make were to two people, and both very important - one to my friend Sarah, who was up in South Beloit with her brother and dad, and the other to my friend Bob, who was in Streator with his brother. They had both tried to get a hold of me, a few times in the week past, but each time, I was either out slaying zombies on pointless rescue missions (Joey), or I was out and about foraging through Zombieland for my boltin’ supplies.
I walked a few blocks down from Gus’s, dodging zombies here and there and bashing a few heads in with my aluminum baseball bat whenever I didn’t feel like it, and climbed up on the roof of a big two-story house, using a vine-covered trellis as a ladder to the top. Once I was up there, I went over to the side of the house furthest from Gus’s (and opposite the trellis), and figured I’d take a few pot-shots at the roaming zombies with my .22 - I ended up tossing the broken one and replaced it with a brand spankin’ new one that I found on our foraging run, and it was even a Marlin - while I thought about the phone calls, and what I was gonna say.
After I had the bodies of twenty-five meat-puppets scattered around below me, I slid back up to the center of the roof and pulled out my phone. I was amazed, it was around two weeks since the Zombie Apocalypse started (maybe longer or shorter, I really never keep track of the days or time, you know), and we still had cell-phone reception.
I called Sarah first. She answered her phone on the first ring, alive and well and mad as hell that I hadn’t called her sooner. It was a very hard phone call for me to make, ‘cause she was my best friend, and I cared more about her than she knew. I was extremely glad that she had even answered and was doing great - I didn’t even care that she cussed me out for the first ten minutes of the conversation - just hearing her voice made everything okay. Perfect.
She told me how her dad, Bertram, had saved her from a large pack of zombies that was surrounding her house, and how they lost track of their family in the tri-city area in all the chaos and confusion - she didn’t even know if any of them were still alive (but feared the worst), as none of them had answered her numerous phone calls and texts - and how after getting a hold of her brother John in South Beloit, they had battled their way there, through the miles and miles of carnage and chaos (South Beloit is a good two hours from Spring Valley, where she lived, and that’s in normal times) till they got there, three days later, unhurt and alive.
We talked for hours and hours, about anything and everything, not wanting to stop ‘cause we were both afraid we’d never hear from each other again - due to possible death or loss of cell phone reception - until, unfortunately, our cell phones started beeping in our ears, telling us they were about to die. I didn’t want the conversation to end ‘cause I had no clue when I would be able to talk to her again, or even how much longer the cell phones would be usable before they became nothing more than high-tech paper-weights, but alas I had to end the call before we got cut off in mid-sentence. That shit pissed me off when it happened, and in times like these where a conversation could be cut off ‘cause you’re getting your throat ripped out, well… I didn’t want to leave her thinking that something bad was happening to me. So we exchanged good-byes and such, and I hung up the phone. I had thought of telling her that I loved her - as a friend, mind you, not the other way - but I decided not to ‘cause I didn’t want her getting the wrong idea and be all freaked out. Besides, in times like these, there’s just no time for a love story.
The fuckin’ phone died right after that, but I had been prepared for just such a thing, and had my wall charger in a pocket of my LBV, right next to the pocket filled to the brim with .22 bullets. The electricity was still going strong, so I figured all I’d have to do is break into a house somewhere if I needed to and charge that fucker up.
I went back to the side of the house with the trellis, and after low-crawling and peering over the edge of the house to see if the area was clear of zombies - it was - climbed down the trellis to a second-story window it passed by, and pushed in the screen and climbed on in. After clearing the house, and killing the three zombies I found trapped within (one of them a little boy of five, and still cute as a button, oddly enough), I went back up to the room I had entered (with a six-pack of Coors I had found in the fridge), plugged the phone into the charger and into the wall, and called up Bob.
Like Sarah, he answered on the first ring, with “Just the motherfucker I was hopin’ to hear from!” being the first thing to come outta his mouth. We didn’t talk nearly as long as I did with Sarah - being a couple of dudes, and all - but it was a great conversation, nonetheless.
We swapped a couple battle stories, talked of how much fun we were having killing zombies and how we wanted to keep killing ‘em, he told me of the progress he and his bro, Tom were having back home, and how the Zombie Apocalypse was the best thing to happen to him, aside from the birth of his son - who he luckily had at his house with him on the first day, and was still alive and kickin’.
He asked me when I was getting my ass down there - to which I quickly replied by the end of the week - and then we talked for a little bit longer about survival in this new holocaust, and such, until he eventually said he had to go ‘cause Tom had just got back from a food and beer run (priorities again, bitches!), and needed his help unloading. I told him, “Cool, see ya soon”, hung up, and got my shit together and left, back to Gus’s.
49
Even though I told Bob that I would be on my way to Streator by the end of the week, which would’ve been on Friday with it being Sunday when I made the call, by Tuesday I had decided I was gonna leave on the very next day. I was gonna lose my fuckin’ goddamn mind if I stayed any longer than that, and possibly do some very bad things to those that I cared about - specifically the four people I was shacked up with - and figured it was for the best if I left.
Sure, I liked waking up in a safe place, on a nice comfy, warm couch, eating home-cooked meals, and living the good life (it really was) - who doesn’t? - but as the days wore on after the first zombie shambled up and ripped off some poor sap’s face, I was getting fuckin’ restless, man. I belonged out there in the world, not cooped up like a lamb waiting for the slaughter.
I was a motherfuckin’ wolf, g! I was the hunter, not the hunted! Fuck! I was going stir-crazy during that last bit of time there, after we brought Beth back with us. Even before. I’d be talking to Gus, Frank, Sue, or Beth - it didn’t really matter who - and be looking at their necks to where my machete would slice their heads off the easiest. I’d be walking behind one of them in the hallway or something, and be thinking about what the proper weapon would be to take them out in such an enclosed space. I even woke up one night standing over Gus and Sue while they slept, with my .40cal. in my right hand, and a ham sandwich in my left. I had to get gone while the gettin’ was good! I was fuckin’ losing it!
So come Wednesday morning, as the sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon and saying hello to the world, I threw on my pack over my LBV, picked up my trusty .22, and opened the door to the stairwell downstairs. It was so fuckin’ dark down there in the garage, that I very nearly tripped right over Sue, who was sitting in the d
ark at the bottom of the stairs.
“Man, it’s about time you came down here, Dave!” She quietly said. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs here, at the same time every day, for almost two weeks now?”
I was so stunned that I could hardly talk, all I could do was stammer and stutter like a fool. Thankfully - I guess? - she wasn’t done talking.
“You’re probably wondering, ‘How the fuck did she know?’, right? Well, that’s easy… Frank told us, silly. You should’ve known he would, something like that is just too big to keep a secret, you know?”
I was finally able to speak at that point, and countered with the most intelligent thing that crossed my mind - “Fuck.” Brilliant, just fucking brilliant.
“Yeah, ‘fuck’,” she said back. It looked like she may have been smiling when she said that, but I couldn’t tell in the gloom. She very well may have been crying, for all I knew, but didn’t want to ask ‘cause I wanted to make my exit as painless as possible, even though that plan was shot to shit with her being there.
“Sue… I’m sorry…” Hey, words, I was on a roll… “I… I… I’m such a fuckin’ idiot!” I said, slapping my hands to my forehead. “I know I am, and if ya’ll are pissed off at me, you have every right and reason to be…”
“Oh… yeah, Dave, we are pissed at you… because after you didn’t tell us you were going to leave and then started disappearing for hours like you’ve been, we all knew you were going to do something like this. So, yeah, we’re all pissed, but… at the same time… we kind of expected it…”
A.K.A. No Time for a Love Story (Book 1): Just Another Day Page 18
