by Rich Baker
“It’s fucking horrible,” Robert interrupts her. “And she’s gutsy to have made it. A lot of people would have just given up.”
“She’s lucky, is what she is,” Keith says. Stephenie smacks his arm and signs to him.
“Don’t use that word,” Annie translates for the rest of the group. Keith has the look of a dog who just heard a whistle. “Lucky,” she says, “is the name of one of the guys who assaulted her and left her family for the zeds.”
“Oh, right, sorry,” he says. “She was fortunate, then.”
“Yes, she was. But it was more than luc – good fortune,” Annie says, catching herself. “I think the zed blood camouflaged her from them. I think if she weren't covered in the stuff, they would have attacked her in her house or on her street. Remember, we saw that white car go past, and the fast zeds weren’t far behind. They would have drawn all the faster ones after them – the race-walkers – and then the slower ones after that. The ones who can’t keep up are the ones who linger. It makes sense they’d be less likely to go after someone who smells like them. The faster ones probably see better, smell better, in addition to running faster. They see through the camouflage, but it still takes them a few seconds, and that’s all the advantage we need.”
“Okay,” Kyle says. “Go ahead with your plan.”
* * *
The door on the garage next to Danny Harris’ house raises up eighteen inches. The people inside bang on the door for a couple of seconds, the noise clanging through the alley. There are a half dozen zeds in hearing distance, and they turn and head for the noise. The first one arrives and scratches at the door, not sure what it’s looking for, but certain something is there. A pair of hands reach under the door, grab the creature’s feet, and pull. It falls backward and gets dragged inside. The door slams shut.
Inside, Annie uses a shovel that her brother Robert has ground down using the grinder in Danny’s basement shop to end the unfortunate thing’s second life. The blade is only 4 inches wide, has been beaten flat, has a sharp edge all around, and it easily passes through the neck two inches below the ear. The writhing arms and snapping jaws go still.
Stephenie loops a rope around its feet and throws the rope over the tracks for the garage door, and pulls it, stringing the dead body upside down, slack arms hanging down just inches from the floor. Annie slides a bucket under the head to catch the fluid already dripping out of the neck wound. She takes a knife and slices the neck open on either side of the voice box, freeing more fluid to flow into the bucket.
Outside, the zombies in the alley are still beating at the door. Kyle opens the side door, leans around the corner with the suppressed .22 pistol, fires a few shots, and the alley is quiet again. He ducks back into the garage.
“There are a few more if you need them,” he says.
“I think we’re good,” Annie says.
“Yeah, we got this,” Amanda offers. “We’ve got Keith to protect us if anything goes wrong.” She smiles, and Annie rolls her eyes. Kyle goes back inside, relieved the capture, and draining operation went smoothly.
Keith looks at Stephenie, who in turn is watching the goop fill the bucket. The smell is getting stronger, and he feels his throat tighten. His vision goes gray around the edges, he feels sweat bursting from his body, and there’s that smell, filling his nose, and too late, he realizes breakfast is coming up.
Everyone looks at him in surprise as he retches, turns away, and projectile vomits scrambled eggs and bacon at the rear wall of the garage. Fearing more is coming, he stumbles for the door to the house and disappears inside.
“Go on,” Annie says and signs at the same time. “Take care of him. We got this.”
“You sure?” Stephenie signs to Annie. The older girl nods and Stephenie follows her boyfriend into the house.
“Ugh, I may not be far behind him,” Amanda says
Annie looks at her, pulls a small jar of menthol gel from her pocket and opens it.
“This will sting your nose a little, but it beats heaving up your breakfast.” She wipes a little of the gel under each nostril. “A little trick I learned in my gross anatomy lab my senior year. Let’s get these things painted and get out of here. I don’t know what smells worse, zed juice or Keith’s stomach.”
“It’s a photo finish,” Amanda says, as she wipes the gel under her nose, wincing a little as the vapors penetrate her sinuses.
Annie laughs and slides an oil drain pan under the creature as she slides the bucket out. Taking care not to spill anything, she moves the bucket to the other side of the garage where two five foot squares of canvas hang, corners lashed to the garage door track. They’ve already sprayed one side of the canvas with a silicon sealant to try and prevent bleed-through from the other side. Amanda grabs a paint brush and dips it into the bucket and, again taking care not to drop any on herself, starts brushing it on the first sheet of canvas. After a few minutes, the square has been painted a grotesque shade of purple, more black than red.
“What do you think it is?” Amanda asks. “It’s not blood. And I’ve never smelled anything like it before in my life. And I’ve changed about five thousand diapers when my daughters…” she trails off at the mention of her children, her eyes suddenly sad, her mind going to a different place.
Annie studies her for a minute, then wraps her arms around her and gives her a hug. Amanda loses all composure and starts crying, once again clinging to Annie and moaning like she’s in physical pain.
The interior door opens, and Marc walks into the garage. When he sees the woman bawling, he immediately regrets coming to check on them. Like most men, he’s at a loss when it comes to handling female emotions.
Amanda sees him and lets Annie go, wiping her eyes and making an attempt to compose herself.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Marc says. “I can come back later. I just wanted to see how it was going with the ponchos.”
“No, it’s okay,” Amanda says. “I just got overwhelmed by memories for a minute. I haven’t really had time to” she pauses for a moment, searching for the right word. “Process everything that’s happened over the last few days.”
“Of course you haven’t,” Annie says. “I still haven’t worked through my aunt and uncle being…gone. And that’s been a lot longer than you’ve had to deal with it.”
“That’s why I want to do this, you know? Test this zed juice theory of yours,” Amanda volunteers, now using their name for the zombies. “If it works, I want to use it to go back to my house so I can bury my family. And if it doesn’t work, well, I don’t have anyone to grieve for me, and I won’t have to suffer. Much.”
“If it doesn’t work we won’t let them get you, so you won’t suffer at all,” Annie says. “And if it works, which I’m pretty sure it will, we’ll help you bury your family.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. Risk your lives to help me, again. You barely know me. This is my deal.”
“Nonsense. Ben and the others didn’t know me or Robert or Stephenie either, and they helped us bury our aunt and uncle. The least we can do is pay it forward,” Annie says and gestures at the gruesome canvas squares. “They’ll be dry tomorrow. We can test them out then.”
Amanda smiles at Annie and wipes the tears from her face as she gets control over her grief for the moment.
The door bursts open again, and Robert runs into the garage, holding his arm. Blood drips from a wound his hand is covering.
“Did Danielle come out this way?” he asks.
“No,” they all say at once.
“Dammit!” he exclaims. “I can’t believe I lost her. She’s not that fast!”
“What the hell is going on?” Marc asks. “What happened?”
Robert purses his lips like he’s fighting to hold back the words trying to burst out of his mouth.
“That prick Keith is what happened,” he finally says, then locks eyes with Marc. “Sorry. He’s your son. But he is so fricking…”
“What did Keith do t
o Danielle?” Marc interrupts.
“It’s more what he did to my sister and didn’t do to Danielle.”
“Oh no,” Annie says.
“Oh yes. And Danielle walked in on them,” Robert says.
“I’m lost,” Amanda says. “What does this have to do with your arm?”
“Keith was dating Danielle,” Robert says. “Only he and Stephenie have been hitting it off, and he’s been largely ignoring Danielle. From what the other told me, Danielle was about to break up with him when the Turn happened. He knew it and when he met my sister he decided to move on. Danielle’s been stuck here with us though, and getting more and more resentful.”
“I know Kyle was going to talk to her,” Marc says.
“Well, it’s too late now,” Robert says. “Because when I see her, I’m going to kill her.”
“No, you’re not,” Annie says. “I’m serious. Tell us what happened.”
“She walked in on Keith and Steph,” Robert grimaces at the mental image, “having sex. She screamed and ran into the workshop where I was cleaning guns and loading magazines. She grabbed one of the Ruger 10/22s, and said ‘I’m going to kill that bitch!’ I grabbed her and tried to get the gun away from her, and she slashed me with a knife,” he raises his arm which he still has his hand clamped over.
“Anyway, I let go, and she ran out. I grabbed my pistol, and high tailed it after her. I caught a glimpse of her going into the tunnel, but she pulled the vault door shut behind her and it took me a minute to holster the gun, pull the door open, and make sure she wasn’t waiting to plunk me with that damn rifle.
“I came out in the basement, didn’t see her, so I ran up here. I didn’t see her in the main area of the house, so I thought maybe she came out to the garage. When I catch her, she’s dead meat,” Robert finishes.
“Let me have your bandana, please,” Annie says to Marc. He takes the white and black cloth from his back pocket and hands it to Annie, who begins tying it over Robert’s wound.
“We need to find her before she really does kill someone,” Marc says. “But unless she starts shooting, which I can’t imagine her doing, let’s try not to hurt her, okay?”
“No promises,” Robert says.
“If you want to stay here with us, you’ll make every effort not to hurt her,” Marc says. “Things aren’t exactly routine right now, and she’s not coping well. Not everyone has your lack of empathy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Robert bristles.
“Guys, stop!” Annie says. “Let focus on finding her and we can argue later. I’ll go with Robert and keep him in check.”
The unmistakable sound of a garage door opener breaks through the background noise of the remaining few undead scratching at the steel door. Marc rushes over to the side door cracks it open.
“God dammit!” he shouts.
Outside, he sees Danielle backing Marc’s Ford Explorer out of his garage. She turns the wheel to the right, backing the SUV out of the driveway and pointing it north.
Marc steps out of the doorway and waves at her. “Danielle, STOP!” he shouts.
She gives him the finger as she speeds away, running over several of the dead, their bodies tearing open and entrails and fluids spilling into the alley. Amanda grabs Marc’s arm and pulls him toward the garage’s side door and the safety inside.
“I can’t believe she stole my car! Where does she think she’s going to go? How far can she get alone? How’d she get my goddamn keys?” Marc’s rhetorical questions are met with a snort from Robert.
“You ready to kill her now?” he asks.
Marc gives him a look that says “zip it!” Robert clears the smirk off his face and says “Sorry, too soon I guess.”
* * *
Stephenie puts the final butterfly bandage on Robert’s wound, then wraps it with gauze and medical tape.
“Be careful with it,” she signs. “It needs stitches, but this is the best we’ve got.”
“Thanks,” he signs back. He takes a minute to glare at Keith, then moves into the dining area where Kyle, Marc, Annie, and Ben are sitting at the big round table.
“Hi Robert,” Kyle says. “Did she get you patched up?”
Robert lifts his arm for everyone to see. It already has a spot of blood seeping through the gauze. “As good as she can. I’ll be alright.”
“Good. I’m sorry it happened. I should have done more to deal with her. I knew she was upset; I guess I just didn’t think she’d turn violent.”
“Trust me; I was caught off guard too. So, what’s the plan?”
“Well, we’re exposed here. She knows we’re down here, knows the codes to the tunnel doors, knows the kinds of weapons we have here. We need to find her before she tells the wrong people about us.”
“That’s assuming she lives long enough to tell anyone anything,” Ben says. “She’s kind of an indoor dog if you know what I mean.”
“She has some fight in her,” Robert says, lifting his wounded arm as evidence.
“After hearing about what happened to Amanda, we should prepare for the worst,” Annie says. “I don’t think we can assume anything. The world isn’t what it was a few weeks ago.”
“That’s exactly what I was worried about,” Kyle says. “Whoever is in that white car killed Amanda’s family, and we think they killed Mrs. Leeland down the street. That could be a coincidence, but I don’t believe it is. Not in this world. Zed’s World.”
“I’ll go through Danny’s stuff and see if he has instructions on changing the codes,” Robert says.
“We need to up our security too,” Kyle says. “I think we need people upstairs next door, front and back, to watch for anything odd.”
“What about the security cameras? Do we need someone on those twenty-four by seven?” Annie asks.
“They’re motion activated,” Marc answers. “We can rig a light or an alarm to the system so when the cameras activate, we get an alert. Robert and I will do that.”
Kyle nods his head. “Good. And everyone carries their weapons at all times now, and no one goes anywhere alone. Who wants to take first watch next door?”
“I’ll go,” Ben says.
“You should go be with Toni. Help her do her exercises. Steph and I will take first watch next door,” Annie says. “You and Andy can go after us.”
“And Marc and I after that,” Kyle adds. “Ok, so we’re set, for now, I think. Let’s get to it.”
Eleven
Marc Wallace’s Ford Explorer
“Fuck you, you fucking fuckers!!” Danielle screams at the windshield as she races away from the Puckett's.
Walking in on Keith and that deaf whore was the straw that broke her. She can't get the image out of her head. Sure, she was about to break up with him after graduation, but it's not like HE knew that – except Toni or Natalie told him. Or they told Ben and Andy, who then told Keith. Despite what he had said to her, she’s certain one of them spilled the beans. Why else would he just ditch her like that? Those stupid bitches, so much for 'chicks before dicks.'
She didn't even WANT to leave Fort Collins for Longview. She wanted to get to California, back to her family, but she didn't have any other options. Maybe she should have just stayed at Keith's apartment. There was enough food there to hold one person over for several days, plus there were a ton of other apartments to raid. She could have held out a long time. In fact, she decides now, that's what she'll do - head back north.
The road’s not so easy to navigate. She slows down to weave her way around abandoned and crashed cars. She tries to think back on how they got here, trying to reverse engineer the route she’ll need to go. She just needs to get back to the main highway; then she knows how to get the hell out of this shitty town.
The side street half a mile to the north of the Puckett’s place isn’t bad, just scattered zombies. She refuses to call them zeds, that’s a stupid fucking name. A glance in the mirror makes her gasp as dozens of zombies are pouring out of the parking
lots of the condos and townhomes on either side of the street. She stops at the T-intersection, where her choices are left or right. She looks right, and the next intersection is clogged with cars, rotting bodies, and more undead. Left it is.
She hits the gas before the fastest of the zombies behind her can reach the Explorer. She’s heading west now, toward the mountains that are just visible through the haze and smoke that darkens the sky. She swerves to avoid several zombies, cutting it too close to one on the passenger side. The side view mirror shatters, and the assembly rips off of the door as she clips the mutilated creature.
“Sorry, Marc!” she says sarcastically.
There’s another pileup around a pedestrian island that she has to navigate around. She sees tire tracks in the drainage swale on the north side of the street, so she steers the SUV down into the small ditch, surprised at how far the vehicle tilts. The slope didn’t look that steep. She follows the tracks, clears the traffic jam, and steers the Ford out of the ditch and back on the road. A zombie intercepts her path, and she hits it head on. The hood punches in on the driver’s side, folding on the crumple point, while the zombie flips over the hood and hits the windshield, its butt smashing a greasy spiderweb crack in the glass just under the rear-view mirror. She slams on the brakes, launching the zombie off the hood and back on the asphalt. She steps on the gas, the V6 pulling her back into the seat. The wheels thump and bump, rocking the vehicle side-to-side as she runs over the zombie. She looks in the rear-view and sees the zombie’s arms moving, trying to pull it after her. The sight makes her shiver, but not more than the sixty or seventy zombies now pursuing her.
Up the hill ahead of her is the next major intersection, or at least she assumes it’s major since it has a stop light. It also has another clog of traffic. It’s like a blood clot, she thinks. Appropriate for a city that’s dying.
She cuts into the Quail Grove subdivision, pulling the Ford on the sidewalk to avoid a few stalled cars, zombies, and other random items, like a shopping cart and huge sheet of what looks like aluminum siding.
