The Wilsons' Saga (Book 1): The Journey Home

by Gibb, Lew

  The living room at the end of the hall was formal but still beige. It was the kind of place his grandmother would have called “the parlor,” and the couches and armchairs were pristine, flanked by spindly-legged and fragile-looking tables supporting porcelain figurines and crystal lamps. Heavy curtains cast the room in a dim gloom. Rachel would have called it the “No-touch room” in reference to her own grandmother’s house and the way her grandmother always yelled those words at any kid who dared go inside. Rachel swore she would never have such a room in her house, insisting it was “fucking idiotic” to spend money furnishing a room that never got used.

  A large professional-looking portrait hung over the mantel to Jerry’s right. In the center, a smiling ten- or eleven-year-old Holly, blonde pigtails sprouting from the sides of her head, was bookended by two older boys with the same color hair and equally bright smiles. Green, freshly mown grass surrounded the family, and mountains spotted with snow provided the background. Holly and her brothers were backed up by their smiling parents. Jerry wondered if anyone would ever be that happy again.

  For sure, he and Rachel would never get to pose for a picture like that. He couldn’t imagine ever being that happy, even if they did someday manage to live long enough to have a child. Besides, it would be insane to bring a child into the world now.

  Jerry opened his mouth to ask Holly what she thought they should do next, but before he could speak, something heavy slammed into his left side. The carpet didn’t cushion his landing much, and the spear flew from his hands. A sharp pain stabbed at his shoulder as soon as he hit the ground.

  He watched the spear roll out of reach.

  Holly screamed, “Mom, no!”

  The pain intensified, obliterating thought. Jerry squirmed, trying to free his arms. They were pinned, one between himself and the ground and one between him and— Holly’s mother!? Crap!

  Jerry strained and managed to pull an arm free but couldn’t reach his attacker. A groan bubbled out through his gritted teeth. It felt like his shoulder was being torn apart.

  Holly screamed again, a wordless cry of anguish and pain, and the body on top of him jerked. The pain in his shoulder lessened.

  Another scream from Holly, and another jerk.

  The pain became bearable. The weight slid off his back.

  Jerry rolled to his hands and knees. He gulped air while he sat back on his heels and reached inside his jacket. The pain was so intense, he was certain there had to be a bloody hole in his skin. When his fingers failed to find the wound, he unzipped his jacket and shrugged his arm free, then pushed his shirt collar back. The skin was inflamed and starting to swell, but intact.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” Holly’s voice made him turn.

  Holly was standing over a fifty-something woman lying on her side. It almost looked like she was taking a nap—except for the trio of crimson circles spreading on the back of her sky-blue blouse. And Holly’s ski pole sticking out of her right side. And the jagged bit of Jerry’s spear lodged in her neck. Blood oozed from the wound and dropped into an impossibly red puddle on the immaculate carpet.

  Jerry let out a hiss and edged up to the body. The best place to check for a pulse—on a normal person—was the carotid artery, a little too close to the teeth for comfort, so he grabbed the wrist closest to him.

  He took a deep breath, looked at Holly, and shook his head.

  She fell to her knees and threw herself on her mother’s body. She wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders and buried her face in her long brown hair.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom,” she sobbed, voice muffled by the thick hair. “I’m so sorry. So sorry. So sorry.”

  Jerry grabbed his spear from where Holly had dropped it, then knelt and put an arm around Holly’s shoulders, making sure to keep his head up so he wouldn’t be surprised by another lurking zombie.

  Jerry saw what he had missed from the hallway. A bunch of pillows and clothing were piled in a corner between the fireplace and one of the big armchairs. Holly’s mother must have been sleeping there, or resting—he didn’t know if they slept during the day—until something alerted her to the presence of food.

  After a while, Holly released her mother and wrapped both arms around him. She cried more, and Jerry could do nothing but hold her. It had been bad enough watching Mike get eaten alive, and he believed he would carry the guilt of not being able to help his friend for a long time. But to have to actually stab your own mother—that was just unbelievable.

  Jerry had no doubt Holly had saved his life. Again. The guilt of another mistake began to gnaw at his conscience. If he was a cat, he’d be well on his way to using all of his nine lives. The rest of them wouldn’t last long at the rate he was going.

  He realized the attack had been completely silent—no tortured cat scream like the zombies in the street this time. The ones who had attacked him and Mike hadn’t made any noise either but he wondered about the sound. Whenever Kodi and Mandy got on the scent of something really good, they would make a series of yips as they ran like foxhounds after a fox. Maybe the zombies had gotten so excited they’d had to make some kind of noise, and since they could no longer speak, they screeched. The screech would also alert others to the prey and increase the odds of catching it. He couldn’t think of any way to use this knowledge to his advantage and filed it away under “zombie information to be examined later.”

  Holly let go of him. “I need to find out what happened to my dad.” Tears were still streaming down her cheeks.

  They found him in one of the upstairs bedrooms behind a door that had been secured from the inside with two-by-fours and three-inch screws driven into the door jamb. It had taken them twenty minutes using a hammer and pry bar from the garage to break into the room. Once they breached the door, what they found made Jerry wish, for Holly’s sake, that they hadn’t.

  Her father sat in an armchair with an empty look on his face, like he was thinking of what he needed to do tomorrow or trying to do math in his head. It was very natural except for the fan of blood splattered on the wall behind him and the pistol lying beside the chair. It was eerie how alive he looked as Holly knelt beside the chair and took his hand in hers. He might not have been there long, as Jerry didn’t smell any decay yet.

  Jerry decided to keep this information to himself. Holly rested her forehead on her father’s knee and began to sob quietly.

  A folded piece of yellow legal paper rested on the dresser opposite the bed. Jerry picked it up and read:

  My Darling Holly,

  If you’re reading this, you know what happened to your mother. I am so very sorry. She was bitten yesterday by Mr. Williams from next door. She went over to talk to him about the fence, and before I could do anything, they were rolling on the ground with him biting her arm. I had to kick him in the head and knock him out to get him off her. The bite didn’t seem like a big deal. Then we saw the news and learned what was going on. I guess we should have paid more attention to those zombie movies you guys used to watch.

  Anyway, we thought she might be ok since she didn’t die, but as a precaution, we were going to barricade her in this room. Well, she turned, I think that’s what you call it, and attacked me before we got it done. She bit me pretty good on the arm before I got away and ran back here. I already had the supplies laid out, so I barricaded myself in. Hearing her pound on the door in such a frenzy to get to me is just tearing my heart out. We’ve been married for over twenty-five years and even though we had our problems sometimes, we never stopped loving each other, or you kids.

  I can’t bear the thought of hurting her. I wish I had the strength to end it, for her, and for you, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Even if she is no longer the woman I’ve loved all these years. The only thing I can do now is make it so you don’t have to deal with both of us. I’m going to end it now, before my heart breaks anymore. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If you’re lucky, and you find someone you love as much as your mother and I lo
ved each other, you’ll understand. I would give anything to be there with you. But things don’t always work out the way we want.

  I know you have what it takes to get through this. You’ve always been tough. Your brothers for sure made you tougher. So, live a good life. We’ve always been so proud of you.

  We both love you very much.

  Dad

  When he finished reading, Jerry looked up to see Holly was looking up at him. Her eyes were red and swollen. He handed her the letter and watched as she read it.

  When she finished, she nodded and folded the paper, then put it in her front pocket and met Jerry’s eyes. “I need to take care of them somehow.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Everything in the twins’ parents’ camper seemed to have the same faint plastic-musty odor permanently infused within the fabric. Rachel crawled into the bunk over the pickup’s cab and pulled the sheet up to her chin. She was starting to second guess her decision to leave the Walsh’s protection. The fortified circle of trucks filled with heavily armed inhabitants—who also had night vision—would be a dream come true for any sane woman who found herself alone during the apocalypse, not to mention one who had just learned she was pregnant. Then there was the compound in the mountains and the promise of a husband to take care of her to consider. There was no doubt it would be the perfect place, if such a thing existed at this point, to raise a kid. Didn’t she owe it to her unborn child to give him or her the best possible chance to survive? To ensure her own survival and her ability to carry her child to term? Linda would help her find a suitable husband, someone who wouldn’t mind raising another man’s kid. It sure seemed more responsible than leaving in the middle of the night to make her way to Denver by herself through who-knew-how-many more zombies and tweakers and dangers she hadn’t even considered yet. How likely was it that the next group she came across would be as nice as Thomas and Linda? A chance like this probably wouldn’t come along again.

  Linda Walsh was one of those capable women that didn’t let anything get in the way of taking care of the ones she loved, and Rachel knew if the woman took her under her wing, whatever this new insane world had to throw at her, Linda would be there. The temptation was strong to let Linda shepherd her into the shelter of the group, find her a place to live, choose her a suitable husband, and do whatever it took to make sure Rachel’s future turned out just the way she wanted it to. Just imagining a grouping of cabins surrounded by coiled razor wire and sentry towers where men like Thomas Walsh and Randy kept watch with their automatics gave Rachel a feeling of security that she had been lacking since the world had come apart. She’d been on her own for only three days, and already she was so tired it felt like her limbs were glued to the thin foam rubber mattress. The thought of getting up to set out on her own seemed crazy.

  But the dream life with the Walshes and their group was missing something. Something more than just the presence of her husband. It was missing the sense of belonging and of being part of a team that she got from Jerry. He didn’t just make her feel that way because she thought he would protect her. She seemed to be doing okay on that front. Jerry made her feel whole, like she was a part of something special, like together their strengths were amplified and their weaknesses were minimized and they could do anything they put their minds to.

  Rachel realized staying with the group wasn’t the right thing at all. She had known it all along, but her insecurity had been trying to talk her into playing it safe and conservative and living the way other people thought she should. She had told Jerry she didn’t want to survive the apocalypse and go through all that struggle for no reason she could see. But this wasn’t about her anymore. She had survived just like Jerry had said she would, and now her survival was about their family. It was about the future. And a world where their child didn’t get the benefit of both its parents just wasn’t the kind of future she wanted for him or her.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Leftover spaghetti with marinara sauce and some salad fixings from the refrigerator, which was still slightly cooler than the kitchen despite the power outage, tasted like a five-star meal to Jerry. Neither of them said a word as they sat on the armchairs in the family room and shoved food into their mouths while starting at the blank TV screen.

  Jerry had wrapped Holly’s mother in a blanket and carried her upstairs where he laid her on the bed next to her husband. After Holly said her final goodbyes, he used the same three-inch screws and cordless drill her father had to seal them off from passing zombies. Then he and Holly had retreated to the downstairs. Jerry couldn’t remember ever being so tired or emotionally wrung out. He hoped Rachel and the dogs could survive one more night without him.

  His thoughts of home were interrupted by a muffled pop, followed by two more, coming from the front of the house.

  Both of them were out of their seats with the first sound, and Jerry only beat Holly to the front window because he had been in the chair closest to the hallway. He parted the curtains and caught a sliver of movement to his left when he looked out. Holly edged in next to him and put her eye to the gap just below his hand. A man and a woman were shielding a pair of children between them and fighting off a group of zombies in the center of the street. The stout, dark-haired woman swung a frying pan at an attacking zombie while holding the hand of a dark-haired girl of about eight. The man gripped the upper arm of a little boy who looked no more than four or five while aiming a revolver at the nearest zombie. The boy clutched a baseball bat against his chest with both hands. The man fired, and the nearest zombie staggered but didn’t fall.

  The man dropped the pistol and waved a hand behind him like a runner in a relay race without taking his eyes off the zombie. The boy slapped the handle of the bat into his hand, and the man cracked the nearest zombie on the side of the head with a one-armed swing that the attacker down. The man pushed the boy behind him and pulled the bat back for another swing. Three more zombies rounded the corner at the end of the street and began howling as they hustled toward the family in their jerky, off-kilter gait.

  “We have to help them,” Holly said, dodging around Jerry and heading for the front door.

  Jerry dropped the curtain and headed for the front door. “But let’s be quick. We run out there and take out the zombies as fast as we can. Don’t stand still and let them have a shot at you.”

  Holly rolled her eyes, and Jerry could almost hear the word Duh.

  He shook his head. “Then we run back for the side yard, get everyone over the fence, and you lead them inside while I go over the back fence and try to lead them away.”

  Holly’s dad’s pistol was still in the waistband of his pants where he had jammed it earlier, thinking he would figure out what to do with it after they took care of the burial. He pulled the pistol and met Holly’s eyes. She nodded; she had her ski pole in a two-handed grip as she yanked the door open.

  Jerry darted out, and ran for the scrum of people in the street. Holly passed him halfway there and yelled, “Hey!” when she was five yards from the woman with the little girl cowering behind her.

  The zombie, a tall older man dressed for the office in a blue suit and a red-striped tie, turned toward the sound. Holly jammed her ski pole through his eye without slowing down. The force of the strike drove the man over backward.

  Jerry didn’t have time to see what she did next. He fired point blank at a zombie who had turned at Holly’s yell. The nine-millimeter pistol bucked in his hand, and the gangly girl zombie’s head snapped back before she dropped like a stone with a hole in her cheek

  Another zombie was right behind the first, and Jerry fired again. The shot went high, but he was only a step away when he pulled the trigger again. This time the bullet tore away a chunk of the man’s chin. The zombie didn’t fall right away but seemed disoriented by the blood coursing down his chest.

  Holly put her foot on her zombie victim’s head and pulled the ski pole free with a sickening pop. Then she advanced on the last zombie th
reatening the woman.

  Seeing that he had help, the man let go of his boy’s hand and turned to confront the new group of zombies. He took a two-handed home-run swing at the leader. The bat made a hollow thunk, like someone pounding an empty wine barrel, when it connected with his forehead. The wiry blonde zombie dropped like his legs had been cut out from under him.

  Jerry shot at another zombie. Missed. Fired again.

  The zombie was only ten feet away, but he was moving, and Jerry’s hands were shaking so much he couldn’t aim properly. He missed again.

  He finally shot the zombie in the mouth from a foot away.

  Then the woman took an overhand swing at the last attacker with her frying pan. The clang echoed in the empty street when it flattened the forehead of a teen zombie in a football uniform and drove him to the ground.

  “This way!” Holly yelled, heading for the side yard. “Hurry!”

  The parents each grabbed one of the children by the hand and followed at a run without saying anything;

  Holly had the gate open when the family arrived, and they all hustled through with Jerry bringing up the rear. He yanked the gate shut behind him just as a pair of zombies rounded the corner of the house, and one of them let loose one of those excited screams. Jerry’s hair tingled from the eerie sound of the second one’s response as he ran for the back fence. It almost sounded like they were communicating. Jerry glanced to his left and saw Holly herding everyone into the house. The man turned, as if he was thinking of helping Jerry, but Holly yanked his shirt, and he backed into the house.