Reawakening

by Stein, Charlotte

  But there was nothing inside. Not even a shape or two that disguised itself as one of them, in the darkness. No bedside cabinets, no desks, no bed. Almost as though someone knew what going into a room was like, now, and appreciated how terrifying a simple hump in the darkness could be.

  Plus there were other things about the room. The window, for example—it had bars on it. Something red buzzed on the outskirts of her vision and she glanced up through instinct, to see what looked like a motion detector.

  Sure enough, the red light blinked on when she moved her arm in front of it.

  What the fuck was this place?

  It was the same downstairs too. Everything looked twee and homey—open fireplace, cozy throw over the couch, bearskin rug, TV in a mahogany cubby—but her carefully honed eye caught the flow of the place. Lots of space between things, so people could easily run—maybe from the front door to the back.

  And there was an exit in the kitchen, too. She opened the door to the pantry and there it was, nestled amidst rows and rows of canned food and sacks of flour and potatoes and oh Lord, things she hadn’t eaten in months. For a moment, her eyes lingered on the safety barred door—easy to get out of but impossible to get into—only then she couldn’t stop looking at the food.

  They had peaches. Tinned peaches. The last time she’d had anything like that, she and Kelsey had been standing in a trashed supermarket, wolfing down the slippery chunks while something smashed around in the back.

  Now here it was, just sat there right in front of her. Patiently waiting for her to eat. The label looked almost golden in the warm glow from the overhead light, and…

  She stopped as a certain strange giddiness wound its way up her spine. The light was on. Even after two years, her instinct had been to go for the switch, and she’d fumbled it out, and flicked it, and the light had come on.

  They had electricity.

  Well, of course, they did! How else would the motion detectors have worked? The apocalypse appeared to have turned her mind slow or else put it on the wrong tracks altogether. She was trapped on a rail that only went one way, down dark corridors forever until the day she died.

  She closed her eyes on that thought. All the creeping, and the arm thing she’d just done, and the sweating and the urge to swim a lake and just everything, everything, and Jamie had been telling the truth. This was a safe haven. It had peaches, for God’s sake.

  And she couldn’t stop staring at them while something pricked behind her closed eyes.

  “Hey—you want some coffee?”

  She didn’t jump when he spoke, somewhere behind her. Usually she would have done, because sound meant that something dangerous was near. Even if it wasn’t a zombie, there were all kinds of things danger could turn out to be, now. One time, she and Kelsey had seen a lion—an actual real live lion—crossing a highway, as fat and satisfied looking as a tomcat.

  Anything could get you in this brave new world. You had to be on your guard, at all times.

  Except for now, when she could only bring herself to turn her head slowly, slowly. It was the blond guy—the big one. He’d come downstairs just as casual as you please, wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms and nothing more. She could see every bit of his chest and his shoulders, all hard and bumpy in a way she’d never actually seen up close and in real life, before.

  He looked bizarrely like an underwear model, though she supposed that was normal now. Even she’d started developing muscles in her thighs and upper arms, from all the running and hacking and fighting. It wasn’t something she should be staring at and appreciating, in any way whatsoever.

  That was just weird and against the flow of the rail that led down dark corridors. Plus he was still talking and she really felt as though she should be listening. After all, his words might hold a clue to his brick-bashing intentions.

  “You want a robe, or something? We’ve got robes. Had to take your clothes off, obviously—because of the blood.”

  Or you know. Stuff about robes.

  “We cleaned you off, too, with a mixture of soap and industrial strength disinfectant. Then Jamie got nervous, so we did it again with Bactine and half a tub of that gel they used to use in hospitals.”

  She glanced down at her arm and sure enough—no blood. Her skin smelled like flowers and old people’s homes, but that was okay. That was good. These two guys cleaning her and taking care of her and her trying to run out on them like they were maniacs…that didn’t seem as good, somehow.

  Its lack of goodness was so strong, it made her want to say something. Words seemed vital suddenly but she couldn’t remember the ones she was supposed to use. They were small, these words, and they hadn’t taken any effort in the time before.

  But they did here. They did here.

  “You didn’t wake up the whole time. Guess it must have really wiped you—I know being among those fuckers wipes me. All the constantly being on edge takes it out of you, huh?”

  He shook his head, and set the coffeemaker going. What in God’s name was the thing she had to say?

  “But hey—don’t worry about it. You’re safe here. Did Jamie tell you? It’s safe as fuck, here.”

  Oh. Oh yeah that was it. That’s what she had to say.

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Two

  There were still problems, even after a week of being in their company. Of course there were. She’d said thank you and could accept that maybe they weren’t maniacs, but she could also see quite clearly that something had been switched in her brain and it wasn’t easily going back.

  Inside, it wasn’t so bad. That same safe feeling remained—the one she’d experienced when trying to escape. It had locks. Things were secure. They let her keep her crowbar on her if she wanted it and they didn’t say anything about that.

  But outside was a different matter. Outside had trees that could be anything—especially in the darkness. And when she stood on the front porch and looked out through the always-mist, at each pine-y monolith, part of her couldn’t stop thinking about how much it didn’t look like an island.

  It looked like they were just in the middle of any old wood, with no moat between them and awful skulking things. In fact, when she stood on the porch and looked out, she could well imagine that only a flimsy fence surrounded their little compound.

  A flimsy fence that they would soon poke holes in.

  It made her want to ask them how long they’d been here, but the weird silence that had crept into her body and stolen her soul put a stop to that. The weird silence said—don’t talk to them. Not ever.

  They might eat you.

  And as irrational as it was, it nearly always won out. By the third day with them, she was starting to worry they’d think she’d gone mute, but there was nothing to be done for it. And luckily, they gave her a lot of nice, calming answers without ever really talking to her directly—as though they suspected how she felt about being too close or talking too much and just wanted to reassure her in some bizarre, loud, round-about sort of way.

  Like when Jamie decided to shout to Blake that he couldn’t believe they’d been here in complete safety for over a year. Then he said it again, just to make absolutely sure. Complete safety.

  But she still didn’t like going outside and they seemed to know it.

  They didn’t push, however. They never pushed about anything. They didn’t even push her to go to sleep on the second or the third or the fourth night even though she’d sat on the couch bolt upright for every one of them, probably staring at them in a really weird way.

  Jamie cracked wise on the seventh night—something about him not being about to spontaneously turn into a zombie—but her body and her face and everything inside her had struggled to laugh. The switch had been flicked. It wasn’t going back easy.

  And she knew it, because after they cooked an actual real live pizza, and she’d tried to eat some of it without seeming like a starving person or a resource hog-er, Jamie had said—you coming to bed, June? Yo
u look awful tired.

  And she’d told him no even though she wanted to say yes. God yes I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted just from sitting like this all night every night, like I’ve got a stick up my butt and I really am just waiting for you to turn into zombies.

  Though instead she’d just explained to them that she wasn’t really tired yet—at which Blake flashed Jamie a look—and, anyway, she wanted to stay up and savor everything here. Have a glass of water—because they only had it on goddamned tap!—and maybe read a book—because they had loads—or perhaps eat a tin of peaches—if that was okay.

  They had replied that all of that was okay. Anything she wanted was okay.

  Except for being alone. That wasn’t okay. She could tell they didn’t like leaving her down there because the next night Jamie said, quite suddenly, who’s up for an all night game of Scrabble? Just as she was finishing off the chicken curry he’d made not half an hour earlier.

  God knew where they’d gotten the chicken from. She was almost afraid to eat it in case the chicken had been secretly infected with dormant zombie virus, but then Jamie had mentioned getting something else out of the freezer from the storeroom and other, calmer questions had taken the place of zombie ones.

  They had a storeroom. Somewhere outside, by the sounds of things. And it had a freezer, with…with maybe some ice cream in it. Was ice cream an apocalypse staple? Something you stockpiled in case of a national emergency? She didn’t think so but oh, how she wanted to ask even so.

  She could almost see herself forming the words—do you have ice cream? How come you have a freezer? What is this place? And worst of all, did you know this was going to happen?

  Because it definitely seemed like the kind of place someone would build if they had only known the fate awaiting the human race. And Jamie could fly a helicopter, too, which really only suggested one thing. He was probably military, really weird high up military, and he’d found out about the zombie bomb Croatia was about to drop on them and built this place to prepare.

  And as for Blake…well. Maybe Blake was—

  “June-bug, it’s your turn.”

  She glanced down at the coffee table, at the little puddle of letter tiles and the multi-hued board spread out before her. They’d already put their words on, crookedly, and now they were waiting for her.

  It seemed amazing that she could remember how to play.

  “Um…hang on. I’m behind,” she said then realized with a little jolt that those were the first words she’d spoken all day. The muteness had receded somewhere around day four, but apparently it hadn’t gone away altogether.

  “Don’t worry. Take your time—we’ll wait.”

  That was Blake. Sometimes he seemed quiet, too—the way she was. And the more time went on, the quieter he got, too. It made her wonder if she’d said something to offend him in some way. Though really, he seemed anything but. He didn’t say we’ll wait in an impatient, sarcastic way. He said it calmly, softly.

  So softly that the room was starting to feel very…charged. She could feel their eyes on her as she muddled around with the Scrabble tiles and tried to remember actual real words instead of the completely fake one Jamie had gone with.

  She hadn’t seen him do it but knew it was him. Blake wouldn’t have put down Muggle. He just wouldn’t have. She could tell by the way they dressed and acted and spoke—Jamie always in bright Hawaiian shirts, always laughing, always moving. Blake seemed almost sedate, by comparison, and he stuck like glue to muted tones and careful talk.

  She thought of a pen edging a dark line around her body, when she thought of Blake. She thought of that edging when she considered both of them, in all honesty. They were watching her as she finally, finally managed to put down her word, but when she tried to catch them looking they glanced away quickly.

  As though there was some area designated June’s discomfort and they didn’t want to cross into it.

  “There,” she said and Jamie leaned forward just a little bit. Sounded out her word for her.

  “Relief.”

  It had seemed appropriate. Or at least, more appropriate than the word Jamie next put down. She was pretty sure Puxatawny was actually the name of the made up town in Groundhog Day, though in truth, memories of movies and books and cultural things had long since started to deteriorate.

  Other things took its place. Things like survival and designated areas and exhaustion. By the time they got to round seven, her head was floating. Her eyes had taken on that crushed glass feeling she remembered from days on the road. Days when she couldn’t sleep because if she did, something would happen.

  But that wasn’t the case here, was it? No. They were watching her even when they pretended not to be. And it wasn’t even in a creepy way, either—it was a good way. She felt as though she could have reached out her hands and touched that black pen line around her body, like a force field around her, keeping the zombies out.

  It didn’t seem to take much effort to lean back against the couch when her good letters ran out. Blake gave her one cursory can’t you make any more, June, then glanced at Jamie. But they didn’t make any other pointed sort of comments, and just kept on playing kind of quietly, and that was good.

  It made her shoulders droop. Her spine seemed to be melting. Her eyelids had gained some weight without telling her—probably the chicken curry. Her eyelids just weren’t used to ingesting proper food of real heft, and they thought the best idea was to just clo-o-o-se. Like before when she’d first got here, only better than that because nothing ran away from her. Unconsciousness didn’t force itself on her.

  She just went to it, willingly. She just went willingly.

  * * * *

  There was something disturbing about pretending to be asleep when she really wasn’t, in order to hear what they were saying. But even more disturbing than that was the sudden jolting realization that she didn’t believe they were going to say anything bad.

  Though it still felt kind of low and weird to wake up and not let on that she had. They were speaking in hushed tones, so it was obvious they didn’t want her to hear. And they didn’t even want her not to hear for terrible reasons! She was just an untrustworthy heel, eavesdropping on them. They deserved better than that.

  And they didn’t even contradict that last thought, either. Not like the usual order of things, which was her hoping for something or expecting something and just having it smash her in the face, instead.

  No. Here, Jamie said, “Come on, let’s just take her upstairs.”

  Then there was a pause, and some Scrabble-tile-ticking silence, and finally Blake answered, “She doesn’t like it.”

  Just like that. As though the idea was nothing, really—or at least it was an idea that could be spoken out loud without everyone bursting into flames. And he continued, too.

  “She was trying to escape that first day, you know. She wasn’t just going down for coffee. She was trying to get away.”

  Jamie made a little noise. It was not a comfortable sounding thing.

  “All right. All right, maybe. But she’s…she’s okay now.”

  “She hasn’t slept properly for a week. She’s not okay.”

  “Well…”

  “She looked terrified when I came into the kitchen. Like she wanted to bash my head in with that crowbar.”

  It almost made her laugh. Was that what he had been thinking all this time? All through every moment where she’d wondered if they were going to bash her head in? Jesus, what a joke.

  “She didn’t want to bash your head in. And even if she did, she doesn’t now.”

  Blake made a noncommittal sound.

  “Maybe.”

  “If she was still afraid of us she wouldn’t be asleep right now, would she?”

  He didn’t sound sure and somehow that was the worst part of this whole conversation. Her stomach had started roiling in this really unpleasant way—probably the chicken curry.

  Probably.

  “Could be she’d ju
st rather be down here on the couch.” He clucked, clearly irritated. She could almost see the expression to match—he had a narrow, vulpine face and it arrowed down neatly into annoyance. “We should have taken those mattresses from the camping place.”

  Jamie took a moment to speak, then. And when he did his voice was flatter. It had a grave quality that she hadn’t heard before, and lost a lot of its Texan yaw along the way.

  “It’s better if we all sleep in the same room, Blake.” Then even firmer, “It’s better.”

  She could almost hear Blake nodding in reply and knew with a great surge of something why he did so. Why Jamie was saying things like that, in the first place. She’d slept back to back with Kelsey often enough to understand, but oh it swelled inside her to know she’d guessed right.

  If you slept alone they could get you. They could get you, and you’d end up getting the rest of your team. It was the new circle of life in Zombie Land and it didn’t care about sexual mores or being freaked out. It expected one thing and one thing only of its citizens, and that happened to be all they expected of her, too.

  Just safety. Just safety in numbers.

  When Blake said I’ll get her then suddenly put his hands on her body, she didn’t flinch. And she would have applauded herself for that if she hadn’t become an expert at never flinching, over the last two years. However, she did applaud herself for reining in the trembling. Something about what they’d said had made her tremble all over, minutely, and she pulled it in tight.

  Then hoped to God he couldn’t feel it as he slid an arm under her legs and an arm around her back and lifted—honest to goodness lifted her—right off the couch.

  She tried to think of any time when anyone had ever lifted her, and couldn’t even recall her Mother or Father doing it. Sure, they’d held her hand. Helped her ride a bike. But lifting?

  Lord no. She was and always had been too heavy for lifting—all the way into adulthood. Had the end of the world really stripped her down so much? Or was he just that strong? She didn’t know. Couldn’t say. Her throat felt suddenly too tight to say. Something had made it close nearly all the way up—maybe she had an almond allergy she hadn’t previously identified? There had definitely been almonds in the curry.