by Fuchs, A. P.
Tonight had been no different, but it wasn’t his overactive mind keeping him awake. It was the two strangers he had allowed into his home. Even though they slept in a different room, after having been alone for so long, it still felt as if they were sleeping right next to him, staring at him. And no one who had ever lived was able to sleep knowing someone was looking at them.
He checked his watch. It was 8:49 a.m. He had maybe gotten a little over an hour’s sleep.
Whatever. I’ll catch up later, after they’re gone. Then, whispering, “Whenever that is.”
Not long after, the door to the bedroom at the end of the hallway opened and Billie came out. Joe immediately sat up on the couch, knowing that he’d feel too vulnerable if she walked in on him pretending to be asleep. Besides, he didn’t trust her. He didn’t know her.
As she made her way down the hallway, Joe couldn’t help but study her, watch her move, take in her pink hair that was only in a slight tussle atop her head. Her skin was soft, her blue eyes tired yet still vibrant in their own way, her small arms and hands reminding him of April’s from long ago.
“Morning,” she said when she reached the living room.
Joe nodded. He wasn’t much of a talker in the mornings. Had never been much of a talker at all, actually.
Billie came into the room and April barked up a storm.
“Quiet,” Joe told the dog firmly. April piped down.
The springs in the old chair opposite to him squeaked when Billie sat on it, leaned forward, and rested her forearms on her knees.
There was silence for a time.
Joe, bored of staring at the carpet between his feet, asked, “Sleep okay? You didn’t get much.”
“Neither did you,” she replied.
“Never been one for sleeping.”
“Me neither.”
The thought of confronting her crossed his mind, to let her know he had heard her earlier. No, just keep it to yourself for now. Play that card later, when you need it. He cringed at his cynicism. When he needed it. Had he become that cold? Didn’t matter. He liked it.
“Where’s Des?” he asked.
“Still sleeping. He’ll probably be out for a while. All of us had a late night.”
Joe nodded.
Silence again.
His heart picked up speed. It’d been a long time since he’d talked to someone, even longer since he had a one-on-one with a female.
“You don’t . . .” she started.
He arched an eyebrow.
“You don’t have anything to eat around here, do you?”
Joe shook his head. “Not much. Running low. Haven’t been able to hunt around for things.”
She leaned back and folded her hands and placed them on her lap.
He stood. “I’ll see if I can find you something.”
He went to the kitchen and opened the cupboards one at a time, checking to see what was left. There were a few packets of dried noodles, a couple cans of beans, one can of fruit, one of kernel corn.
He cleared his throat so he could raise his voice and call into the next room. “Do you want some—” Billie was already beside him. He hadn’t seen her approach. He lowered his voice. “Do you want some peaches?” He showed her the can.
She took it and examined it. “Yeah, these would be fine.”
“Spoons are over there,” he said, nodding to the drawer behind them. “Can opener’s in the one beside it.”
“Thanks.” She went to the first drawer, got a spoon, then went to the other and got the opener.
She placed the can on the countertop and affixed the opener to the lid. As she turned it and the lid peeled back, she asked, “You don’t mind? It’s your last one.”
“That’s fine. Besides, peaches are more breakfasty than beans.”
She chuckled. “Suppose so. Something they never prepare you for, huh?”
“What’s that?”
“The movies. The end-of-the-world ones. Everyone lives on canned foods but they never show how much it really sucks.”
“Guess not.”
“I just wish . . .”
“What?” He closed the cupboard door.
“I just wish we weren’t here, you know? I mean, I’m thankful that I’ve gotten by, don’t get me wrong. I’m probably making do a lot better than most, but after awhile, it’s draining. I’m getting sick of the food, sick of watching my back, sick of living alone, sick of life, actually.” She pulled the lid off and put it on the counter beside the can. She picked up the can and spoon, and leaned against the counter and picked at the peaches. Her eyes never left the fruit. “Sorry. Just tired and grumpy, is all.”
He nodded, relating to everything she said. There was only so much fried beans a person could take before they’d just simply stop eating.
“So,” she said, “what about you? Always lived here?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Nah. Used to live downtown. But after the rain hit, had to go where it was safe. Safe-er, anyway.”
“That’s what most folks did.”
“They tried to. I remember the day not long after the rain . . . . So many folks wandered the streets, looking for a safe place to stay. The dead came out in droves. Just completely overtook them. There were so many.”
She slurped down a peach and furrowed her brow. “Where were you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably putting a bullet between their eyes.”
She rolled her eyes.
He didn’t say anything. Think what you want.
“Not gonna eat?” she asked.
“Never been a breakfast person. Well, a ‘regular’ breakfast person. Mine was usually mid morning. Cereal. Haven’t had that in ages.”
“It’s funny you say that because I had gone to Des’s to get some milk. I’m a cereal freak, too.”
Freak? “Well, I wouldn’t call myself a freak.”
“No? Living alone, hunting zombies like some kind of modern day Van Helsing?”
“I meant the cereal part.”
“Oh.”
It was a few moments before he spoke. “My . . . my mornings were quiet. Used to work all night.”
“Doing what?”
“Writing comic books.”
She smiled. “Des would love you.” A pause. “You know what I mean.”
“In the mornings I’d stand on my balcony with a cup of coffee and just think, reflect, absorb the peace that was on the air before folks would come out and the day would get underway.” A pang stung his heart. “I really miss those days.” What was happening to him? He didn’t mean to say that last part.
Don’t get carried away. Just ’cause she’s a girl doesn’t mean you’re supposed to get all sensitive again. It had always been his weakness: girls, but not in the way women were usually a man’s weakness. Back in the day, he used to be the one who’d listen to a girl as she went on and on about how much she hated being with her boyfriend or how she so badly wished she could find somebody like Joe, one who actually cared about her. His classic internal response was always: Hey, I’m a guy like me. Choose me! He was drawn to them and they to him. And that sort of thing finally peaked with April.
Now she was dead, and so was he, the guy who always fell into that sort of thing.
“Sounds nice,” Billie said softly. She finished the can of peaches. “Where should I toss this?”
Just then April padded into the kitchen.
“Here,” Joe said and took the can from her. He set it on the counter behind him.
Billie dumped her spoon in the sink. “This okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll take care of it later.”
April pawed at her dish in the corner. There was some water left, but no food. Joe dug out the small bag of dog food from beneath the sink, poured some in her dish, then put the bag back.
Crunching filled the air as April went to town.
“At least she’s not complaining about the same old, same old,” Billie said.
Billie grinned and her smile, for a second, made him remember the joy he felt when he saw April smile for that first time, all squinty eyes and teeth.
The explosive pop of glass shattering came from outside.
Joe went to the window in the front room and peered out onto the street below.
It was covered in the undead.
13
Gotta Go
Des Nottingham stood at the bottom of the gold-plated railing, his hand resting on the large golden ball on top of a thick golden post. He’d never been in such an ornate ballroom before—never been in a ballroom at all—but this was the perfect place to be with Billie.
She deserved it.
He’d been waiting at the bottom of the long flight of red-carpeted stairs for several minutes, his heart beating anxiously. He ran a hand over his slicked-back hair then checked his black tux one more time for any lint. A small speck of white fuzz dotted his lapel. He pinched it and pulled it off. The leather of his highly-polished black dress shoes squeaked when he adjusted his stance. Just look casual. Don’t want to make her think you’re too excited. But he was excited. Who wouldn’t be? A huge fancy room all to themselves, a romantic melody being played by the small quartet of musicians off in the corner, the stars sparkling in through the enormous window spanning the entire width of the second level at the top of the stairs. Though he only thought it kind of strange, he dismissed the fact he couldn’t see where the second level led to on either side, the hallway just melting away into shadow.
Then she appeared.
Des straightened and took his hand off the post. He folded his hands in front of his thighs.
Her eyes never left his as she passed along the baluster, her gentle smile conveying she was looking forward to this as much as he was. She paused a moment at the top of the stairs. A large smile beyond his control forced his cheeks into his eyes.
Her hair was pulled up and back and sat like a rose on her head, a lily pinned up against the left side. He had never known her to wear makeup before, but the way her lips shone with juicy redness and the way the green mascara accented her blue eyes, he couldn’t help himself but fall for her harder.
Billie glided down the stairs like an angel floating down from above, her cream-colored dress seeming to glow even as the skirt swished from side to side. It didn’t appear her bright white shoes even touched the steps as she descended. When she reached the bottom step, he held out his hand and led her down to the golden lacquered floor. She greeted him with a gentle smile and allowed him a moment to take in this little piece of heaven that had come down to him.
“They’re playing our song,” he said.
“I hoped they would,” she replied.
Des took a step back, bowed; Billie curtsied.
Their bodies magnetically drew to each other’s and a shudder of electricity shot through him the moment her body fell into his. Gently, he took up her hand and placed his other on her waist. Not once did she try to adjust herself or take control. She was all his.
“Ready?” he said softly.
“Always.”
With a pull to his left, he spun them around and their feet left the floor, floating on the air that was this perfect moment between them.
A moment made of dreams.
Eyes locked on hers, he couldn’t believe this was happening yet at the same time it all felt natural, as if they’d done this a thousand times before.
The chandelier above twinkled and the light of its bulbs glowed brighter each time they passed under it.
They moved to the music, Billie giggling every now and then, Des joining in her joy.
When the music slowed then ended, they floated down to the ballroom floor, both slightly out of breath.
“Thank you,” she said.
“My pleasure.”
“I’ve always wanted you, you know that?”
Hearing those words made his heart dance. “Maybe.”
“I should have acted sooner.”
He smiled. “Maybe.” He lowered her hand then placed both of his around her waist. She drew her arms up and wrapped them around his neck.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
He wasn’t really sure what she was referring to other than perhaps she was sorry for almost missing out on him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
“Better not.”
They smiled. He leaned in close and rubbed his nose up against hers.
Then he kissed her.
Her lips were soft, the perfume wafting up from her neck permeating his senses and making him lose himself in her.
She pulled back . . . then shoved him. “You jerk, get up!”
“Wha—?”
“Come on, you stupid idiot! Let’s go!”
His temperature dropped and he stood there wearing a green T-shirt and jeans.
Billie, his angel, was gone. So were the musicians.
“Hey, Freakboy, get a move on!”
“Bill—?” His voice was quiet, a lot quieter than he meant it. He spoke louder. “Bill?”
A sharp sting flared up on his cheek and the ballroom dissolved into the plain off-white of a ceiling.
“I told you not to call me that!” Billie shouted at him. She stood by the side of the bed. Her small hand reached down and she dug it underneath his arm and gripped the muscle hard, her tiny fingers digging into his flesh, jolting him out of his sleepy haze.
“The building’s surrounded,” she said. “We move or we die. Let’s go!”
Des bounded out of bed.
* * * *
Joe had the utility closet door open and was arming himself with two leather straps lined with what Billie thought were packets of bullets when she and Des emerged from the bedroom.
“Whoa . . .” Des said, stopping by Joe and eyeing the ammunition covering his torso.
Joe didn’t say anything but instead closed the closet door and went to the kitchen. He was back in the hallway a moment later, his long leather trench coat draped over him like a cape, his large gun in his right hand.
Two quick thuds echoed from somewhere below.
April barked at the disturbance.
Joe opened one side of his coat and slid the gun in, presumably into a holster.
“Can they get in?” Billie asked.
“Probably,” Joe said. “The doors and windows are boarded up throughout this place, but with enough force, they’ll hammer their way through.” He went for the front door and paused with his hand on the knob. He gave the kitchen and front room beyond a final glance before pressing his face up against the door and looking out the peep hole.
A low rumble rose in April’s throat.
“She coming with us?” Des asked, putting on his shoes, Billie doing the same.
Joe eyed him coolly. Billie gave him a shot in the ribs.
“Sorry.”
When Joe turned to face him, Billie felt her insides go hollow. This wasn’t the same guy she had talked with earlier. Here was a man who had seen death up close—more than she and Des put together ever had—a guy with dead, emerald eyes.
“Ready?” Joe said.
Billie and Des nodded.
April barked when another two thuds boomed beneath them.
“Let’s go,” he said and opened the door.
They walked briskly to the stairwell at the other end of the hallway, Joe leading the way. He was already down the first set of steps, April at his heels, when Des asked, “Is there anyone else here? In this building?”
“There used to be,” Joe said, taking the next flight. “He’s dead.”
“Come on, move,” Billie said and gave Des a nudge forward.
They followed Joe and April down the stairs, the thudding at the front of the building growing louder with each step down. By the time they reached the bottom, the banging on the boarded-up front door made Billie bl
ink with each thwump!
The back door, gray and made of steel, was chained shut. The small window beside it was boarded over with something resembling pressboard though she wasn’t sure what it was really called.
Thwump, thwump, THOOM! Thwump, thwump, THOOM!
Some of the bangs sounded like they were coming from inside the suites at the far end of the first floor, but if they were from the undead banging on the boarded-up windows or if they had already broken through and were banging on the doors from inside the suites, she didn’t know.
“Think we should take that board down and look outside?” Des asked, pointing to the one over the window.
