by Megan Berry
“I want to live,” I echo my thoughts out loud to Silas, and a look of relief crosses his face.
“Damn straight you do,” he says, putting the gun back in his holster and striding from the room without a backwards glance.
Ryan rushes to my side as soon as he’s gone. “That guy is crazy, are you okay?” I look up into Ryan’s face and know that Silas was telling the truth. My personal drama is distracting Ryan. I knew it last night when he drove through the dark to get me here, and I know it right now as I look at his face. I don’t want to be responsible for Ryan’s death, then I really would want Silas to shoot me.
“He’s right,” I say as I stubbornly force my stiff body off the bed and rub the sand from my eyes. “I want to live.”
Chapter Seventeen
We pack our few sparse belongings and say goodbye to Jep and Agnes. We beg them to come with us, but they stubbornly refuse, saying that their kids from Orlando will know to look for them at the motel. I really hope their kids are alive and on their way to take care of them.
They do us a favor and keep Fluffy. The little dog has grown attached to them over the last few days, and I can’t say that I will really miss the little fur ball. I give him a fond pat goodbye and then hug both Agnes and Jep.
“I really hope they survive, and that their kids show up,” Ryan says glumly as we leave the motel in our rear-view mirror. I think he has the hardest time with leaving them behind, mostly because they are so old. It’s not that I’m heartless. I think it’s a mistake for them to stay alone, but we can’t exactly kidnap them. We need to focus on helping ourselves and people who actually want our help. Ryan also left them a detailed map to both the camp in Illinois, and Liberty Island.
The drive is quiet. Zombie hordes roam the landscape, but we are too fast in the truck to have to worry about them much. I pray that we don’t have any more vehicle trouble. We keep to the smaller roads this time, because speed is not much of a necessity. Playing it safe will only delay us a couple of hours at most.
It doesn’t register at first why the area looks so familiar. After all, with the ruination of society, nothing truly looks the same anymore. I see a glimpse of things here and there and get a strong sense of déjà vu, then shake my head convincing myself that I’m imagining things.
A sign up ahead has my heart slamming in my chest, and the puzzle pieces click into place. I’m not crazy. The reason things seem familiar is because we are back in my home state of Pennsylvania. The sign reads: Duncan 35 Miles.
Duncan isn’t that far from my old town of Blairsville.
“Stop the truck,” I say, surprising both Ryan and Silas and, I think, even myself. Ryan stomps on the brakes. I sit in the truck, trying to make a decision. I have often regretted not taking a few more things from my old home—maybe some photos of my parents, my stuffed bear that I had since I was two… On the other hand, dying because I had to try and retrieve possessions is crazy.
“What’s wrong?” Ryan asks.
I turn to him, still not sure what I’ll say. “We’re close to my old house,” I tell him, obviously my heart has already decided and doesn’t want to wait for my brain to catch up.
“You want to stop,” Silas says. It’s not a question. He can tell.
I swallow and nod, “I do.”
A look comes over Ryan’s face, and I know he’s against it. “It’s dangerous,” Ryan says.
At the same time, Silas says, “No harm in checking it out.”
I stare between the two of them. I feel like I’ve betrayed Ryan somehow when I nod and side with Silas.
“If it’s too dangerous, I don’t want to risk our lives… I just want to see it again, maybe grab some stuff if the coast is clear.” Tears well in my eyes, though I hastily wipe them away. I don’t want to play the damsel in distress to make Ryan agree.
“We’ll take a quick look,” Ryan says, and I smile at him. We didn’t have the best experience in the last town we entered, and I definitely don’t want to repeat it.
I lean forward and give Ryan directions, then I sit back and wait. I’m practically vibrating with excitement; it’s a feeling that I didn’t think I would ever feel again.
Within the hour, we are entering the town limits of Blairsville. I direct Ryan to the cul de sac that I haven’t seen in almost two weeks. Things still look crazy. More garbage litters the street, and there are at least twice as many zombies as before. I quickly count more than twenty.
“There’s too many,” Ryan says. I can tell that he doesn’t want to disappoint me, but he’s being cautious.
“I dunno about that,” Silas says, rolling down his window and drawing his weapon from his holster. He aims carefully and starts taking the zombies down one by one. He has to reload two more times, but finally all the zombies in the cul de sac are down, and they aren’t getting back up.
“Thanks Silas,” I say with a grin.
Ryan frowns. “This doesn’t mean more won’t come,” he warns us.
“That’s very true, which is why we should hurry,” Silas argues. “Though, being a cul de sac, it’s a little bit protected from drawing more in, unless we make noise or something.”
I take courage from Silas’ words and point out my childhood home. The grass is a little longer, but the rut is still visible where Megan peeled out the day she saved me.
It feels like another lifetime ago. It’s kind of crazy to realize that it was only two weeks ago. I was a different person then.
Ryan pulls right up on the lawn so we don’t have to walk very far. “Someone should wait in the truck so we can keep an eye out,” Ryan says, always the one that’s thinking ahead.
“Not it,” Silas calls dibs, as he springs out of the truck with a grin, being careful not to slam the door behind him.
Ryan looks like he wants to explode. I stare at him for a moment. I don’t want to upset him, but I also don’t want to waste precious time, and I am definitely not going to be the one that waits in the truck.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him as I follow Silas out of the truck.
I draw my gun from my holster and turn the safety off. Silas already has his out. We jog up the front steps, and Silas tries the door. It’s locked.
I frown. I don’t remember locking the door when I left, though things had been so surreal. I guess anything is possible. I stare at the door and try to think back. I actually thought I’d left the door wide open when I’d made my run for it.
“Do you have a key?” Silas whispers.
I nod, lifting up the planter by the door. Thankfully, the key is still there. I snatch it up and hand it to Silas.
Silas opens the door as quietly as he can, and we are hit with the stench of decaying zombie right away. Silas lets out a quiet whistle as we both pause in the front entrance, straining to hear if anything is going to come investigate the noise. Nothing moans, groans, growls, thuds, or bumps from inside the house, but the silence is almost worse for my nerves.
I turn to Silas and open my mouth to tell him that maybe this is a bad idea, but he shakes his head at me and puts his fingers to his lips, telling me to be quiet. Then, his attention is back on the house.
Silas quietly shuts the door behind us and we move rapidly from room to room, making sure everything is clear. In the kitchen, we find three zombies on the floor, each with a bullet planted neatly in its head.
“What is going on here?” I ask out loud.
This time Silas doesn’t shush me, he shrugs.
“Looks like someone was in here.”
That gives me the creeps, though nothing seems overly disturbed or missing. I check the pantry and see that it’s mostly cleared out, though there are a few food items left.
“See, it was just someone lookin for supplies,” Silas reassures me. I feel a bit like someone robbed us. It’s hypocritical, I know, because I’ve had to go into stranger’s houses these past few weeks, and taken their food in order to survive.
Silas helps me, and we quickly finish c
leaning the pantry out. I get a lump in my throat when I pack up the special cookies my Mom always bought because they are my favorite.
We stack the box by the door and then move upstairs. Silas pokes around my bedroom snooping, while I use a large rolley suitcase to pack up as many of my clothes as it will fit. I grab a few pictures off my bedside table and the little gold ring that my mom gave me for my fifteenth birthday. I look back at the pink bedroom that any teenage girl would have loved to grow up in, and then force myself to walk away.
In my parents’ closet, I tell Silas to help himself to my Dad’s clothes and grab some stuff for Ryan too. Then, I pull a couple photo albums out and ram them into my suitcase right beside Mr. Bear.
I feel foolish, but doing this has lifted a huge weight off my shoulders.
“Ready to go?” Silas asks, and I nod and follow him downstairs.
“You should leave a note for your parents,” Silas says suddenly.
I stare at him blankly.
“Just in case they show up looking for you.”
I sigh, but I can’t deny that, if they are still alive, it’s a good idea. I grab a piece of paper and a pen from the kitchen counter and pause for a minute as I think about what to write.
Mom & Dad
I looked for you in New York, I am fine. I went with Abby to go to her Grandparent’s cabin, but found a camp along the way and we have decided to stay there instead.
I stare at it, not sure what else to say.
“Write the camp’s address,” Silas urges me. I scribble it down from memory, before adding: I love you guys so much. From Jane.
“Perfect,” Silas says, “Let’s get out of here.” He pretends not to see the tear trickling down my cheek as he looks out the window, and I’m glad he doesn’t try and comfort me right now, because I would probably break down.
“The coast is clear,” He tells me as he reaches down and grabs the box of food.
I grip my rolley suitcase in one hand and my gun in the other and nod to him as we dash outside.
Ryan hops out and grabs my suitcase and shoves it in the back, and Silas jumps in the back with his box of food. I take the front passenger seat, and Ryan gets back behind the wheel and puts the truck in gear.
“You shouldn’t have left,” Ryan lectures, and I don’t even mind. He is just worried about me, and I’d probably be spitting mad at him if our roles were reversed. I look in the back at Silas sitting with my pink suitcase and the box of food stacked around him, and I smile.
The smile melts off my face when I realize the way Ryan has taken to get out of town. We are about to drive right past Abby’s house.
“Stop the truck!” I shout, not for the first time today. Ryan taps the brakes, though he looks none too impressed.
“What now?” he demands, eying a pack of zombies that are making their way towards us.
“That’s Abby’s house,” I say, pointing to the two-story brick house that I spent so much time at during my childhood.
“Jane,” Ryan says, taking a deep breath, “we really can’t run all over town.”
“Those are Abby’s parents,” I tell them, feeling a tightening in my throat when I point out two zombies in the crowd who definitely look worse for wear.
I look away after a second. I don’t want to remember them this way, and neither should Abby.
“Silas?” I ask, and I know Ryan hates that I’m turning to him. Silas nods silently and rolls down his window. He takes them down almost lovingly as he aims, lining up his shots with great care. The rest of the zombies go down in a hail of gunfire. I look around, quickly scanning the area before I jump from the truck and run towards their bodies.
“Jane!” Ryan hisses as he jumps out of the truck and follows me. I run faster, sure that he’s going to try and tackle me right in the middle of the zombie-encrusted street and drag me back into the truck.
I reach Mrs. Washington’s body and feel the urge to vomit and cry, but I force myself to reach down and carefully unhook the chain that she’s wearing around her neck. It had been Abby’s Grandmother’s, and Mrs. Washington wore it every day. It was supposed to be Abby’s one day. I keep expecting her eyes to pop open at any minute and for her to lunge at my arm, but she doesn’t. Silas put her down for good.
“Jane,” Ryan whisper yells again, as he comes to a stop right beside me.
“I have to do this for Abby,” I tell him, determined to retrieve these items for her. I reach down, cringing, and grab her mom’s hand to slip off her wedding ring. Her hand is encrusted with dried blood and skin.
“Will you grab her Dad’s?” I ask Ryan, and he looks over at the man lying beside Mrs. Washington.
“That’s him,” I confirm, finding it odd that they stayed together these last few weeks. Thankfully, Ryan reaches out with a shudder and wrestles the ring off his finger.
I take it from him and slip everything into my coat pocket.
“Can we take a quick look inside her house?” I ask, wiping my hands on some grass.
Ryan looks like he’s going to say no, so I take off at a run again.
Unlike my house, the door isn’t locked and I don’t smell anything rotten inside. I pause and let out the same kind of whistle Silas did, but nothing stirs.
Ryan has caught up with me and obviously knows better than to argue anymore. He sticks close, guarding my back. We pass by the family room, and I scoop a couple photo albums off the coffee table. Next, we find the kitchen and, with Ryan’s help, I fill a large black garbage bag with food. I grab another bag and head upstairs to Abby’s room. I could make this trip with my eyes closed, I’ve walked it so many time, but I don’t dare close my eyes now—not with the world full of zombies.
Her room looks exactly like it always did. I grab the quilt off her bed that her Grandma made her when she was a baby and fill the rest of the bag up with her clothes. I see her cell phone sitting on the nightstand by her bed, and my hand hovers over it.
I decide not to take it and pull my own phone out of my pocket and set it down beside hers with trembling fingers. These will be the grave markers of our old life. I take a deep breath and then force myself to walk away.
Ryan takes the bag from my shaking hands and follows me as I head for the door. Outside, Silas honks the horn and it makes my belly fill with fear. I throw open the door and see that he’s parked super close on the lawn, and that zombies are beginning to surround us, though they are still about two hundred feet away.
“Hurry yer asses up!” Silas yells.
I break into a run and practically dive into the backseat with my haul. Ryan gets in the front and Silas rolls his window up as he forces the truck through the medium-sized crowd of zombies. There are probably thirty of them, but they are spread out for now, so there are still a few holes.
He doesn’t drive too fast, probably because he doesn’t want to damage the truck, so it’s more like he eases through the crowd—with zombies gently bouncing off the bumper. It’s a little bit unnerving to be so close to this many zombies and not be plowing through them at top speed to escape.
Some of them are pushed out of the way and some of them are pushed down and crunched under the trucks tires. Every time we bounce over them, I get a sick feeling in my stomach. Worse are the zombies that aren’t in front of the truck. They are beside it, clawing and moaning at the windows. I move over into the middle of my seat, certain that they are going to break through at any moment.
The sick feeling hits me. If we die it will be my fault. “I’m sorry!” I shout to be heard above the beating arms, moaning groans, and gnashing teeth.
Silas looks back at me in the rear-view mirror, catches my eye, and winks. “There’s nothing to be sorry about!” he shouts back, and then we are free and clear of the crowd as he pins the accelerator and gathers more speed.
It takes a long time for my heartbeat to steady, and it takes even longer before Ryan will look at me again. No matter what Silas says, that was too close.
Chapter
Eighteen
Without having to stop for fuel, we make great time. We make even better time because Silas is driving, and he doesn’t go much below eighty miles an hour. I can tell that Ryan hates it, but Silas seems to be a good driver, always in control of the vehicle. He’s had to slow down a couple times to brake for shamblers on the road, but otherwise it’s been a straight shot down a wide open highway.
We get more than halfway to Indiana before the late afternoon starts to fade into evening.
“We need to stop for the night,” Ryan says tersely from the passenger seat. He’s been tense all day.
My bladder is close to bursting, so I secretly rejoice at his words. I haven’t wanted to slow us down, and I definitely haven’t been in the mood to have the guys pull over so I can pee on the side of the road while zombies try to bite my exposed butt.
“How about this place?” Silas says, which is really more of a rhetorical question because he’s already pulling off the road. He parks in front of a house that is nearly invisible from the road because of a large copse of trees.
Ryan eyes the trees nervously for any sign of zombies. I do the same, but nothing seems to be moving other than the branches swaying in the wind.
The place is small. It can’t be more than a simple one or two bedroom house. The wooden slats on the outside are faded from the sun, and the whole place looks a bit dilapidated.
Silas pulls his gun from his holster and gets out of the vehicle without waiting for either Ryan or I. Ryan curses under his breath and pulls the large hunting knife from his own belt loop.
“Stay here,” he commands me, and I do a double take.
“What?” I ask, my voice is frosty enough to give him a definite chill. It makes him pause and look back at me.
Ryan sends me a conciliatory smile, “It’s just, with the two of us, you don’t need to be in danger anymore.”
I roll my eyes. It’s the zombie apocalypse, I am in danger every second of my life, and the sooner I learn how to deal with that, the safer I will actually be.
