Tears flooded my eyes. I allowed myself a moment of grief and then pulling myself together the best I could, I went inside. After all, “it’s only a husk.” She had said it. And I had heard it. I had not imagined it. I had heard my grandmother’s voice.
Chapter 8
For the time being, there was still hot water and electricity. I took a long shower. Wrapping myself in a thick white robe, I poured myself a large glass of vodka. The sun had set. I flipped on the small living room lamp and sat down on the floor. My cell had died—no signal—but the old mantel clock showed it was nearly 11:00pm. The autumn air had a hint of chill in it. I lit a small fire.
I knew I should eat, but I couldn’t get myself to budge. I sat, staring at the fireplace. I tried to process everything, but I felt completely overwhelmed. How had this happened? What were we going to do? My grandma was gone.
The radio in Grandma’s room still reported contamination and quarantine. After a while, I realized it was the same news report I’d heard that very morning—it was a looped recording. I tried the T.V. but there was only static.
It must have been sometime after midnight, and two glasses of vodka later, when I saw headlights shine through the small cracks between the boards on the picture window. I went outside to see a truck sitting on the other side of the gate.
I grabbed a gun. “Who’s there?” I called, the headlights blinding me.
At first there was silence. The driver cut the lights and engine. “It’s Ian.”
My heart leapt to my throat. I grabbed the flashlight, slid on a pair of slippers, and went to the gate.
“It’s late,” I said.
His face looked haggard in the glow of the flashlight.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just . . . can I come in?”
I unbolted the gate. I propped it a little, letting him in, then locked it again. Wordlessly, we went into the house. Once inside, I motioned him to sit in the living room while I went to the kitchen to pour him a drink.
“God, Layla, when did you get the house all boarded up?”
“Grandma,” I replied.
“Jamie told me about her. I’m really sorry.”
I handed him a drink and sat down on the couch beside him. He looked handsome but tired. His straw-colored hair fell over his blue eyes. He had dirt smudged on his chin and arms. His tribal tattoo showed from under his torn and stained white t-shirt. I wondered if anyone else knew the tattoo’s meaning.
“I’m a mess,” he said.
“That’s the last thing to worry about.”
“But you smell so clean, so nice,” he whispered.
“Well, I figured I should take a hot shower while I still had a chance.”
He smiled and then there was awkward silence. Every fiber in my being wanted to pull him into an embrace, to hug him, to smell him, to feel his chest pressed against my body, but I reminded myself his wife had died only hours before.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Layla . . . I . . . When it all started to go down, I tried to keep my family safe, but I kept thinking, ‘Where is Layla? Is Layla alright?’ I was praying to God you were not still in D. C. Did you see? They rained missiles down on that place. Blew it up. It was one of the last things I saw on cable. I thought I saw your car the other day so I hoped. When Jamie opened the door today, and I saw you standing there, like some kind of Amazon angel, I couldn’t believe it. At that moment Kristie was dying, but you were alive. I felt happy. I am so ashamed. I felt so happy.”
“I seriously hope you didn’t come here just to confess,” I said. Part of me was elated, but the other half of me was disgusted.
“No. I just wanted to see you. I wanted to tell you how I felt. I’m so happy you’re fine. You’re alive. And you’re here. I just, Layla, you know I never stopped loving you,” he said and then pulled me toward him. Before I knew it, we had fallen into a deep kiss.
How much I had missed him. Every muscle in my body melted. My mind, swimming in a vodka haze, let go of guilt. I relaxed into his embrace. My hands greedily roved over his shoulders, neck, and under his shirt to touch his skin.
Untying my belt, he pushed the robe open. I was naked underneath. He kissed my neck and shoulders, his hands gently stroking my breasts. I shimmied out of the robe and pulled his shirt over his head. I pulled him against me, his bare skin against mine. We lay back on the couch. I could feel him, hard, inside his jeans. I took his hand to guide it between my legs, but when my fingers interlaced with his, I felt his wedding ring. Shame washed over me. I opened my eyes. I pulled myself upright and slid my robe back on.
“Layla?”
I stood up, picked his shirt back up, and threw it at him.
“Get out,” I said.
“Layla? What happened?”
“You can’t solve every complex feeling you have by fucking someone. Get out. Go home and mourn your wife like a real man would,” I said and opened the door.
Shame-faced, he pulled his shirt on and went outside. He stopped on the porch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here for that. I just came to say I am so glad you’re alive,” he said and walked away.
I slammed the door behind him. Outside, the metal gate opened and shut. A moment later the truck started and the headlights disappeared back down the road. I slid down the door to the floor and put my head on my knees. Then there was a strange buzzing sound, like the sound you hear during a bad storm, followed by a pop. The lights and all the appliances went out.
“Dammit,” I whispered.
The fire had burned down to a bank of embers. I felt around the kitchen table for the candles. Grandma had left a box of them sitting there. Striking a match, I lit a candle and turned toward the living room.
I nearly screamed. My grandmother was sitting in her favorite chair in front of the fireplace doing crochet. Like the Native American chief, I saw my grandmother and saw through her all at once. Don’t forget to lock the gate, she said without looking up.
I turned toward the door, considering her words, then turned back. When I did, she was gone, but her sewing was sitting on the chair, and I couldn’t remember if it had been there all along or not.
Taking the flashlight and my shashka, I went outside. I could hear a strange clang, clang, clang noise as I walked toward the gate. At the gate was a young woman whose face was so badly torn apart I couldn’t recognize her. Her entire nose had been torn off, revealing fleshy pulp inside. She must have followed Ian’s truck up the road. She was pushing at the gate, biting and snapping when she saw me.
I kept my flashlight on her and got close. We stood across from one another locked in a stare. I wondered about “brain activity.” Clearly, the undead hungered, but did they think? In that same moment, I also realized she had a bright red ribbon in her hair.
I felt confused and frustrated. “Stop,” I commanded and for a moment she was still. But then she snapped and snarled again.
I sighed. I lifted the sword and thrust it through her skull. She fell like a bag of bones. I locked the gate and headed inside, barring the door behind me. This time I went directly to bed. While my grandmother lived on in the spirit, the world was now filled with the undead, and I’d had enough fighting the undead for one day.
Chapter 9
I was sitting on the front porch drinking fire-brewed coffee when Jamie pulled up in my SUV. I swished the truly awful coffee around in my mouth. It was bitter and laced with grounds. I dumped the remaining liquid over the side of the porch and went to let Jamie in.
“Power out here too?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’d offer you some coffee, I made it over the fireplace, but I think you’d never forgive me. Looks like Grandma forgot to stock up on instant.”
“Well, maybe she wanted you learn how to cook.”
“Nothing like the apocalypse to force us to learn new skills.”
We both laughed.
“You ready?”
I was already dressed, my weapons reloade
d. I’d added throwing daggers to my belt and had slid the poyasni into my boots. I patted the shashka. “You bet.”
Closing up everything behind us, we headed down Fox Hollow Road.
“So what’s the plan?” Jamie asked.
“I have an idea, but we need the police cruiser. Do you think that will be a problem?”
Jamie shook his head. “Some of the guys have already been in the Sheriff’s Office to clear out the guns. The car is still sitting there.”
“Ok, first we get the car.”
We drove across town to the Sheriff’s Office. It was a small building that sat close to the river. The cruiser was parked outside. We exited carefully, keeping an eye out for the undead. The door to the office was open. When we reached the doorway we could hear grunting coming from inside.
“I thought this place was clear,” I whispered.
“It was.”
We couldn’t see anyone when we first entered. Ducking low, we crept around the front desk. There was an old man in the break room. He was rocking back and forth; his clothes were ragged, and one arm was clearly dislocated.
Jamie stood, raising his gun, but I stopped him. I patted my throwing daggers. Careful to get into position, I unsheathed one dagger and, sending it over hand, launched it through the air. It hit him squarely in the back of the head. He fell with a thump.
“I think you’re on steroids,” Jamie said with a grin.
I shook my head. “No, I just practice and work out a lot.”
“So I see,” Jamie replied, playfully eyeing me over.
“I’ll get the knife. Grab the keys?”
Jamie nodded and headed toward the desk.
I headed toward the break room to retrieve my knife. The body of the old man lay still on the floor. When I turned the corner, however, I got jumped. An enormous undead man had been standing in a blind-spot. We’d missed him. When I walked in, he attacked. Seconds later he slammed me to the floor. I hit the ground hard. “James!” I screamed.
The massive undead man lay sideways on top of me. He snapped at me, his mouth a mess of mangled flesh and bloody saliva. I struggled to keep him from making contact with my skin. I tried to push him off but he was too heavy.
Jamie was there the next second and kicked the man off of me. The undead man fell to the floor and with one shot, Jamie took him out.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” I whispered, frantically pulling off my shirt and gloves. Had his flesh touched mine?
“Pants too,” Jamie said in a rush and helped me unbuckle my belt which fell to the ground. Seconds later I stood in the middle of the Sheriff’s office, completely naked save my bra and underwear, my entire body shaking.
“Did it touch your skin? Did it get any saliva on you?”
I shook my head. “No, no, I don’t think so.
Jamie grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the sink where we washed down my arms and legs with the icy cold water. I scrubbed my arms while Jamie scrubbed my legs and waist. Something made my stomach lurch with an emotion far different than fear as I felt Jamie’s wet hands sliding gently around my body. My eyes fluttered closed.
“No signs of contamination. Skin looks good,” Jamie said, eyeing me over. “Oh my god, Layla.”
I stood shaking. Too many emotions overwhelmed me.
“I’ll go to the back and get you something to put on,” he said.
Shivering, I waited. Minutes later he returned with a standard issue police uniform, fingerless leather gloves, and a brown leather jacket. I pulled the clothes on and, still shaking, went back out front.
“Christ, my heart is still beating in my throat,” Jamie whispered.
I nodded. “I’m okay. We can go.”
“You sure?”
I nodded.
Jamie grabbed the keys, and we headed toward the car.
“Go to the end of Main Street, and we’ll start from there,” I said, trying to refocus. “We’ll need to use the PA speaker system, but we’re bound to attract company.”
Jamie set two guns on the seat beside him. “We’re good.”
He drove the police cruiser toward the end of town, and we made the turn back. He slowed the car. I grabbed the CB and flipped the speaker system on.
“Test. Hamletville citizens, test,” I said into the speaker as Jamie adjusted the volume. “Are you alive inside? Hang a white cloth out a window if you are alive. Hang a red cloth if you are injured. Hang black if there are undead inside with you,” I projected.
“Assuming their clothes aren’t in the wash,” Jamie said.
Finally relaxing, I punched him playfully on the shoulder.
And so we began to make our passes, street by street, repeating the message. It was not long until the aimless undead were drawn by the sound of my voice. When we hit Briar Street we found ourselves facing a small horde of ten or so. At the front I recognized Paul Lacombe, the town’s mailman. My grandma used to leave a tin of cookies in the mailbox for him every year at Christmas time. With regret, we jumped out of the police car and took Paul and the others out. We cruised up and down the street, announcing all morning. By noon or so, we had hit every street. We then stopped by the community center and rang the fire alarm twice. After, we headed toward the elementary school.
We found a dozen people already assembled inside the gym. Tom and Jeff were standing guard at the door. Those inside had been busy stocking the place with supplies.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Mrs. Finch said when she saw us. “We have a minor problem,” she added and pulled us to the side. “Jamie, I didn’t want to tell Tom, but his little niece, Karie, has gone bad. We locked her in Mrs. White’s classroom. I just didn’t know how Tom would take it. He’s lost everyone else. I think he was holding out hope for her. Can you please take care of her?” Mrs. Finch told us.
I looked at Jamie and shook my head. “No, he should know.”
Jamie looked back and forth from Mrs. Finch to myself and then to Tom. “It may break him. That guy is mush on the inside.”
“Should we let him have false hope while one of us executes his niece?”
“Oh Jamie, just do it,” Mrs. Finch said, ignoring me.
I shook my head. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Layla,” Mrs. Finch grumbled.
“He should decide, not us,” I replied and went to Tom.
Mrs. Finch was clearly angry but said nothing. She went back to work, slamming boxes from one table onto another. I approached Tom carefully.
“Hey Tom, can you come with me? Jamie will take your post for a minute,” I said, taking hold of Tom’s arm.
“Well, good morning, Layla,” Jeff said with a raunchy smile. “Hey, wasn’t that Ian’s truck I saw going up Fox Hollow Road last night?”
I glared at him.
Jamie raised a questioning eyebrow but said nothing.
I pulled Tom away.
“What is it?” Tom asked as we passed through the gym and into the classroom hallway.
“You heard my grandma got sick?” I asked him.
“Yeah, someone mentioned it. Sorry.”
“I had to put her down myself. I almost couldn’t do it. But you know my grandma, always on about the spirits. I think I heard her tell me to kill her. Can you believe that? I heard her in my head. She said “kill me.” So I did. It was the worst moment of my life.” There was only minor risk in telling him. Before his wedding, Tom had come to see Grandma. Shortly thereafter he called off the wedding. I often wondered what Grandma had seen that so convinced him.
“I don’t know what to say,” Tom said. He gazed down at me with a confused look on his face.
We were standing outside Mrs. White’s classroom door.
“They tell me your niece, Karie, is inside,” I said, motioning to the door. “I can handle it if you want, but I thought it should be your decision.”
Tom inhaled sharply, his hand covering his mouth.
Drawn by the noise, Karie appeared on the other side of the door. Her face lo
oked almost like a China doll: her pale white skin was surrounded by a halo of black hair. But there was no mistaking those undead eyes and the frothy drool coming from her mouth.
Tom stared at her, wiping the tears from his eyes. He took a deep breath and then backed up to the wall. He loaded his gun and aimed toward the door.
I took a few steps away to avoid the spray of glass. I turned my back.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I heard him whisper.
Boom. The sound of the shot-gun echoed in the hallway and made my ears ring. I heard the little body hit the floor with a thud.
Tom slid down the wall and put his head on his knees. He wept. “I was there when she was born. They put that newborn baby in my hands. I was the one who showed her to my sister,” he moaned through tears.
I sat beside him, my arm around his back, my head leaning on his shoulder. What could I say? Despair was all around us. It was too much to bear if you let it in. The grief was palpable. We sat there for a long time listening to the sound of occasional gunfire outside the school. After a while, Jamie appeared.
“Everyone is ready,” he said.
I nodded and rose.
Standing up, Tom wiped his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, hugging me, and then he headed back to the gym. Jamie and I followed him.
“You were right,” Jamie whispered as he cast a glance toward Tom. We headed back toward the gym, but before we entered, Jamie stopped. He took my hand and looked carefully at me. “Layla, was Ian at your place last night?”
I gave Jamie’s hand a squeeze. It was not what Jamie was thinking, but I was not really sure what had happened between Ian and me. I also wasn’t sure why the look on Jamie’s face made me feel so embarrassed. Jamie and I had always been friends—he was Ian’s brother after all—but suddenly I felt worried about what he thought of me. In the end, I said nothing but walked hand-in-hand with Jamie into the gym.
The Harvesting Page 5
