by Red Lagoe
But before she realized what her body was doing, her right fist swung up and clocked him in the jaw.
John retreated backward with his hands protecting his cheeks.
"Fuck!" he shouted, then quieted himself.
Melody briskly shifted herself out from under him, "I'm sorry!"
She backed up against the headboard beside Harkness and covered her mouth with both hands. "I can't."
"You could've said 'no' like a normal human being!"
Melody curled up beside Harkness, embarrassed that she had just sucker punched him.
"It was like an instinct. I didn't mean to..."
"What the hell, Chuck?"
And with him calling her Chuck, she cracked a smile.
John lay down on the opposite side of the bed, pawing at his face.
"It's wrong," she whispered, "Isn't it?"
"Yeah, it's fucking wrong. Punch a guy without telling him to stop first"
"Not that..."
John released a deep breath and nodded. "I know what you meant. I don't know how much time you need. That's your call." He sat on the edge of the bed and pushed himself to a standing position. "I just hope I have time left."
Melody scrunched her face, "Really? That's a juvenile move. End-of-the-world sex-plea?"
"Damn! That won't work? Not even now?" John laughed.
Melody blushed. "Maybe in a couple of days."
John stretched, "Well. I can try to survive a couple more days for you."
"Don't sleep on the floor," she begged.
John paused with his back to her. He picked up the candle from the bathroom floor and blew it out, leaving them in the dark.
"I'm right here," he said as he hopped back to the bed and slid under the quilt.
Melody lay face to face with John, bodies separated by Harkness and awkward tension. She felt ridiculous—like a teenager reluctant to give up her virginity. There was no valid reason not to give into her desires, but she couldn't make her brain shut up about Marcus. Guilt prevailed.
She lay with her head on the pillow, looking at John's face through the failing light as he closed his eyes. His beard, with silver strays speckled throughout, seemed to have thickened since the day before. She wanted to touch it—to trace his jawline with the tips of her fingers. She wanted to do a lot of things with him. If she had a less sensible mind, she would think she was falling in love, but she knew better.
Civilization was dying, along with the rules that governed humanity, so she wondered what difference it made. Perhaps her vows meant nothing at this point, and she should do what felt good and right to her.
Her combatting thoughts were interrupted by the moaning sounds of the infected piercing the walls. Melody covered her ears and closed her eyes, trying to gain some peace. The tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock in the corner cut through the silent bedroom and sounded as loud as someone knocking at the door. Fortunately, John and Melody were both exhausted enough to fall asleep through the sounds of the clock and the moaning voices outside. Between them laid the odor of a tea-tree scented wet dog and an unbearable passion for one another.
29
Self-Preservation
In high school, rumor had spread about Melody living on the street. Marcus had known her since elementary school. She was a nobody—up until her dad up and killed himself in some tragic Shakespearian story that made headline local news. Marcus heard she ran away from her foster family and lived on the street. It intrigued him. He would watch her at her locker down the hall, wondering if living on the street had made her an easy lay, but it didn't seem that way. She was reserved and mysterious—an impossible catch. But he always knew how to lure in even the most difficult of prey.
They started dating—if that's what you want to call it. It was long walks and her pouring her heart out while he listened intently. It took over a week before she finally kissed him. That was when he was young and stupid and thought the thrill of the catch was worth the hard work. It didn't pay off. Once his parents found out that she had been homeless all that time, they insisted that Melody move in with them, and from that point on, he was trapped.
She was good for him, and good to him, but he was too young to be picking one girl and settling. Even when there were over a hundred miles separating them during college, she still clung to him, visiting every chance she got. He tried to distance himself more, but she wouldn't let go. They always met up during their summer break, and despite enjoying her company for the most part, he got bored with her.
The intrigue vanished, the thrill of the catch was nothing but a carcass on his plate—and he was full.
However, he stayed with her. She was a good person, and he needed that in his life. That's what his dad always told him, and for the most part, he believed him. She loved him, and in a familial way, he loved her back. His family, especially his dad, practically held him at gun-point to make an honest woman of her. There was no reason to let her go, other than he wanted to explore his options. Leaving her would make him look like a monster, so he did what seemed like the logical next step in life; he proposed.
Marcus pulled himself out from under the orange floral blanket, leaving Kayla asleep on the dirty office floor. He stared at the side of her head as she slept. So peaceful. So young and naïve. He couldn't rightfully leave her behind to fend for herself, but he couldn't let her tag along either.
Marcus—the magnet for tragic females—jimmied the butter knife into the locked desk drawer that Kayla could not manage to open the day before, hoping to find something of use. The drawer bowed open at the top, and the frail rusty internal mechanism snapped easily under the pressure. He jerked the drawer open, dropping the knife to the floor. He froze, hoping the noise wouldn't wake Kayla, but she was not fazed.
A chocolate bar laid neatly on top of an empty bank envelope. Jackpot. He scarfed it down as fast as he could. As he took each bite, he peered over his shoulder to be sure she remained asleep. He stopped to look at the last quarter of the chocolate bar, and considered leaving part of it for Kayla, but he had to be smart. He needed strength and energy for the trip to the school, and one candy bar was barely enough calories to do it.
He had sacrificed enough already. He had spent the last decade with a woman that he didn't really love—at least not in the way a man should love a woman. He sacrificed his dreams to stay with her and to keep her from falling apart, and it was time to stop helping the people that couldn't manage to help themselves. Kayla would have to fend for herself. He swallowed the last of the chocolate and hid the evidence in the bottom of the drawer.
The morning light began to creep through the blinds of the office door, and Marcus peeked outside at the vacant storage alley. The infected people that were out there the night before had moved on.
His plan was solid and honorable. Kayla had enough water for a couple of days, and she could venture out on her own when her feet healed. Marcus had to get moving.
30
A Message of Hope
Sunlight illuminated the white lace curtains of the bedroom window while John and Melody were still asleep in the house on Carlisle Road. The hand on the corner grandfather clock jerked to the twelve, and a tiny bird poked its head from a hole, screaming out "cuckoo." The pounding of Melody's pulse banged against her forehead with the sudden awakening.
John jumped from the bed to stop the alarming sound as Melody ran to the bedroom door, still blocked by the dresser, prepared to stop anything that may try to enter. John knocked the clock over, but the damn thing kept sounding, so he pounded the wooden bird to a silence. Melody sighed and took a moment to let her heart slow down, and her brain a moment to wake up. It was eight o'clock in the morning already.
They ate breakfast—some canned fruit and saltines—and barely spoke to each other. Conflicting thoughts scrambled through Melody's mind as she stirred the fruit cocktail in the can. She kept thinking about Marcus.
She was disturbed with her impassive state, surprised that she wasn
't crying over her loss. Maybe she was in shock, but more likely, she was distracted by John. She watched him as he attached his prosthetic. The muscles in his arms flexed and rippled as he leaned down to put it on.
"Let's see what these people have," John interrupted her thoughts and walked into the attached garage to find some supplies.
While digging though some fishing gear in the garage, John found a small portable crank radio.
"No way," he said holding it up like it should have been encased in a golden light from heaven.
John turned the tiny hand crank for several minutes and they hovered over it in the garage while Melody turned the knob millimeter by millimeter, waiting for a station to come in. With each turn, the static remained steady until finally a voice came through. She pulled her hand back.
"...REFUGE CAN FIND IT HERE." A man's voice crackled in the static. "...BEST MINDS WORKING ON A VACCINE..." Static continued to interrupt the message, "FORT DRUMMOND, NATIONAL GUARD...LV01 CAUSES ABNORMAL BEHAVIOR, AGGRESSION...VIOLENT TENDENCIES...DEATH WITHIN FIVE TO SEVEN DAYS...ALL PERSONS SEEKING REFUGE CAN FIND IT HERE." The message repeated itself, broken and full of static.
"Fort Drummond? A vaccine?" Melody lit up with hope.
"That was a recording. Who knows how long it's been airing."
"Fort Drummond could be overrun by now."
"Maybe," John said.
Melody's heart raced as hope enveloped her.
"That's just northeast of the mountains." She tried to hold back a smile, reasoning that Fort Drummond might be as much of a pipe dream as the high school was.
A nervous energy ran through her as she rummaged the house for supplies.
"We'll keep listening," said John. "If the message changes, we'll know."
"That could be it. A safe haven," Melody's face was serious, but she wanted to smile so desperately. "They die within five to seven days after infection. Is that accurate?"
"I don't know."
"If people can stay put somewhere, long enough, this could die down."
She found a school back pack in the hall closet packed with notebooks and trigonometry homework. Before she allowed herself to think about what happened to the kid that owned it, she dumped out the contents and got to work filling it with supplies. Knives, rope, lighter fluid, matches, and bungee cords were among the things she stuffed into the bag. She wasn't quite sure exactly what she would use the things for, but felt like they could be of use in some way. She set the portable crank radio in her pack and was ready to go.
31
All’s Fair in Love and the Apocalypse
Marcus pulled the heavy desk, centimeter by centimeter, trying to move it without making a noise. Each brief scrape across the floor shrieked through the small office, and Marcus winced at the sound.
Kayla yawned and stretched.
"I need a shower," she said.
She slipped her socks on over the makeshift blanket-bandages on her feet.
Marcus scowled with his back to her. He hung his head while his mind pin-balled about his next course of action. He should run. He should knock her out, then run. He turned to look at her as she rubbed her eyes.
"Yeah. We should get moving." Marcus clenched his jaw, unable to do the things he knew were necessary.
"Let me help." Kayla, barely awake, shuffled to the desk to help. He turned his head away from her, gritting his teeth as they shoved the desk away from the door—enough to squeeze through.
"How much farther to the school did you say?" Kayla asked as Marcus swung his body over the desk and shifted himself through the door feet first.
"Maybe a couple of miles."
Kayla clutched her wooden chair leg in her right hand as she followed behind him.
They traveled a couple of blocks behind the buildings, staying off the tracks that were on the other side of the fence on their left, and Marcus picked up a metal rod—to use as a weapon—from the construction site between the storage sheds and the Fair Haven Plaza.
Kayla struggled to keep up with his brisk pace as he hurried along the back where the dumpsters were, and Marcus liked it that way.
Some of the infected on the streets caught sight of them—about seven people, including two young ones—and stumbled their way toward him. They tripped and staggered in a chaotic frenzy to get closer to Marcus and Kayla, but their eager attempt sent them falling to the ground and crashing into each other, slowing their pace.
Marcus sped up, and Kayla began to fall farther behind.
Straight head, where the train tracks ran closer to the backs of the buildings, a horde of the sick crowded on the tracks on the opposite side of the fence. They grabbed at the chain link, pawing over one another to get closer to Marcus as he approached. The rattling fence was all that kept him from being swarmed.
"Marcus?" Kayla called from behind.
"Keep up!" he snapped back without turning his head, gaining distance from her.
The swarm of infected behind the fence snarled and moaned, lunging and snapping at each other.
Marcus flinched, trying not to look at their faces as they shuffled along the fence to follow him. The noise had roused other lone infected people on the streets that were coming from the opposite direction and would trap him against that fence if he didn't hurry.
He didn’t want to look back at her. He wished she would tire out and give up, but Kayla pushed on. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her back there struggling when he turned his head.
The space between them widened.
"Marcus?" Her voice became distant.
Marcus approached the back of Barton Plastics Factory where the long brick wall of the building backed up against the fence along the tracks, creating a narrow passage just wide enough to walk through. The infected behind the fence were provoked as Marcus neared the passage, getting closer to the fence.
The fence rattled and their bodies pushed against one another to get to him. The daunting passageway caused him pause. Marcus considered going around the front of the building, but another group of infected were staggering toward him from that direction, closing in.
"Please," Kayla said in desperation, falling at least 40 yards behind.
Marcus turned around and looked at the pathetic redhead stumble toward him, barely able to walk. She looked like one of them with her grungy clothes, scraggly hair, and sickly stance. He couldn't wait for her—she'd never make it in time.
He rushed through the narrow passage, leaving her to fend for herself, and freeing himself of the burden of protecting her. Guilt sat heavy in his heart, but his mind felt free to concentrate on surviving.
The mass of bodies pressed against the fence, forcing it to bow inward, and Marcus kept his back to the brick wall shuffling sideways. The bodies leaned toward him, oozing through the chain link. Bits of their flesh were getting caught in the rusty fence, as he side-stepped along the wall. They pushed in closer, squeezing within inches from his face.
Kayla's heart dropped to the deepest cavity within her as she watched her rescuer flee like a coward. Her world blurred out of focus, but she continued to push through the blinding pain of her wounded feet, faster and faster to catch up.
The sun peeked out from behind the trees and poured rays of golden light across the infected. Sunlight glinted through the strands of their hair. The small group of the infected from the street had blocked Kayla from entering the same passageway.
She felt paralyzed for a moment, then let her anger with Marcus take the lead. She tightened her grip on her chair leg and darted toward the front of the building, dodging the staggering infected. Most of them were incapable of walking in a straight line, falling over themselves and smacking into the walls.
She felt the cold fingers of one of them swipe across her back as she arched out of the way from his attack. He fell to the cement and squirmed to get back up.
Kayla sprinted forward, through the shooting pain in her feet that radiated up her shins. With tears welling in her eyes, s
he ran to the other side of the building, scrambling to the front door of the factory.
It was locked. Seven of them were coming up behind, so Kayla took off toward the opposite side of the building to meet up with Marcus on the other side.
Kayla leapt in front of him, blocking him from leaving the passageway.
"You left me," she screamed, shaking.
"I..." Marcus had no excuse.
The fence creaked as it leaned in with the weight of the infected pressing against it. The wretched pungent odor of the rotting flesh was right under their noses. The fence bowed more and it was about to collapse on them.
Their cold eyes stared at Marcus as he neared the opening.
"Get out of the fucking way!" He pushed through her, getting to the open space, but came face to face with more infected.
Kayla put her back to the side wall of the factory and watched as Marcus swung his metal rod to the head of the drooling man in a Yankees shirt.
The blow knocked the man to the ground, but he immediately worked on getting back on his feet.
The growling and groaning from the mass behind the fence intensified, and the fence links rattled with ferocity as the dozens of manic infected pushed and clawed against it.
A second infected man, freckled with black sores, lunged toward Marcus, but Marcus jabbed him with the metal rod. Despite the blow, he kept coming at him, and Kayla was ready to come to Marcus's rescue with her chair leg, but Marcus spun around behind the infected man and grabbed him by the shoulders.
Without hesitation, he shoved the body toward Kayla.
She screamed, and within a second, Marcus took the opportunity to run away.
The man tried to bite into her. Her arms shook as she used all of her strength to keep him away.
She watched Marcus run off, dodging the infected and heading far down the fence line. Her childish dreams to be with him blew away with the dust kicked up from Marcus's sprint toward safety.
