by Shana Festa
Something was happening.
In a choreographed move, all heads turned away, their attention fixated on something at the front door. I leaned forward, pressing my face into the window for a better look, but only saw the closest undead. A man shouted, and I heard banging. To my amazement, the area in front of the dryer began to clear. Zombies clambered to their feet and started to shuffle stiffly away.
I saw Meg again, sobbing as she looked back at me with relief. Still, though, the flat glass made it impossible to see more than a few feet out, and the only thing I knew for certain was that there were no zombies within my line of sight. I motioned to Meg, pointing at my eyes and then to the room, and she shook her head no; she didn't see any either.
It was a small consolation, but I wasn't yet ready to venture out of my safety bubble. That antsy feeling started flip-flopping in my stomach, and I'm pretty sure an actual grr came out of my mouth.
A man's face appeared in the glass, startling me, and I pulled my head back, letting out a yelp of pain when it connected with the metal basin. The face disappeared and I leaned forward again. Another form, crouched low, ran from behind a washing machine and stopped at Meg. A teenage girl stood straight, looked toward the front of the building, and quickly ducked down, waving Meg out.
The man's face came back into view and my door popped open, letting in a whoosh of air. I paused, taking him in.
"Come on. We have to hurry. It won't be clear for long," he urged, backing away when Daphne growled at him. I lifted her into the bag, zipping it only enough to ensure she couldn't fall out, and took his outstretched hand. My calves went into a spasm the moment I stood, and he caught me before I could fall, supporting me until the blood rushed back to my legs and I was steady enough to support myself.
To my left, a middle-aged woman was helping Jake from his machine. When he saw me, he rushed over to hug me, his words too fast and frenzied to comprehend.
"Stay down!" The man ordered, and Jake and I immediately crouched on our stiff legs and moved to Meg, embracing her in a group hug.
It took all three of our rescuers to pry Vinny from the dryer. The vision of him scrunched up into a tiny ball would have been comical had we not just spent six hours in our own private Hell.
"They're coming back," said the girl in a hushed voice.
My relief turned to panic, and I considered getting back in the dryer. Before I could, the man spoke again.
"Let's go, quick. Out the back. They can hear a pin drop, so keep quiet."
The teen grabbed both Meg's and my backpacks and reached for Daphne. I pulled away, clutching the dog carrier to my chest protectively, and she backed off, apologizing. Great, now she probably thought I was a kook; I'd have to remember to say my own apology if we got out of this alive.
We followed them into an alley, looking both ways like we were crossing a street, and continued through a break in the fence that ran along the back of the building. My legs screamed in protest as I ran, and I fought through the pain for fear of being left behind. The couple ran on either side of Vinny, straining with the exertion of supporting his weight. Meg was limping, favoring the leg she'd cut earlier that day.
Not more than a few hundred yards from the fence, they ducked into the side door of a small apartment building, closing but not locking it behind us. We climbed to the second floor and entered a narrow hallway with numbered doors on either side. They ushered us into apartment number nine and left us standing in the vestibule as they ran to the windows and looked out.
Awkwardly, we stayed rooted to the spot and exchanged nervous glances, gesturing with our heads and hands at each other. The silent conversation went something like this:
Me: What the fuck?
Jake: I don't know.
Meg: Are they going to kill us?
Vinny: Why the hell would they waste the energy to rescue us if they were just going to kill us? Dumbass.
Our game of charades came to an abrupt halt when the front door burst open, and a burly man holding a machete in one hand and a hammer in the other stood in the doorway. We screamed as one and scattered like cockroaches into the open space of the living room.
The man stepped into the room, calmly shutting the door behind him, and laid his weapons down on the kitchen counter. He turned back to us, taking in the four crazies—that would be us—wielding various weapons.
"Chill," he barked.
I lowered my weapon only after I saw Jake and Vinny lower theirs. Scary guy caught me eyeing the sofa and motioned for us to sit. My aching legs thanked him.
Jake approached, hand outstretched, and introduced himself. "The name's Jake. Jake Rossi. That's my wife, Emma, my brother, Vinny, and our sister, Meg."
Scary guy ignored his hand and answered with a single word. "Striker."
The older woman sighed audibly and left the window. "Don't mind him; let's just say he's a man of few words. I'm Casey Dalton. This is my husband, Dominic, and our daughter, Elorie."
Her husband joined her and shook Jake's hand. "Call me Dom." Looking more closely at the man who pulled me from the dryer, I realized he was older than I originally thought. His messy brown hair was speckled with gray, and he had wrinkles around his eyes from years of smiling. Laugh lines I think they were called. Now, though, they were just wrinkles; the time of laughter and happiness had passed, leaving him looking older than I suspected he really was. The clothes he wore hung loosely from his stout frame, and I noticed the most worn hole of his belt was now tucked under a loop. He was still a large man, but the last months had trimmed the excess fat.
Elorie, who looked to be about sixteen, sat down beside me and looked in at Daphne, still in the bag. "And who is this?"
"Her name is Daphne." I looked to the adults and asked, "Would it be okay if I let her out. She's been cooped up in one form or another all day."
"Of course," answered Casey.
I thought better of letting her down, knowing the first thing she would do was find a dark corner and relieve herself.
"Um, is there a safe place to let her do some business?"
"What about the apartment across the hall?" Striker shrugged, apparently okay with the idea of my dog defiling his neighbor's home.
"Ooh, Mom, can I go with her? Please?"
Casey rolled her eyes at her daughter and smiled. "Go ahead."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she chanted, giving her mother a quick hug before walking to the door. "Come on!" she urged.
I stood, but looked to Jake for approval before moving.
"Take your weapon," he said.
Dom chimed in. "The building is secure. Striker has it locked up tight. Nothing gets in that he doesn't want to be here."
* * *
Elorie led me across the hall to number ten. Once inside, I let Daphne down and sat at the kitchen table waiting for her to return. There was no doubt in my mind that she would take her sweet-ass time giving everything the sniff and piss treatment.
"Elorie, huh? That's such a cool name."
She huffed, and looked at me like I had three heads. "Not even close," she said. "It is so embarrassing. Everyone says it wrong when they try to read it. They pronounce it E-Lorie. Like I'm email! It's even worse when they get it right, because they call me Celery."
I chortled. It was kind of cute, though her annoyed expression made me stifle the laugh. Despite all that had happened, the young girl looked as if she had never experienced evil or cruelty. Somehow, she still maintained her youthful innocence. In the old world, she would have grown up to be a model or an actress. Her flaxen hair was thick with natural loose curls that fell past her shoulders, framing her porcelainlike skin. Her almond-shaped eyes, outlined by long lashes, were a bright blue that sparkled with curiosity.
"So, how long have you all been here?" I asked the teen.
"A few days. Four I think, maybe five. The first couple days kind of blur together. We got into a bit of trouble on our way to the mansion. Striker saved us. Kind of like you g
uys, we were hiding in a tire store."
"Asylum?"
"Yeah, that's it. We're from Bradenton. When things got bad, my parents packed us into the car and we headed this way."
"I'm confused. I just assumed you met Striker along the way. How was he lucky enough to not get trapped in the tire store with you guys?"
She looked down, fidgeting her hands in her lap. "He wasn't with us," she replied in a voice so soft I had to lean in to hear. "My brother was." When she looked up again, her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, sweetie."
"Tommy…" her voice hitched when she said his name."Tommy was five. He got…" Her voice cut off again.
"It's okay. You don't need to tell me."
Her shoulders straightened as she forced herself to continue. "Yes, I do. He deserves that much. They grabbed him when we were running to the store. Took him right out of dad's arms and he was gone, just like that. He only screamed for a few seconds."
The horror of it left me cold, chills running down my body, and I shuddered involuntarily. Daphne, smart little the ray of sunshine that she was, jogged over to the teen and stood on her hind legs and rested her paws on the girl's lap. She maneuvered her muzzle under Elorie's fidgeting hands and wiggled her head to prime petting position.
Elorie smiled down at her and tapped her thigh. "Come on, girl. Up." I felt a flutter in my stomach at the memory of my neighbor, Alicia. Elorie was like her in a lot of ways. Not just her age, but her positive and refreshing attitude. I smiled at the thought.
The command spurned the dog into action and she made to jump, her quirky process making the girl laugh. For some reason, Daphne had a thing about jumping up. Laps, chairs, cars, anything. She always had a few false attempts and her head would bounce up and down like one of those arcade whack-a-mole games.
"Want to see something funny?" I asked.
"Funnier than this?" she motioned toward the jumping pup.
"Yeah, she's so weird sometimes. I swear she's a kid trapped in a dog's body."
"Okay. Go for it."
"Daphne, up," I commanded, rewarded with the same repetitive bounce. "Now watch this," I told Elorie. "Now."
The dog leapt up instantly, circling a few times, and laid down in a curled up ball.
"She is so weird. I love it!"
"I know, right? It drives me nuts. If I want her to do anything, I have to say now, or she'll just keep doing her own thing. Sometimes, I'll give her a command, and she just looks up at me defiantly, daring me to say now. And I look at her and ask 'do you want to go to bed?' and she scrambles into action."
"She's so adorable."
"Totally…until she poops in my bed when I'm sleeping," I qualified.
"Ew, that is, like, totally gross! She doesn't really do that, does she?"
I groaned. "She totally does. Do not get me started on her poop escapades."
"OMG. You gotta tell me now," she exclaimed, like only a teen can. I was glad to see her smiling.
"So, I don't actually think she means to do it half of the time. Don't get me wrong; there is a clear intent on certain occasions. But I think when she falls asleep and has nightmares, little poop nuggets just kind of fall out without her knowing."
The girl eyed me skeptically. She probably thought I was nuts.
"I know, it sounds strange, but she does this thing when she sleeps. I don't know if she's having nightmares or digging up bones, or whatever else dogs dream about. But after she falls asleep, she makes the strangest noises, and her legs go all twitchy." I tried to imitate the noises she made, but it just sounded like I was a baby seal. "I don't know. I can't make the sound. But it sounds like a gerbil or hamster. Whichever one of those makes the little squeaks."
She was full on laughing now. My work here was done.
"How did you guys find us at the Laundromat?" That question had been percolating in my head since our harrowing escape.
"We nearly didn't!" she blurted. "If Dad hadn't decided to leave today, we never would have known you were there until it was too late."
"Remind me to give your dad a great big hug," I told her, only half kidding.
"Ready?" she asked.
I found a crusty dish towel on the counter and tossed it, along with Daphne's mess, into the trashcan. Even though I suspected the apartment's residents were long dead, it still didn't feel right leaving it on the floor.
Everyone was seated in the living room when we got back to number nine. Striker and Dom had pulled the kitchen chairs into the room to allow everyone to take a seat, and they had left two open spots on the sofa for Elorie and me, which I graciously accepted.
"What did we miss?" I asked the group.
Jake ticked off the cliff's notes for me. "They were on their way to Asylum, too, when they saw the zombies gathered at the Laundromat."
"They were in a tizzy trying to get at you," said Dom. "We knew, with so many deadheads around, that there were bound to be people in there. I'm just glad we got there in time."
"You folks must be famished. Elorie, come help me get dinner ready."
The teen groaned at her mother's request. I felt her pain. My mom used to pull the same thing on me when I was a kid.
I watched the mother and daughter duo as they crossed into the kitchen. Elorie was the spitting image of her mother. Casey was a beautiful woman. Her hair was the same golden blond as her daughters, but instead of flowing freely, she kept it pinned in a tight bun and little wisps lined her face. The only difference between the two women was their eyes. Unlike Elorie's twinkling innocence, Casey's topaz eyes were dull; the loss of her son having manifested a sorrow so deep that it was impossible to hide the emotional pain.
Daphne had been napping lazily on my lap, but when she heard the mention of food her ears perked up. Then again, so did mine. I was too tired to offer any assistance, and listening to Jake, Vinny, Dom, and Striker drone on about our shitty day was like warm milk. I faded into sleepy land and felt my head tip back on the sofa. I snored myself awake, jerking my head up to find the others staring at me.
"What?" I asked my mouth dry from having fallen open. Wiping the drool from my chin, I couldn't help but notice the amused expressions on their faces.
"It sounded like you swallowed a hairball," offered Elorie from the kitchen.
"My bad," I replied.
Intent on not embarrassing myself any further, I straightened up and focused on the conversation.
"So, you live here?" Vinny asked Striker, who sat stone faced. He nodded once in reply.
Dom took up the thread of conversation when it was clear Striker wouldn't be expanding on the nod.
"We've tried for days to convince him to come with us, but he doesn't trust the people at Asylum."
That certainly piqued my curiosity; I suspected a man like Striker had keen instincts. The fact that he had reservations about the group made me apprehensive.
"Why?" asked Vinny. "Did something happen?"
Striker only shrugged. "Just a loner."
Okay, so that was a bit more comforting. At least they hadn't done anything sketchy, he was just a loner.
"You'd rather live all alone?" Meg asked.
"Yup." He seemed uncomfortable being the center of attention, and I'm certain I saw him look relieved when Casey rang the proverbial dinner bell.
The mother and daughter team filled our plates with ziti topped with some frozen meatballs and pasta sauce. Casey had been thoughtful enough to chop up a couple meatballs into a dish for Daphne, which she managed to empty before we even pulled our chairs up to the table.
"Aw, someone's hungry," Elorie said to Daphne in a baby voice. The dog answered with a hearty belch, shocking us all.
"Be glad it came from that end," mumbled Vinny between bites. "That dog is a landmine. When you least expect it, boom, she detonates. And trust me; you do not want to be in the blast range."
The Daltons and their silent savior were still eating when the rest of us sat back and sighe
d with the bliss usually reserved for Thanksgiving dinner.
After our meal, along with some after-dinner conversation, Casey showed us to an apartment down the hall.
"There's no food or anything really useful here, but there's two bedrooms and a functioning bathroom. I'll come get you when breakfast is ready, but you may want to set an alarm just in case you don't hear me."
I was out before I even hit the pillow, and the sound of an alarm jarred me awake. It was still dark out.
"Jeez, Jake why'd you set the alarm so early?" I groaned at him, rolling over and holding the pillow over my head to drown out the loud bells.
"I didn't. It's coming through the wall."
Striker's apartment was next door. Jake was already pulling on his military-issue boots when Vinny slammed open the bedroom door and turned on the light, effectively blinding me.
"There's something going on out front. Get your shit together."
A loud knock sounded at the front door followed by a single command. "Get Up!"
The presence of so much stimuli had Daphne incensed, and she darted between the bedroom and front door to the apartment like a little bullet. She took a moment to stop and bark each time she reentered the bedroom.
"I don't know what you're so excited about," I grumbled at the speeding dog. "You're just going back in the bag."
Chapter 10: Godspeed
The clock read just after three in the morning as I stuffed Daphne into her carrier and slung my pack across my shoulder. After a particularly scary experience of nearly being taken down by a mob by the bag, I stopped looping the backpack over both shoulders. It made running a bit awkward, but it was still better than being harnessed into a deathtrap when a zombie got hold of the pack. Some lessons are learned the hard way.
Out in the hallway, the others waited for us. "What's going on?" Jake asked, surprisingly calm and alert. I felt better when I spotted Meg, her usually perfect hair mussed from sleeping, and looking how I felt: like shit.
"Frontal assault, we've been breached," Striker said.
