by Tara Brown
“We were on the outskirts of the city for a while. It’s a death camp for any bitten.” Harold gives her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. I heard some escaped. They were being asked to go around to the different towns and recruit the other bitten, convince them to help humanity. But really they’re going to their death. Maybe he’s one of the escapees.” His voice is bitter, likely annoyed with Harb for judging the bitten.
“That’s insane. They can’t kill people who are bitten, they’re not sick. You can’t just go around killing people.” Harb laughs, I suspect at us.
“And yet, we saw it,” I lie.
“You can stay the night, you leave tomorrow. Take nothing more than you can carry,” Jag changes the subject. “Go north, you’ll be safer. Canada is safe, we heard. South there’s fire from the bombing they did in LA. And a lot of undead in the cities. To the east is the desert, you won’t make it across that.”
“What about to the west?” I ask, realizing she’s skipped it.
“You don't want to go that way.” She maintains a stoic face but her heart races. “There’s undead. Lots of undead.”
“All the houses along the coastline are overrun,” Harb offers.
“There is talk that the undead bitten who didn't change are there.” Sheila tells the truth. “We don't know. We haven’t made it that far yet.”
“Well, we’ll avoid that area,” Harold agrees, clasping his hands. “And we will leave your town tomorrow. We won’t damage anything or take anything more than what we can carry. You have our word.” He stands and offers Harb his hand.
Harb stands too, shaking his hand. “Then we shouldn't have an issue. Can we see the dog though? I’ve always wanted to see one.” His eyes are wide like he’s a kid asking.
“Sure.” I stand and walk upstairs, all of us are nervous of one another. I crack open the door and Furgus comes bursting out. He’s heard the voices, all those new chances to be petted. At least that's what I hope he’s looking for.
“Holy shit, you could put a saddle on him.” Harb goes for all the cliché things. “Do you ever ride him? He must eat more than I do.” He laughs, rubbing Furgus down. Gus sniffs and allows Harb to live out a childhood fantasy. “When I was a kid I wanted one of these so bad and my dad wouldn't do it.” He kneels and hugs Furgus. I know the world is shit, but this is actually kinda awesome, seeing a grown man kneeling and hugging a stranger’s dog. “I wouldn't have gone into the city either, buddy. I woulda stayed with you.” He sits back and lets Furgus lick his face. Harold and I cringe. We’ve seen the things he’ll eat in desperate times.
“He’s pretty awesome.” I smile at Gus lapping up the loving. He hasn’t had this since my dad. No one loved Furgus like my dad. I try to give him the attention he needs, but I am no match for my dad. Or Harb.
“I love you. I love you so much.” He scratches his head and ears and smiles at us. “You know, if you wanna stay—”
“Harb!” Jag shouts. “You know we can’t afford to take any more people.”
“We don't want to stay anyway. Furgus likes the cool. We’re headed north.” Harold laughs. “But now you see why we didn't stay in Boulder. A city with no undead and no problems. They have lights and food and running water. And if you don't have dogs, they just open the gates and let you in.”
“Well, they need an army.” Sheila scoffs.
“An army?” I ask.
“Oh, y-you know, fo-for the government.” Her eyes widen and she stutters, backpedaling. “That’s wh-what I heard anyway.”
She’s lying. I can actually hear the lies now.
“Why do they need an army?” I ask again, deciding to level with her and pray for humanity. “We left our friends and family there. People we love.”
“They want to be ready for an invasion.” Harb winces. “The city is a prime target. It’s why we haven’t made our way there.”
“Invasion from who? The apocalypse happened everywhere.” I’m lost.
“From the undead who aren’t sick. The bitten like her husband. Some of them have formed a gang. Nothing serious, they don't have the numbers. But we heard a few of them have powers. Abilities. Like being sick but not dying made them stronger and you can’t kill them,” Harb overshares. At least according to his wife’s stare.
“They want to take over the city?” Harold sounds lost too.
“Yeah, they’re just waiting for the government to get the city up and running and then they’ll take it over for themselves. I heard one of them likes to be called the king. It’s weird. Anyway, we think a lot of them went crazy.”
I stare at Harb, wanting desperately to tell him my little secret. But I don't. And neither does Harold. We just nod.
“My husband didn't have any of that. He was normal. He could be around the undead though. Like the others. They all can I guess. He helped by clearing the undead out of the city for us.” Sheila sniffles. “He’s a good man. He would never try to take over a city.” She wipes her eyes while Harb gives us a look suggesting she doesn't know what her husband was.
But Harold and I know.
We know all too well.
And as much as I desperately want to introduce myself to Harb—the real me—I just keep smiling and suffering through my anxiety.
Harold does the same, though I suspect he doesn’t have any anxiety. He doesn't seem the type.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“So you mean they just came in here and told us we have to leave because this is their gang territory?” Lee seems baffled.
"Yeah." I’m too tired to discuss it further. “They gave us until five, they said we should wait for evening to leave. It’s too hot in the day to do anything.”
“That’s so weird though. Like humans are going back to clan territory? Seriously? So much for humanity.” She sounds perkier today, likely because she slept. All night in fact. While Harold and I stressed.
I curl up in the bed as she continues yammering on, “So they said the people we’re looking for are on the coast?”
“Yup.”
“So we’ll fly over to the coast, find the people like you, see if there’s something we can do about this whole ‘ban the bitten’ thing and convince them not to go to war over the crappy-ass city of Boulder?”
“Yup,” I repeat.
“I can’t imagine a bunch of bitten dudes and chicks would be slamming the way you and Harold are or would give a toss where you live. I mean, honestly, you’re strong, the weather doesn't really affect you, the undead don't notice you, and you don't need food or water as often as us. Literally, the only bad thing about you guys is the fact the other humans hate you. Which I think is more like jealously. They’re all bent outta shape because they can’t heal instantly or run like a truck or walk amongst the undead.”
“Hmmhmm.” I’m barely keeping my eyes open and I can’t talk. I’m wiped out.
But she talks for us both. “I don't think it’s true, Lou. I just don't.” She flops onto the bed next to me. “But if you think it’s possible, then I guess we need to explore the undead biter people and see if they really want to spend winters in freezing-cold Boulder.”
I sigh and doze off, drifting into the dream world where my mom lives.
She’s sitting at a table, playing solitaire with real cards like she used to at the cabin. Her eyes don't lift but she speaks to me. “Lou, you need to go get Joey. You can’t leave her at school. She’s not safe there and she’s too small to be on her own.”
“School?” I ask, not sure I recall Joey being in school today.
“Yeah, school.” She lifts her face to mine, shocking me with the state of it. There’s a sore on her shoulder that’s rotten with old dark blood and black veins are creeping up her face. Her skin is gray and her eyes are like coal. “You can’t just leave her there. She’s still small, she needs you.”
“Okay,” I agree. I don't want to argue, she’s freaking me out. “Have you seen Dad?”
“He’s at work. Always at work.” She
sighs, flipping the cards a little more angrily. “I don't know why he always has to be away. And in the most important times. It’s always inconvenient for him to go.” Her hand slaps the table as she places the cards down. “It’s like he doesn't want to be here!” she shouts, throwing the cards.
I take a step back, on edge from the way she’s acting and how she appears with the veins and the gray skin.
“Mom, I’ll go get Jo. I’ll go find her. Don't be mad.” I lift my hands.
Her eyes dart to the bite mark which is an old scar now. “Is that a bite, Lou?” she shrieks. “You went and got bit, like an idiot? Your sister needs you. How could you be so careless?”
“Mom, it’s okay. I’m fine. The bite healed. I’m fine.” I don't think I’ve ever tried this hard to keep the peace with her.
“No, Lou! You’re wrong. You’re not fine. You’re sick. Just like me!” She comes toward me, her skin sagging slightly as she nears, reaching for me with her veiny hands and wrinkled gray skin. “You’re dying just like me and you’re going to get your sister killed. And she was always my favorite!” She lunges at me, making me scream.
“LOU!” someone shouts. I blink and everything's quiet. It takes a second for me to realize I’m sleeping. Or was. Or still am. “Lou!”
I blink again, shying away from the light trying to get in.
“Dude, seriously, wake up.”
“What time is it?” I groan, desperate to sleep more.
“You’ve been asleep for hours. We have to get going. It’s almost five and Harold’s downstairs having a hissy fit. He says we have to honor our agreement.” Lee nudges me again.
“Why?” I roll over, away from her.
“Come on, sleepyhead. You know you’ll feel fine in like two minutes. Just get up.”
Hot dog breath hits me on an inhale. I gag and open my eyes. “Gus!” I sound like Joey.
Joey.
Her name reminds me of my mom and my dream. It was icky and it makes me a little disappointed in myself.
“Fine.” I push myself up, giving my brain a second to adjust to the fact I’m awake and my mom didn't really say all those shitty things to me. She might have thought them if she were alive, but she wouldn't have said them. Yawning and groggy for all of half a minute, I get up and discover Lee’s right; I feel fine. The joys of being me now.
No more sleepyhead Lou.
My mom might have liked the improvement.
“Is he ready to go?” I ask as I shrug on a second tee shirt.
“He’s literally standing at the front door giving me the same look my dad always did.”
“Yikes.”
“Major yikes.” Lee wraps an arm around my shoulders and hugs me tightly. “Do I wanna know what the dream was about or are we going to skip this convo?”
“Mom hating me.” I offer a tidbit, the only one she needs.
“Right, awesome. So same old same old. Good for you for getting over it.” She laughs and we head for the front door. “I’m gonna miss this place. Even the stink of the fridge is gone.”
“That bed was something else.”
“Yeah, I checked the label so I could order one online,” she bursts with embarrassment. “And then I realized, duhhhhhhh.”
“Oh, dude.” I chuckle. “I wish I’d seen that.”
“It was a whole second before I clued in. Then my cheeks started burning, and I actually checked around the room to make sure no one saw. I can’t believe I did that. Erin would be dying right now.” We both giggle until we get to Harold.
His eyes narrow as he opens the front door.
The villagers have gathered, pretty much pitchforks in hand. Furgus runs straight for Harb, getting a pat and rub down.
“It’s five on the money, and we’re leaving. We just took some water. The dog dehydrates faster than you’d think.” Harold holds up some water bottles.
Several villagers eye up the water, surely contemplating trying to take it back. “Trying” being the operative word.
“Thank you for honoring our arrangement.” Harb offers Harold his hand. “We hope you have a safe journey to wherever you’re going. And we ask that you respect us enough to not share our situation with anyone. We know we’re lucky.”
“Wouldn't dream of it.” Harold shakes Harb’s hand. “Good luck to you all. I hope you get some rain.” He smiles and we head back up the hill to our helicopter.
They follow us for a few minutes, just until they see we’re leaving for certain. Furgus eventually leaves his new bestie and comes galloping up. He’s refreshed and feeling good. I see it in his eyes.
When we reach the chopper, we all climb in like it’s the family car.
Harold scowls at the villagers. “Kinda dumb of them to not try to take the chopper.”
“Maybe none of them can fly it,” Lee offers as she buckles Furgus in next to her.
“I’d learn. This could get them all to Canada, squeeze six in and take eight trips. No big deal.” Harold starts us up, beginning the whole process of getting the helicopter running, which is lengthy. Not like a car at all.
“They have an airport here and LAX is not that far off. If they wanted to fly away, it would be so easy for them to make it happen,” Lee points out, shouting over the noise. “Clearly, they don't want to leave.”
“Clearly,” he agrees and finally gets us off the ground.
We fly away, heading directly over Santa Clarita and the crash that has made their lives possible. It’s a giant tank truck with tandem tanks and it’s been hit by a bus and several cars and trucks. The whole intersection coming into their part of the city is blocked off, not even a bike would get through. The tanker is lodged in a couple of houses, as are the other cars.
The whole thing is luck, the worst and best kind.
We make our way toward the ocean, seeing it from the air within a short amount of time. It’s beautiful.
Harold whistles when we see it. “Wow, look at that. I haven’t seen the ocean in ages.” He sighs, contented for a second or two. His face loses wrinkles and his eyes soften. The water takes away years from his face.
I don't feel the same. The ocean stresses me out. Tidal waves, sharks, and drowning are all real fears of mine. All the earthquakes and other coastal nonsense won’t end because we no longer have a population pissing Mother Earth off. As far as California is concerned, she’s a vengeful bitch.
He takes us lower to the ground over the city, making me gasp. “Holy shit!” I point. “Look at them all.” The undead mill about, roaming in huge groups. "There have to be hundreds of them down there."
“Yeah, they weren’t kidding. It’s thick down there. We might find this all a little interesting.” His eyes dart to the back where Lee can’t hear us talking. “What’s the plan?”
“Try to find somewhere to land that doesn't seem to be too overcrowded and we barricade them inside somewhere, a house or something, and one of us goes looking for the others like us?” I don't know what else to do.
“Okay.” He steers us toward what appears to be a farm and lowers us, blowing dirt into the air like a tornado. It whips around, blocking our view.
We all sit frozen while we wait for the chopper to stop moving and the dust to settle.
As the noise dies down, Lee leans forward. “Where are we?”
“I think near Ventura. I’ve been to the pier over there.” He points to the ocean side of the field, though we can’t see it.
As the dust settles, we wait for movement, heartbeats, undead footsteps, but nothing comes.
I open my door first, listening to the wind. It’s not the same as the wind back home. It’s not cold and it doesn't whistle. It doesn't feel fresh or like it’s on my side.
Uneasily, I step out and wait for it, wait for an earthquake or an attack, or worse. I don't know what.
But nothing comes.
We’re alone here in this field.
I crunch along the dirt, straining my eyes to see as far as they can. The nearest undea
d pocket is a mile away, or more.
“We’re okay.” I wave them out.
Furgus comes first, bounding and lifting his leg and peeing on the helicopter. Lee climbs out, giving me the same sort of face I suspect I’m giving her. “It smells weird here.”
“The Pacific Ocean, dead people, a farm. All of that combined smells a bit off,” Harold agrees as he rounds the front of the chopper. “Where to?” he asks me as if I have an idea.
“Houses?” I shrug.
“That direction had what looked like another golf course.” Lee points to the right of us at an intersection with tall trees. I can't see anything.
“All right.” Harold hands me and Lee a gun each. “Let’s do this.”
We head across the dusty trail to the intersection that’s packed with cars and bones and old clothes and garbage. It’s disgusting to see this many dead cars blocking the roads. The traffic appears to have just stopped at its busiest time. In Laurel things went south fairly fast too. We had our first attack in the morning.
I won’t ever forget that moment, staring at that man as my mom’s trying to get Joey out of the car. She was so clueless.
“How far was the golf course?” Harold asks. Obviously, he missed it too.
“Right next to the intersection. Like if we jump that metal fence right there, we’ll be on it.” Lee points at a fence next to the traffic lights.
There are too many cars and bones and fences and houses and places the undead could hide. Or worse, the other bitten people. Or even worse, some corrupt and twisted group of people we have to outrun or kill.
Killing people terrifies me. Shooting cars or signs to scare someone is one thing, but killing them is another. I shoot to wound, to stop but not to kill.
I don't even relish killing the undead.
But that's for a different reason altogether.
Walking out here, exposed and vulnerable feels stupid. We don't know where we are or who we’re looking for or how to get to them. We don't have backup or friends here. We have two pieces of live bait and an old man, who I will say is stronger and faster than I expected, thanks to the nanobots. But he’s still old.
