Love in the Time of Zombies

by James, Jill

  “I’m right here, my love.”

  Tears filled her eyes and ran down her face and she wanted to scream. It wasn’t the right voice. She hated that voice with a passion.

  “Open your eyes,” he pleaded. “Come back to me.”

  She fought to deny him, but her eyes opened anyway. She didn’t see Antonio sitting in front of her. She didn’t see anything at all. Darkness deeper than a moonless night stared back at her. She screamed and nothing came out. No sound at all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Ten days. It’s been ten whole days and nothing. Where in the hell is this zombie army?” I muttered to Michelle as we dug pit traps in front of the mall. It hadn’t rained in months and the dirt was as hard as cement after the first few inches. Sweat covered my back and trickled down between my breasts to pool at my waistband. I missed the cool breezes off the bay. I even missed the fog.

  My friend leaned on the shovel she held and wiped a forearm across her brow. “You should be happy they haven’t shown up yet. Look at all we’ve accomplished.” She swept her arm out to encompass what even in my irritated mood had to acknowledge was amazing. We’d dug traps, rigged explosives to trip wires, and even in a worst-case scenario, rigged the mall to blow up with half of the supply of C-4 we had, if we were forced to fall back and leave it to the enemy. They sure as hell wouldn’t have it for long.

  “You’re just grumpy because you haven’t eaten enough lately,” Michelle added as she continued to dig, the clunk of the shovel on the ground pounding in my head. “One meal a day doesn’t cut it when we’re out here digging ditches.”

  I fell to work, dizzy and nauseated again. “Dinner seems to be all I can keep down anymore. I visited the doctor like you said. I don’t have the flu, Z or otherwise.”

  She shot a glance my way. Her eyes warmed with relief. I knew that look. We saw it every time someone coughed and went to see the doctor. The fear that the virus had mutated again and a person wouldn’t have to die or get bitten to become a skinbag. Just another shitty problem to worry about among the ones we already had.

  “I saw the scouts this morning when I was dry-heaving over the wall. Did they say anything to Jack?”

  Michelle stopped digging and took off her neckerchief to wipe her face. “They went ten miles out and didn’t find anyone. Commander Canida said he didn’t want them going any further. They need to be able to beat the General and his crew back here if they spot them.”

  I put my hands on my waist and leaned backward, hearing and feeling the pops along my spine. I sighed and got back to work. The sun beat down from overhead; we still had plenty of hours left to work. We couldn’t waste any time of being prepared.

  Hours later, as the sun finally started to set in a fiery sky, we climbed out of our hole and helped the others put a tarp across the hole and scattered dirt, twigs, and leaves to cover it up. Not that the zombies would know the difference, but we might trap some of the humans as well. Bile rose in my throat, but I pushed it back down. We didn’t start this fight. But we damned well would finish it. They should have left us the hell alone.

  Every muscle in my body ached as I dragged myself to the showers set up in one of the old restaurants in the mall. We only had cold water, along with the last of the store-supply soap, but it washed the tiredness and grime away. Running my fingers through my hair, I could tell it was growing again as the wet ends touched my shoulders.

  Pulling on clean jeans and a T-shirt, I headed to drop off my clothes at the laundry and find some food. My stomach grumbled audibly to let me know it had been too long since yesterday’s dinner meal. I smiled. The thought of food didn’t have me running to the nearest garbage can to toss my cookies, so that was good.

  Spotting Michelle in the chow line, I rushed over and squeezed in beside her. “I’m starving.”

  “Of course you are. I told you earlier you can’t work all day with no food. Even a Power Bar would have been something.”

  I shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t do any good to eat breakfast if I’m just going to toss it off the rooftop. At least I’m fine by dinner.”

  I felt a bump behind me and turned to see Bobbie. “Maybe you should have Dr. Shannon give you another test.”

  “She already gave me a dozen tests. I’m not sick.” I put my fingers up in the Girl Scout sign. “I swear.”

  “Maybe she should have given you a pregnancy test.”

  My mouth dropped open and stayed that way. Pain shot across my heart. “That is just cruel, Bobbie Roberts,” I whispered, turning around.

  “You know, my husband bred racehorses,” Bobbie said to Michelle as I tried to tune her out. “Sometimes the mares just couldn’t breed. Everyone thought it was the mare’s fault, high-strung or whatever. Then they changed the stud. Before you knew it, the mare was pregnant.”

  Bobbie grabbed my shoulder and turned me to face her. She stared me straight in the eye. “Sometimes all you have to do is change the stud.”

  ♦♦♦

  Another predawn heaving over the rooftop ledge and I went to Dr. Shannon for a pregnancy test. Heart racing a million miles an hour, I’d done the required pee and waited. Taking the test stick, I sat on the rooftop ledge by my tent and waited. I’d lost count of how many months I’d sat just like this—always waiting, always disappointed. Upset to see the anger in Carl’s face. The unfair blame always placed firmly on me. The looks from his parents that screamed I was condemning the Gray lineage to extinction.

  Did I want it to say positive or not? A stupid grin broke out on my face at the idea of a baby. All those wasted fertility treatments. All those hopeless months of thinking, ‘maybe this time,’ only to get my period—yet again. But just thinking of Nick and Beth reminded me yet again of why this was an impossible time to be pregnant. But wasn’t any time an impossible time? If people waited for the ‘right’ time, there would be no babies at all.

  A gasp escaped me as the test stick formed a plus sign in the little window, the sun rose behind me, and the bright rays illuminated shambling figures on the dirt fields and asphalt road as far as my eyes could see.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “We’re not an army,” I said to Michelle. “Look at them. They have Jeeps, an armored school bus, and…and them.” The blood left my head, leaving me light-headed and more scared than I’d been since the night of escaping San Francisco. A sea of rancid dead flesh waiting to turn us into more of the same took my breath away. Thoughts of suicide were too tempting.

  They just stood there and swayed, their moans echoing off the buildings, sending shivers up my spine in spite of the heat. With the wind coming from the north, we were at least spared the reeking odor of the undead. That’s all we were spared, as the ‘general’ marched back and forth in front of his Jeep, strutting about as if he owned the world. I conceded that with his zomb’ army he could own what was left of the world we knew.

  A tall, Hispanic man stood next to the Jeep with what looked like a synthesizer in front of him. According to the guy, Jed, he must be the one controlling the creatures. The cries of babies and children grated on my nerves along with the incessant hum that set my fillings to vibrating.

  “Why can’t they leave us alone? There’s plenty for everyone. Wasn’t the flu enough? Wasn’t the rising of the dead enough? When does it stop?”

  Michelle grabbed my arms and shook me. “I know it’s the hormones talking. But shut up. If you aren’t strong how am I supposed to be?” She’d taken the pregnancy test out of my hand and tucked it in my pocket. My mind was still blank. I hadn’t had time to process whether it was good or bad news.

  “Congratulations, by the way.” She had the audacity to smile in the middle of all the chaos and certain death.

  “How can you say congratulations? Are you insane?”

  She handled me a rifle and my crossbow. “At least you have something to fight for now, don’t you?”

  My heart pounded in my chest, the beats thumping in my ears. I did have something to fig
ht for, something so precious it took my breath away. I had someone other than just myself to worry about now. I looked around the rooftop at the tents and people. We’d created something great here and they couldn’t have it. We’d destroy it ourselves before we let them have it.

  The hum built to a crescendo in my head. I gritted my teeth and whipped my head around. Like so much cannon fodder they marched forward, their dead feet stumbling in the dirt of the field. Dust clouds billowed as the horde moved, their numbers hidden, but their rising moans hinting at hundreds.

  Canida’s bellow echoed up and down the rooftop. “Don’t waste ammo. Let the traps do their work first. Only shoot if they get close to the walls.”

  They fell into the pits in large groups. A cheer went up on the rooftop. I stared as the general raised a gun to the Hispanic man. He pointed to the synthesizer repeatedly. The short man turned in a circle until he spotted another man and shot him through the heart.

  I gulped hot dusty air. He had to know that the dead didn’t stay dead. Proof was given as the shot man stood and started marching with the others. I raised my gun and sighted down the scope. The smirk on his face twitched on my last nerve. My finger touched the trigger. Shaking, I pulled it away. I’d never make the shot, it would just be a waste of a bullet, and staring at the horde, I knew we’d need every one. Our ammo was limited, the zombies weren’t.

  Explosions went off and filled the air with blood, guts, and dirt. The Claymore mines we’d placed as the next line of defense were doing their job, destroying the suicide bombers before they could destroy our walls. I’d laughed at the time at the stupid easy directions of Front toward Enemy. Seeing the carnage steel balls could cause wasn’t so laughable now, even if the enemy was undead. I dry heaved on nothing but bile.

  The stench of the zombies reached us as the undead reached the walls. Firing straight down made it easier to hit the head but the bodies started piling up and the skinbags just climbed over the pile like army ants trying to get to the fresh meat they must smell now that they were so damned close. Their moans ratcheted up as the pile grew and they inched closer.

  Running up and down the wall, I tried to spread out the kills. The men near me followed suit and dead bodies formed smaller and smaller piles. An explosion rocked the building as the zombie’s vests were detonated. Flesh and dirt flew into the air. Dust blocked my breathing and my vision. Screams filled the air. I’d never understood the insanity of going to war and I didn’t understand it now. Even saving humanity didn’t seem worth this—this abomination.

  Staring down at the wall, I saw blackened bricks. Further down the building, near the biggest pile, a giant hole gaped through the bricks. The undead spilled into the opening with live men following right behind. My heart stopped beating. Canida rushed to our side of the building.

  “Emily, hold this side with the Alpha group. Beta will fall back to the ground and take out the ones who make it inside.”

  I grabbed a few men and women and pointed to the field beyond. “Shoot anything that moves on two legs. Even a leg shot will slow them down.”

  Turning, my gaze followed Canida and his group as they sprinted down the wooden stairs. I whipped my head back around as guns started firing into the mass below. My bladder wanted to let go as my flight mentality tried to kick in.

  Metallic booms rang out as the zombies reached the steel cargo containers blocking the streets into the shopping center. I grabbed Michelle’s shoulders and screamed into her ear. “That’s it. Round up the women, children, and babies and get out of here. I’ll meet you at the retreat site.”

  “I’m not leaving without you,” she cried out. “You have to come too.” Her hands dug into my arm.

  “I’ll be right behind you. I’m not a martyr.” I touched my stomach. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

  Waiting until she gathered the women on the roof, I turned back to the front. The echo of the stampede down the stairs wafted over me as I sighted and shot with the rifle until it clicked empty. Throwing it down, I grabbed my crossbow over my shoulder and shot until my bolts were gone. Tossing it back, I turned to leave with the rest of the group. A light flashed off something in the field. I yanked up a gun and sighted with the scope. There it was again. A glint of something shone on one of the skinbags. At one time he had been a man. His jeans and blue T-shirt were encrusted with blood and gore. Green glimmered in his ear. The rifle dropped from my tingling hands. I pulled the forgotten binoculars to my eyes and zoomed in. A shamrock earring glimmered in its ear.

  “Seth!” My cry carried across the field.

  It was him. It wasn’t him. My mind splintered. I had to know. How could I leave without knowing for sure? Temporary silence filled the rooftop. Everyone but me was gone. Running to the rope ladder, I threw it down over the side of the building. I grabbed a handgun and checked it for bullets. One left. All I would need.

  My feet slipped as I rushed down the rope. I fell the last few rungs and stumbled to the ground. Only the ragged sound of my breathing filled my ears. The battle’s din was lost to the thumping heartbeat in my ears. I weaved and dodged the skinbags left in the field. Stumbling, I almost fell into a pit, jumping around the edge of it instead, dirt crumbling under my feet and undead hands reaching for me.

  I skidded to a stop in front of the thing that had been a man. The hum had him intent on reaching the walls. His gaze skittered over me as if I wasn’t there.

  The hair left on his head was the right color. The eyes behind the opaque shield were light enough to be hazel. The earring was Seth’s, I knew it. My fingers clawed at the suicide vest and ripped it off his chest. I threw it behind me. His shirt was in tatters, along with the flesh below. If he’d had a tattoo there, I’d never know now. I screamed his name, hoping against all logic that he’d notice me; as if some remnant of my lover still existed in this bag of flesh and bones before me.

  A massive explosion rocked the world and tore the silence to shreds. Ringing filled my ears. I stumbled with my equilibrium thrown off. Dust and debris filled the air, along with blood and gore. I turned and the shopping center was a pile of rubble. Bricks and body parts rained down across the dusty field. Something flew in the air toward me. I flung my hands up, but it hit my head. Pain, and then nothing as black emptiness filled my vision.

  ♦♦♦

  “Who is that warrior goddess?” Martin Peters said, watching the dark-haired woman shimmy down the rope ladder and run across the field of zombies. She’d screamed something and taken off like a shot toward a shambling undead. He held his breath as she’d ripped off the vest full of explosives and flung it away.

  A crack of sound filled the sky as the shopping center buildings imploded, flames shooting into the air, and the wave of superhot air throwing debris and dust into their midst. He turned and covered his face. Even with a thousand bombers he couldn’t have caused the explosion.

  “Damn them,” he yelled. Canida and his people had to have caused it. As the dust cleared, he had a straight view to what was left of the fortress. Piles of rubble replaced the buildings that would have housed him and his men this winter. A few undead shuffled around the debris, but most were buried under mounds of bricks and mortar. His men were the only live people he saw. He picked up a rock and threw it across the field.

  “Fall in,” he bellowed, counting as his men ran to the vehicle from their locations around the open space. “Ten,” he whispered, the blood leaving his head. Twelve if you counted him and Antonio. A few worthless doctors and Tanya still unconscious in the bus.

  He straightened his spine and stood tall. “Gather all the weapons you can find. Head shots to anyone you see, alive or undead. Then we’ll check out the shopping center. They couldn’t have gotten everything out. Fall out. We leave in one hour.”

  Antonio’s fingers moved over the keyboard and the undead scattered as far away as they could get. “We’re going to need fuel for the generator if you find it. We need this running more than weapons.”

&n
bsp; “Understood,” Martin muttered under his breath. If he only knew how the man did it, Antonio would be gone.

  Peters walked across the field toward where he’d seen the dark-haired woman. Sporadic shots rang out as his men zigzagged across the field. He stopped every few feet to grab a weapon or shoot the undead still crawling along the ground, trying to escape the humming sound.

  He dropped the guns in his arms as he approached the woman. She lay unmoving on the ground. A crossbow was strapped over her shoulder. He smiled. What a beautiful weapon. He wanted it. Nudging her with his foot, she lay there dead. He shrugged. A pity. What a waste. She had been even more beautiful than Tanya. And brave. A warrior. He would have liked to beat her into submission. Had her begging for a mercy he didn’t have.

  He reached for the crossbow and pulled, but it wouldn’t come. He grabbed a shoulder and rolled her over. A bruise was forming on her temple and blood leaked across her face. Finding a buckle on the strap for the crossbow, he squatted down and his fingers worked the buckle. A moan startled him. Her eyelids lifted and dark, deep eyes stared at him with intelligence.

  “What in the fuck are you doing?”

  He grinned, raised his fist, and struck her on the bruised temple. She slipped back into unconsciousness with a small whimper. He gathered her up and flung her limp body over his shoulder. He walked right past the pile of guns. Let his men get them. He’d found something better than any weapon. An insurance policy if Tanya didn’t wake up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  To die. To sleep. Ripped from us.

  To die. To Hell. Taken from us.

  Hell is to live.

  Heaven is a wisp, a vapor, a lie.

  — Seth Ripley

  Had it been two weeks, or three? Seth shook his head. He didn’t know anymore. The days blended one into another in a heated-oven feel of Indian summer. The calendar said October, the weather said mid-July. He grabbed the bandana off his neck and scrubbed the sweat from his face, before tucking it into his back pocket. Yearning for the bay breeze he missed, he pushed up his shirt sleeves and hacked at another zombie with his machete. He wiped the blood on its shirt and moved to the next, kicking the finally dead thing to the side.