by Abner, Anna
I rolled down the window to release the cloying heat from the vehicle’s interior and climbed into the passenger seat. But Hunny insisted on riding wild in the truck bed. There were no more traffic rules or highway patrol. Just the zombies and us. So, I didn’t argue.
It almost felt like the old days. Me riding shotgun. I pictured this street the way it had probably looked a few months earlier. The abandoned cars and trash and debris were all gone. I saw normal, busy people driving to work or the mall or the beach. No one was sick with anything worse than a head cold. And no one had any idea of what was coming.
I closed my eyes and let the song knocking at my mind’s side door to rush inside. Way down here. I disappear. My heart hurts when you leave… It wasn’t the sort of song I wanted to be hung up on for days. But maybe if I wrote it, purged it, I could move forward and compose the kind of upbeat melody I loved.
“Which way?” Pollard asked, driving half in someone’s front yard, half in the gutter.
I pulled out the map. “Go straight for a while. Then turn right on Vitriol.”
He plowed over garbage cans and sideswiped a bus stop bench before stopping dead at a clogged intersection. Some panicked citizens had crammed their cars in until they’d created a wall of cold, twisted metal. With less than a meter to squeeze through, even up on the sidewalks, we were stuck.
“This all better be worth it,” he said as we piled out of the truck and set out north on foot. “Don’t tell me we went through all this for nothing, Maya.”
Chapter Sixteen
Hammond Street was covered in random trash and debris, and here and there I saw a shoe or some jeans I was fairly certain covered a human body, but I didn’t look too closely. I didn’t want to see the remains of the people who’d once lived there. Watching Russell die had soured my insides so badly I didn’t think I could handle any other evidence of zombie violence.
I just wanted to get to the lab, and then get out of the city.
We passed Hoke and Bragg Streets and a nail salon on the right, its facade untouched as if the owner had stepped out for a moment. Inside were wall shelves covered in colorful polishes that would never be enjoyed again.
Past the nail place was a Mexican fast food restaurant. A door banged, and we all jumped. I grabbed Hunny’s sleeve and yanked her behind the nearest vehicle. Pollard, like a human shield, put himself between us and the noise.
A pack of zombies emerged from the small restaurant, stumbling and shuffling away from our hiding spot. There were two females and six males. One of the men wore a suit and tie.
My dad had worn suits to work every day. There were black ones and blue ones, and he chose the color by his mood each morning. His ties were mostly serious work types—solid red or black or navy. But he had one tie in his closet that was neon green with yellow SpongeBobs all over it. Every once in a while he would show up in the kitchen for breakfast wearing it, and we’d both laugh at how goofy he looked. But he’d say he was in a SpongeBob kind of mood, and he would go to work.
I missed that. Mornings with my dad, just talking about nothing while he poured cereal or packed a lunch. I missed seeing him smile. I missed his voice. I missed every little thing about him.
“They’re gone,” Pollard whispered. “If we go around, we should be okay.”
I blinked away a veil of tears and pulled Hunny to her feet. She violently shrugged away from me and edged closer to Pollard. And for some reason the rebuff hurt more than it probably should have. Two days ago I couldn’t wait to get away from Hunny. What did I care? She wasn’t my sister. I’d only just met her.
I blamed Russell. His death had raked up old pain, whiffing it into a bright flame inside me. And maybe in her, too.
Sweat beaded upon my brow and I wiped it away before retrieving my canteen and taking a swig. But I was so upset my hands shook. I choked on the precious fluid, spewing it into the dirt and coughing raggedly.
Pollard tilted, trying to see into my eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Did you get hurt when the bike crashed? How’s your knee? Is it bothering you?”
“I’m fine,” I hissed, wiping my mouth. The pain I felt had nothing to do with bumps and bruises.
Slowly, Pollard got moving again.
Tears burned very near the surface, but we were in the middle of a big city, a long way from anything safe or known or comfortable. I wanted to get to the lab before we ran into any other Reds.
Pollard halted without warning, and I stepped on his heels.
“Sorry,” I said.
He shushed me. Then I saw what he saw. An old guy in a camouflage shirt and ball cap lounged in a folding chair on the roof of a small, boarded up house straight out of the nineteen fifties. He held a deer rifle to his right shoulder, its muzzle aimed at us.
My skin prickled as every nerve ending in my body stood at attention.
“Don’t shoot!” Pollard called.
I walked in Pollard’s shadow, my eyes on the asphalt and off the firearm. But I didn’t have to see it to know it was there and my breath came quicker.
“Move it along,” the guy shouted back. “I ain’t got nothing for you.”
Keeping an eye on the guy, Pollard led us down the sidewalk fronting his house. As we got closer I saw he’d wrapped the whole structure in yards and yards of razor wire, the kind on prison fences.
“Hey, Mister, have you heard of an evacuation?” Hunny shouted.
The barrel of his weapon moved fractionally in Hunny’s direction. “I said, move on.”
“What about Camp Carson?” Hunny didn’t know when to stop. Her big mouth was going to get us all in trouble. “Ever heard of that?”
“No one’s coming to rescue you, princess,” he jeered.
His bad attitude had no affect on Hunny. “Have you seen other survivors?”
Something behind us piqued the gunman’s interest. I hadn’t heard anyone following us…
And then I knew. No need to look at who’d caught his attention. I just knew.
It was like the whole world slowed to a crawl, and I could analyze every beat of time as it stretched around me.
“You got a Red on your six,” the guy on the roof stated. He swiveled his gun away from us, and I took off running. I didn’t care about my sprained knee, just dug in my toes and sprinted.
I didn’t know what I would do when I got to Ben, anyway. Tackle him to the ground? Put myself between him and the rifle? I was a fast runner, but not even I could outrun a bullet.
It didn’t matter. I was yards away when the gun went bang, Ben’s body whipped around, and blood sprayed from his chest.
He fell.
I was too slow.
“Why?” I screamed at the man on the roof. “He wasn’t hurting anyone!”
Pollard barreled into me, lifting me clear off my feet for a second. “Run, Maya, or he’ll shoot us all.”
“You some kind of zombie-loving freaks?” the man called.
Pollard half dragged, half carried me. “Run!”
“Ben!” I countered, fighting to stay. I couldn’t leave him if he was hurt.
But Ben was on his feet and cradling his left arm.
Pollard pulled me, and I was afraid he would carry me away and leave Ben a target, again, for the gunman. I reached out, the way Ben had under the car days earlier, and grasped his arm. He didn’t flinch away like I had.
We crossed the street together and blew through a hedge. Another shot sounded, and I instinctively ducked, but we turned the corner on a house and were out of sight of the gunman. For the moment.
“There!” Pollard pointed at something behind us, and Hunny scrambled toward it.
I didn’t care what interested them, though. Ben was bleeding down his arm, staring at me with his crimson irises, seemingly indifferent to the blood loss, but I cared. A lot.
“Give me your shirt,” I ordered Pollard.
Almost at the same time he shouted, “Hunny, see if the keys are in it. Get it started if you can.”
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But he heard my request because he handed me a wadded green T-shirt. I stretched it out, wrapped it around Ben’s shoulder and under his arm where the bullet hole was, and tied the ends to stop the bleeding. Fresh, coppery blood stained both my hands.
My eyes met his and I froze, unaware of what was going on around me. For a split second there was no world, no Pollard, no Hunny, no 212R. Nothing but Ben. His navy work shirt was thick beneath my hand, and I felt the ridge of his bicep and the hard muscle across his chest. He was thin from the disease, but strong. He was taller than me, maybe as tall as six feet, and I had to lean my head back to see into his face.
Right there, high on his left cheek, he had a small, enigmatic scar.
I blinked and the world crowded back in. My bandage wouldn’t last long, but to help it keep pressure I grabbed Ben’s hand and smashed it against the knot.
He had strong hands. A working man’s hands. I thought of my dad for a second and the way he always made me feel safe, even after our world had crumbled. Ben wasn’t like that. His touch sent nervous electrical impulses up both arms, warning me to keep my distance.
“Time’s up.” Pollard bent and slung me over his shoulder, stealing me away.
I watched Ben get smaller. “Run,” I told him. Maybe he understood me. I didn’t know. “Run or he’ll kill you.”
I wanted to tell him to follow us to Raleigh, but Pollard wouldn’t understand why I wanted a zombie to trail me. I didn’t completely understand.
An engine started. Pollard opened the door of a vehicle.
“I’m going to get the cure,” I told Ben. “Today. I’m going to fix everything.”
Pollard set me inside an RV, squeezed in beside me, and closed the door with a resounding snap.
He took the wheel from Hunny, stomped on the gas, and got us out of there.
Hunny braced herself, but I lost my balance at the quick acceleration and fell flat on my belly. My knee pulsed with pain. I laid my face upon the warm, gritty carpet and closed my eyes.
In my mind I replayed those two seconds of horror. Bang, twist, blood spray. Bang, twist, blood spray.
I signed s-a-d against my thigh.
And then it wasn’t Ben getting shot. It was mom.
I popped my eyes open, and my breathing revved into overdrive. I clutched my chest as breath whooshed in and out of me. I couldn’t get it to slow down. Like a flip book all I could picture was Ben getting shot, and then my mom, and then Ben again. It wouldn’t stop, and I thought my skin might crawl right off my bones.
The RV braked fast, and then Pollard hovered.
“Maya?” He laid a heavy hand on the back of my head. The contact made me jump. “What is it? Are you hit?”
I shook my head as I brought up both my palms, stained red with Ben’s blood, and my breath got so out of control I started to feel light-headed.
“I left him,” I gasped. “He’s hurt. Oh, God. He’s hurt and alone.”
Why did I think I could do this? I wasn’t a soldier, either. I wrote songs, not battle plans. I never should have left my panic room. Nothing but awful things had happened since venturing into the world. I’d messed up Pollard’s stable little group. I’d separated him from Simone. Russell was dead. And Ben was wounded.
Oh no. Ben.
“Maya,” Pollard said, his voice rising. “I don’t know what to do.”
“He’s hurt and alone,” I repeated because it seemed to summarize every screwed up thought ping-ponging inside of my skull. “He’s hurt and alone.” Just like Mom.
“Maya!”
“It’s a panic attack,” Hunny spoke up from the passenger’s seat. “Willa had one, like, every other day.”
“A panic attack?” Pollard brushed dark hair from my face. “For what? Ben?”
Of course for Ben! “I just left him there bleeding. He could die.” I turned my gaze on Pollard. “We have to go back.”
I stood and reached for the door, but Pollard blocked me. “Maya, you’re not going out there.”
Two fat tears spilled down my cheeks. “He’s bleeding and alone, Pollard. He wrote me a note. He brought me water.”
“Okay, okay.” He kept me away from the exit, though. “Let’s think about this for a second. You saw the gunshot wound. It wasn’t mortal, was it?”
There had been a lot of blood, but it was more of a flesh wound.
“And doesn’t he always find you?” Pollard continued. “No matter where you go, doesn’t he find you? He’s a damned blood hound.”
I bobbed my head. Whether I drove or walked or ran, he was always a step behind.
“He’s not going to die,” he pressed. “He’s going to follow you downtown. Like he always does.”
“But—” It was hard for me to accept what he was saying. It was as if my thoughts were on repeat.
“Let’s do this.” He glanced at the little girl in the front seat. “Hunny, we’re going on the roof. Stand in front of the wheel and keep your foot on the gas pedal. If you see anyone approaching, press the gas pedal gently.” He ruffled her blonde curls hair. “And when I say gently I mean gently.”
“I will.” Hunny started randomly pushing buttons on the radio until she triggered a CD and some George Jones song from another reality played from all the speakers. My whole body reacted. The tune sounded like the old world. Like home.
Rather than depress me it ignited a giddy memory of the way things used to be. Yeah, maybe life was currently rotten, but it had once been fun. And I had to believe it would be again.
“Come on.” Pollard opened the ceiling vent, and then punched through the screening. He made a sling with his fingers and lifted me through the hole. As soon as I wiggled up, he followed.
Cars and junk lay scattered in every direction. Off to the left I spotted a calico cat perched on the roof of a toolshed. On my right was a handmade sign that read, “God has forsaken us” nailed to a tree.
“I don’t see him.” I pivoted left, right, and then straight ahead.
“Come here.” Pollard plopped onto the roof behind me and pulled me flush against his bare chest. “Give him a minute. He hasn’t lost you, yet, has he?”
No, not since I’d found him standing alone in that grassy field behind my neighborhood.
Gravity had the RV rolling slowly down the cluttered lane. We passed the cowering kitty, and then Pollard knocked on the roof. “Hit the brakes, Hunny,” he shouted.
Hunny did, and we slammed into each other. Pollard hugged me to keep me from falling, and even after I’d regained my balance, he kept his arms loosely around my waist.
The cat pricked up its ears and laid its tail flat against the shed’s roof. I made a friendly clicking noise, but the sound of my voice spooked the kitty, and she streaked away between two houses.
“He’ll be here,” Pollard assured, his voice inches from my ear. His rough, blond whiskers scratched my cheek. “I have no doubt in my mind. I couldn’t lose that dude if I tried.” He chuckled and the sound vibrated through his chest and into me.
I wasn’t so sure. After everything I’d been through, both before and after the red plague, I knew how quickly and easily a person could be lost. Permanently.
Russell had been consumed in minutes. What if a hungry pack found Ben, wounded and alone? Would he be able to fend them off?
I inhaled a deep breath. And then another. Pollard’s warmth and strength seeped under my skin. All that adrenalin faded, and I wilted against him. I thanked God I’d found Pollard. I couldn’t have gone through this alone.
I scanned the street, squinting to see even further. Minutes ticked by. We risked being attacked by a passing pack of Reds, and we were losing precious time. If we were going to find my dad’s lab we had to hurry.
“Look.” Pollard pointed down the street and to the left. “See him?”
I stood up so fast my shoulder clipped Pollard’s chin, and his teeth clinked together. He groaned.
Then I spotted Ben. A lone Red in dark blue work clo
thes. He cradled his arm, but he was on his feet, and it only took him a moment to search out my position.
“See, he’s fine.” Pollard massaged his jaw. “You can relax.” He urged me back through the roof vent and lowered me to the floor. Then he hopped down beside me, still cupping his chin.
“Did I hurt you?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Just bit my tongue.”
I took in his bare chest. He’d donated his shirt to Ben’s recovery because I’d asked him to. He’d looked after me, even when I fought him, and he’d helped me through the panic attack. I leaned up on tiptoe and kissed him.
“Thank you.”
Pollard sucked in a ragged breath, and then yanked me flush against his chest. His arms circled me as he pressed his warm, soft mouth against my lips for a much different kind of kiss.
He held me gently, but his entire body, from his calves to his shoulder blades, went rigid.
Drawing away, I flushed and averted my gaze.
“You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat, and then pulled on a new shirt from his pack.
I slumped into the passenger seat as Pollard took the wheel from Hunny and drove the RV right through someone’s front yard.
“You were really upset,” he observed. “Are you sure it was only about Ben?”
I didn’t know how he’d guessed, but I was ready to confess a part of the pain around my heart. The pain that was always there, like a plaster seal of grief and anger and regret.
I hadn’t said the words in…
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said the words. Maybe I never had. I hadn’t said them to Dad. He knew as well as I did what had happened. I hadn’t told my friends. They read about it in the papers, and then Dad moved us away from my friends and teachers and neighbors.
“Uh.” I swallowed past a dry, dry throat. “My mom was shot and killed two years ago.” Pollard reached across the space separating us and grasped my hand, not caring about the zombie gore. He slid his fingers through mine, and Ben’s blood squished against my palm.
“I’m sorry,” he said with quiet sincerity.
I nodded, not sure what else to say.
“Guys,” Hunny called from the kitchenette. “I think you just ran over a couch.” Shaking her head at our lack of focus, she squirmed onto the extra soft captain’s seat beside me and laid her head on my shoulder. So, I was forgiven.
