Love in the Time of Zombies

by James, Jill

  Clearing the area each day sapped his energy, but it assured they got a peaceful rest at night. The sound of the girl fighting at his back had become reassuring in a short time.

  “I feel like a packrat,” she said between whacks of her own machete. “All we do is fight, gather food, and sleep.”

  “This sucks,” they intoned together, and then laughed.

  “Beats the alternative,” he grunted back, pulling the steel from a skull with a sickening sound.

  He kicked the body to the side. “I’ve got two more.”

  “I’ve got one,” Miranda added.

  Whack.

  “I’m done.”

  “Me, too,” Seth added. He wiped the blade clean and scanned the area. Calming his breathing, he sighed as silence filled the street. No moans. No shuffling of dead feet. The dead are now dead. About fucking time.

  He pulled the bandana out of his pocket and wrapped it around his face, covering his nose and mouth. The small market had intact glass windows, promising the possibility of canned goods. Also, promising the reek of decomposed fruits, vegetables, and meat.

  They stepped through the door with a jangle of a bell. Seth tensed and waited, Miranda silent at his back. Nothing. He breathed in and regretted it instantly as the miasma of months-old food filled the tiny bodega.

  Seth headed to the tiny aisle of canned soups and vegetables. Miranda passed on his right, headed for the soap and deodorant section. The undead might track them better when they smelled fresh, but he wasn’t ready to give up all comforts yet. Someday there would be no more soap unless someone out there knew the old way of making it. Until then he would enjoy it.

  “We should find a library,” he whispered in the darkened store. “Find some of those how-to books. Maybe a doomsday prepper wrote some.”

  Miranda giggled in the back of the store. “Who knew those guys had it right all along?”

  Seth sobered up quickly. They had had it right. Why had everyone, himself included, laughed at them? If it hadn’t been the Z flu, it would have been something else. Something always came along to cull the herd when it got too big. Always.

  “I think I saw a library the other day. Two streets over. To the west.” Miranda’s voice pulled him back from his dismal thoughts.

  “Let’s get this stuff back to the apartment. Maybe we’ll see the building from one of the windows.”

  Miranda strode to his side with a bulging burlap sack. He hefted his full knapsack to his back and they headed out, this time with his hand holding the bell from jangling. A quick scan of the street showed a few shamblers at least three blocks away. Nothing to worry about.

  A swift run and they were back to the apartment building they called home for the moment.

  ♦♦♦

  Miranda ran a hand over her buzzed head. Without taking his eyes from the binoculars, he jerked her hand down. “Leave it alone, it’s growing,” he grunted.

  “Fine,” she mumbled.

  “I can see a book deposit box on the corner on the next block. The library must be the one with the red tile roof.”

  Seth handed her the binoculars. She put them up to her eyes and stared in the direction he pointed. “Yep, says Public Library on it. Do you think it will be crowded? Would people have gone there in an emergency?”

  “Not sure,” he said as he grabbed his rifle and pulled the strap over his shoulder. “Probably not. Most evacuation centers in a disaster are large, open buildings. Gyms and armories.”

  She handed the binoculars back to Seth. His injured hand reached for them and missed, the strap finding nothing to catch on with his missing fingers. A muttered oath slipped out as he kicked them across the room.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He reached over and pulled her close. “You don’t have to be sorry. You saved my life, Ran.”

  She smiled at his new nickname for her. Her heart beat wildly as she gazed up at his hard, handsome face. Her hands reached and grabbed his face. Before she could think, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him. His lips were warm and soft and tender against hers. For a perfect second, he kissed her back.

  With a groan, he pulled away. “Don’t do that. You’re a child.”

  “General Peters didn’t think I was a child.” She knew she was hurt and pouting like a child, but she didn’t care. She had been there for Seth and he had been there for her. They belonged together. “I’m nineteen and a half.”

  He pushed her against the wall until her spine hit. Not hard, but not soft either.

  “If you have to add ‘and a half’ that just shows how young you are. Don’t ever compare me to that monster. He took everything. Your innocence. Your father. My mother. Emily.”

  The last name left his lips on a shaking stutter she felt through her body. “You don’t know she’s dead. Not really.”

  “I saw what they did to the hospital. No way did the Streets group survive that. They’re all gone and I’m sure Peters is lording it over Brentwood from the compound. No one is going to stop him. With his zombie army, he’ll take over the whole area. Hell, the whole state.”

  “We could go see,” she whispered, staring at the floor. Part of her really wanted them to go so Seth could see everyone was dead and he could move on. Another part of her wanted the Streets group to have won and to know for sure that Martin Peters was dead and gone.

  Seth stepped back and crossed his arms on his chest. “There is a saying about revenge, about digging two graves.”

  She’d heard that saying in English class. It didn’t matter. “So he just gets away with what he’s done? To everyone. To me.”

  He didn’t say a word. Just gathered his weapons and headed to the door. She followed, her head held high.

  I’m willing to die, if it means I take Peters with me.

  An intense ten minutes later, and they reached the library with limited killing. Seth used a machete and she used a small pick-axe she’d picked up at a hardware store. The door to the building stood open, with darkness as far as she could see inside.

  Turning, she checked out the street as Seth made his way through the entrance with her following. She held her breath as he snapped a Glo stick and rolled it across the floor. It came to rest against a pile of papers. Her heartbeat sped up at the comforting, familiar smell of books and the graham crackers of story time. Don’t let there be kids.

  An exhaled breath left her as silence filled the building. No moans, no shambling footsteps, no voices telling them to put their hands up. She took a chance. Although it seemed wrong for a library, she breathed in and called, “hello” in a loud voice.

  “Well, you couldn’t have come for food, since there isn’t any. And I’m pretty sure there isn’t anyone left to help you check out a book anymore.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. A young man walked toward them, his hands in the air. He looked to be about her age, but the calm tranquility on his face made him appear much younger. With the bleached blonde, spiky hair and his cargo shorts, his whole persona screamed surfer dude.

  “Hi, I’m Cody Taylor. You’re the first real people I’ve seen in weeks.”

  Seth held his hand up for silence. Moans echoed from the street. He strode over and slowly shut and locked the door. As he walked back over, she stared at Cody. The man looked like he was just hanging out in the ZA until the next killer wave hit.

  Seth came over with outstretched arms and herded them toward the back of the library. “Where have you been staying?” he asked while they walked down the aisle.

  The young man pointed to a staircase in the corner. “There’s a loft upstairs.”

  Seth waved the kid ahead and they followed.

  ♦♦♦

  He smiled as Miranda squealed like the young girl she still was in so many ways once she spied Cody Taylor’s collection of weapons nailed and hung on far wall. Seth’s smile broadened as well at the sight of several AR-15’s and even a rocket launcher.

  A few candles provided enough
light to see all the corners of the loft. The area was spacious but not over large. He moved to where the kids stood as Miranda asked about the weapons.

  “The armory is about a mile or so away on the west side of town. I hit there the first week. The soldiers were undead or gone. I had my car back then, but it’s too dangerous to drive around now unless you have a tank. The remnants follow you like a herd of cows at sunset.”

  “Remnants?” she asked.

  “That’s what I’ve been calling them. They’re just the remnants of who they were. Like, when we die and our soul leaves. Our bodies are just shells.”

  “Where’s the rest of your group?” Seth butted in, the subject too close to how his mother used to talk for comfort.

  “No group. I’ve been alone since it happened. Came home from Sac State as fast as I could.” His gaze shot around the library. “My mom was librarian here.”

  Seth stared in amazement as Miranda sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to her for the boy. “You didn’t find her?”

  “Ran,” he said, glaring at her.

  “What? Like it isn’t the first question everyone asks. Where were you? How did you get here? Where is your family?”

  Cody’s face brightened a little. “Like I said, I was at Sac State. Junior year. Majoring in economics.” He laughed. “Great choice, right? I should have joined Future Farmers of America or something. I drove here. The freeway most of the way, over the hills and through fields the rest of the time. Mom was it. All I had.”

  Miranda grabbed his hand. “You didn’t find her, did you?” she asked again in a whisper that Seth just caught.

  “No, I thought she would be here since she wasn’t at the house.” He swallowed with an audible click. “And I haven’t seen her outside…yet.”

  “And you guys?”

  Seth winced at the question. He still had nightmares from the hospital. He rubbed where his fingers should be. Constant rubbing seemed to be toughening the area up. Every day they were a little less sensitive to touch.

  Miranda thankfully piped up first. “I lived out in Knightsen.”

  At his puzzled look, she added, “In the boonies, out on the Delta.”

  “Did you live there with your family? You know, after.”

  She squared her shoulders and Seth took a step forward but Cody seemed to be doing okay with the girl. The young man grabbed both her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “No problem,” she said with the fakest smile Seth had ever seen on her. “We lived in a compound for a while until the leader came here to Concord to attack the hospital a few weeks ago.”

  “I think I remember that,” Cody said. “I heard a bunch of vehicles and I was going to run outside but the moans of the remnants filled the streets. I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t hear a bunch of shooting and yelling. The whole town was quiet except for ‘them.’”

  “They were leading the zombies. They made them into an army.”

  “No fucking way,” he added, and then turned to Seth. “What about your family, dude?”

  “My mother was at the hospital,” he intoned and turned away, rubbing where his fingers should be. He pulled his hand away when he saw he was doing it again. Time to forget and move on.

  “So, um. Tell me about this zomb army thing,” Cody piped up too loud.

  Seth turned away as Miranda explained the impossible. His mind traveled to Brentwood and Emily. He wanted to pray it had been fast, but praying wasn’t something he turned to anymore. The man upstairs wasn’t at home. And his mother wasn’t here to remind him.

  Because, he’d killed her.

  Okay, maybe the zombies killed her, but he’d finished the job.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Blood dripped from my wrists as I pulled at the handcuffs for what seemed the millionth time. It felt like the metal was rubbing on my bones. But it was just another pain to add to the list. I stared at my stomach and whispered a thank-you to God there was no pain there. The baby inside me might only be a collection of cells so far, but it contained Seth and I hoped that meant God was watching over him or her.

  “That will be all, Captain Gomez,” a voice intoned outside the room. My skin crawled as the man who called himself General entered the room and shut the door behind him without a sound.

  He paced back and forth in front of my outstretched feet. “I hate to keep calling you woman. It sounds so impersonal. And bitch sounds rude for love-making.”

  I shuddered and my limbs shook as adrenaline flooded my system. It took all I had to keep my voice calm and low. “What you are thinking of doing wouldn’t be love-making. Don’t try to convince yourself that you’d be doing anything other than raping me.”

  Faster than I expected, he straddled my hips and gripped my face in his hands. “I have not raped you…yet.”

  His hand slipped from my face and grabbed my breast hard. Nothing would be better than vomiting on him right then, but for the first time this week my stomach wasn’t cooperating. His other hand seized my hair and pulled my head back. His wet lips traveled down my neck and my stomach roiled. His fingers tangled in my necklace and he pulled. It scratched my neck as he ripped it off and flung it away.

  “You are a hot bitch. But I bet you know that. Were you Canida’s? That bastard thought he could have it all—the fortress, the weapons, the women.”

  It hurt to think of Canida and the rest of the people of The Streets. I didn’t know how many had survived. I’d only seen the dead when General Peters dragged us through the rubble that was all that was left of the so-called fortress. We’d stumbled upon my friend, Bobbie, her body destroyed by the blast she’d caused, the detonator grasped in her dead hand.

  A whimper broke from my throat and a shudder ran down my body. Peters must have thought it was passion because he twisted my breast until I thought he meant to tear it off. He ground his pelvis to mine and I wanted to die.

  “Why don’t you go fuck your whore?”

  He jumped up like a cattle prod zapped his groin. “What did you say?”

  I stared him straight in the eye. “I’ve heard the men talking about your slut. She’s in a coma. Guess that makes it easier for you.”

  A flash of flesh tone was all I saw before his backhand connected with my cheek. Lights exploded in my head. I opened my eyes to see his leg pulled back to kick me. Tucking myself into a tight ball, I prayed that I could protect the life inside me.

  “General Peters,” a voice called out as the one I thought was Captain Gomez opened the door and stepped inside. “An old man is at the perimeter who wants to barter some food and some women.”

  “Well,” he said, waving the other man out the door. “Let’s see what he has that we can steal.”

  He turned to me and sank his fingers into my chin. “I’ll be back tonight and you’ll find out what it means to be my whore.”

  He stepped back and I tried to kick him, but he just moved out of my reach and laughed at my attempts. His cackles echoed as he shut the door and I heard the lock turn.

  Yanking on the handcuffs, I chastised myself. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You should have sweet talked him, Emily. It might have gotten the handcuffs off. Then you could have escaped, you idiot.”

  My bitter laugh startled me. How far I’d come from a pampered San Francisco society wife to even consider giving myself to some sadistic asshole to get away. I shook my head. What a world. Rape or zombies. Not a great choice, but I’d still take my chances with the undead over Peters.

  My eyelids started drooping as the sun left the gap high on the broken wall. From the early-morning tension of taking the pregnancy test, to the exhaustion of the battle, to the terror of my capture, this had been the longest day of my life. Even my grumbling stomach demanding food wasn’t enough to keep me awake. I slept off and on as my weight pulled on my arms and the handcuffs ripped at my wrists. Blood trickled down my arms. Connected to the wall, they’d become dead weight hours ago, all the feeling drained away in my current position. />
  A key turned in the lock and I awoke in an instant. I kept my eyelids closed as the door opened and quietly shut again. A citrus scent tickled my nose and I cracked an eyelid enough to see a man standing in front of me with a small lantern. He was too tall to be the Napoleon Complex-infected Martin Peters. Squatting in front of my legs, the man whispered, “Are you awake?”

  Whatever he wanted, it wasn’t as if I could fight him. Opening my eyes, I saw the Hispanic man, the one Peters called Captain Gomez. He put a finger to his lips and held up a small silver handcuff key as he sat the lantern on the floor.

  The surprise must have shown on my face because he smiled. He reached and a couple of clicks announced my arms were free. I pulled them down and he grabbed the cuffs and tossed them on the bed.

  “Here, sit on the cot,” he whispered as he pulled me up and I fell to the hard surface. “Your arms have been up there for a while, so it is really going to hurt when they come back to life. Please be quiet or we both die. I meant to get you out earlier with the doctors, but I had to wait for the guards to be occupied.”

  Biting my lip, I groaned as quiet as possible when the feeling did come back. A million paper cuts on the surface of my arms. Each only so painful, but unbearable when put all together. Tears slid down my cheeks.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a medicine tube I assumed was ointment and some gauze bandages. “This may sting a little,” he spoke softly as he rubbed the ointment on my wrists and bound them with the bandages, his touch as gentle as a mother’s. “Fresh blood will attract the undead.”