Dying to Live

by Roxy De Winter

  The others looked on as the family aired their grief. It was difficult to watch and they wanted to be able to help, but this had to be left to the family themselves.

  “Mom!” Sam said, horrified. Tears stung his eyes. “You want to kill Lanie?”

  “That isn’t Lanie anymore! That isn’t my daughter or your sister! I want her to be able to rest! I want mercy for her!” Fiona choked out in a tearful rage.

  “And I want her back,” Zack breathed, tears still slipping over his cheeks.

  Sam looked over at Xin. “You’re a doctor.”

  Xin looked bewildered, her own loss still etched onto her face. “Yes... But--”

  “You can fix her. You know how to make the cure. You have everything that you need, that’s what you said.” Sam’s face was earnest and desperate. “Please, you can help her.”

  “But it’s...” She looked at Frank, then Lucy, then Pete. “I don’t know...”

  “That’s what the whole damn thing was about, isn’t it? Getting the stupid computer so you could look at those files and make the cure!” Sam glared. “Lanie wouldn’t have even been up there if mom and dad hadn’t gone with you! They could have been here when Gran killed herself!” With that he ran out of steam and began to cry.

  “What?” Zack asked, his head jerking up. “Mom? Where is she?”

  Sam didn’t speak, he just pointed over at the RV. With that Zack half strode and half jogged over to the RV and disappeared inside it. A few moments later a fresh howl tore through the air.

  Joanne couldn’t bear to stay outside and listen to them talk about death any longer.

  “Evan?” She asked. Her voice was thick as she finally looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen but she pushed herself to her feet. “Where is he?”

  “He’s inside with Harry,” Pete told her. Joanne wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. After composing herself, she trudged over to the shack and headed inside to find the boy she had promised to care for in her sister’s final moments.

  Zack staggered back off of the RV, holding the door frame to steady himself. “She’s really gone,” he said.

  “Zack, Fiona, Sam, I’m sorry for your loss,” Frank began bravely. “We all had an instant liking for your family and I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now. We do have a difficult situation here, though.” He was trying very hard to be tactful, a skill that was not natural to him. “It’s getting late now and we’ll support whatever you want to do, but we need to figure out what we’re going to do with Lanie and how to dispose of Annette’s body.”

  “Frank means that we will be more than willing to help you bury her, if that is what you want,” Lucy rushed to smooth out the last part of what he had said.

  “And whatever you decide regarding Lanie, we will support, so long as everyone is safe,” Pete added.

  Zack looked at Fiona, it was a long time before she finally raised her head to meet his eyes.

  “Zack, our daughter shouldn’t have to suffer as one of those things. She wouldn’t want to be a danger to us and quite frankly, I’d rather she was just dead than brought back and never the same,” Fiona reasoned.

  Zack looked at the others. “Please, Xin. Be honest. What are the chances that we can make her right again?”

  Pete was still stood behind Xin, he took her hand and squeezed it. She took strength from the gesture.

  “When we were driving earlier I was contemplating why the... dead, seem to be deteriorating. It seems likely to me that they are decaying like any other dead body. If that is the case, then if there is any kind of a cure for this it will only work if they are given it soon after infection, before the body is too badly affected by death. But I don’t know. I think that even if I’m wrong and they aren’t decaying, the chances of her being normal afterwards are slim. She would have survived death and who knows what that would make her.”

  “But what if we wanted to try it anyway? How long would it take to make the cure?” He asked. Ploughing on optimistically, even though he already knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it.

  “Months, at least,” she told him simply.

  “We have to help Lanie find peace,” Fiona insisted. The sun was beginning to set and the sky seemed to have an orange tinge to it when Zack turned his face up to look at it. He silently begged for an answer. Moments passed and nothing came, nobody spoke and he would have to decide. He sighed.

  “Think of Evan,” Fiona urged him. “That’s his mother for Christ sake, do you want to explain to him why she’s different?”

  “I said it would be me that did it if it came to that,” Zack succumbed, looking at Pete. Pete nodded his acknowledgement.

  “No, dad!” Sam had been watching in horror. “It’s still Lanie, Please!”

  “Fiona, I don’t want you or Sam here when it happens. Don’t argue,” He said before she could, “If we do it, we do it my way. You go inside with Sam and sit with Joanne and the kids. You focus on them. These people have said they will help, we will bury her and my mother when it’s done,” Zack said firmly. “We’ll go back and get Kenco and Dr Yuan too.”

  Fiona knew better than to argue with Zack when his mind was made up. So instead she walked over to Sam, placed her arm around his shoulders and guided him, still protesting weakly through his sobs, to join Joanne and the children.

  Zack held it together until they had gone and then began to cry again. Lucy’s jaw set, her lip trembling slightly as she tried to hold in her own tears. She watched the man who was about to have to kill his own dead daughter and wandered slowly over to him. She placed a hand on his arm.

  “Are you sure you can do this?” She asked him.

  He blinked down at her. “I have to, don’t I?”

  “Well...” She said, hoping he would understand the implication.

  “No. I’m not letting anyone else do it,” he sighed. “Let me get my gun.” Zack’s head was spinning, the gravity of killing his daughter settled upon his shoulders. It didn’t feel like a weight upon him as things so often are described. He thought that it felt more like a noose around his neck that would constrict on him as soon as he followed through with his intentions. He retrieved the shotgun from the car where he had left it and headed back to the group.

  “We’re going to have to open the doors and let her out. We may need the van again and seeing as we aren’t fully sure of how the infection spreads, it’s not wise to contaminate it,” Xin said with an apologetic look. She couldn’t help the bluntness of her statement; she was tired and grieving herself.

  “I think you should go inside too, girls. Take Frank in and check on his ankle,” Pete said hesitantly. “Xin, you’re tired and upset. Frank, you’re ankle is in no fit state for you to insist on staying and helping, and Lucy, the others need you. There are kids in there and everyone is going to need to look after each other. You could send Harry out to help us, though.”

  “I’m fine, I can help,” Frank protested.

  “No, you can’t,” Lucy said sternly. “You need to rest and put ice on your leg.”

  “She’s right,” Pete said, in a tone that made it clear that this word was final.

  Xin was not going to argue with what he had said. Frank was secretly hiding a lot of pain and his ankle felt at least twice its usual size inside his boot. Lucy didn’t want to watch more bloodshed and was happy to take charge in caring for the others that needed it. So, the three followed in the steps of Fiona and Sam. Lucy assisted Frank into the quiet and mournful atmosphere of the cabin while Xin held the door. She looked back at Pete.

  “Bao...” Her throat clicked dryly. “Please just... handle him with dignity?”

  “Of course,” Pete nodded gravely.

  As Pete had requested, Lucy sent Harry out to join them. When the door swung open and he stepped out, still in his uniform, he was carrying two shovels that Lucy had probably retrieved from the small stock of maintenance supplies out back.

  “You don’t mind helping I trust?” Pete asked him.


  “Not at all,” Harry told him, as he rested the shovels in the RV’s doorway. “Zack, I’m really sorry buddy.” he said turning to face him.

  “Thanks. I guess I know how you felt now, huh?” He said, with a humourless grunt of laughter.

  “Don’t say that. This is different,” Harry said.

  “Let’s just get it done,” Zack said grimly. He adjusted his grip on the gun and led the way to the back of the van.

  “Me and Harry will open a door each and then step back so you can wait until she’s out, and... Well. Just try and make it quick. Don’t think too much about it otherwise you might never do it, and don’t give her the chance to attack,” Pete told him gently.

  Harry and Pete exchanged a nod and positioned themselves.

  “Ready?” Harry asked.

  “As I’ll ever be, I guess,” Zack said and drew his gun up.

  “Okay then,” Harry said and turned to Pete. “Now.”

  On his command, the two men swung open the back of the van. The sun was now low in the sky and cast shadows inside. They couldn’t see her, they would only hear her quiet grunt of surprise as the light filtered in. Harry and Pete backed away, eager to be safe from the gunshot and the girl who was now bumping her way to the open doors. When she got to the opening and saw Zack waiting a few paces away, Lanie snarled. She didn’t acknowledge the drop from the van to the ground, and instead attempted to pounce at her father. She hit the ground like a bag of stones and groaned. Lanie lifted her head and focused again on her father. This motivated her to try and regain her feet. After a few trips and stumbles she got herself upright and seemed to smile with satisfaction. Zack took a few steps backwards and whimpered a little, the gun shaking in his hands.

  “Oh, Lanie,” he sobbed and lowered the gun a touch.

  A sickeningly wet and gargling noise erupted from Lanie, coming from the very back of her throat as she eyed him. Like an infant just learning to walk, she took one stiff step towards him. When he didn’t move she took another.

  “Zack, what are you waiting for? Do it, quickly!” Pete said urgently.

  “I can’t!” Zack spluttered. Lanie cocked her head at him and her nose wrinkled as she exposed her teeth. It was a snarl that should never have been able to look so terrifying on such a young and pretty girl.

  “You have to do it!” Pete urged him. “Because you love her,” He reminded Zack.

  It seemed to help; Zack lifted the gun again and took a step forward to meet Lanie. When the double barrels came to rest in the soft skin under her chin, Zack could watch no more.

  “I’m sorry,” He sobbed. The finger he held on the trigger twitched and hesitated but he squeezed and let out the shot. Zack didn’t see the top of her head burst open, or the spray of blood that rained down shortly after it. However, despite his ears ringing from the explosion, he thought that he heard her last intake of breath and the scuffle of pebbles and dirt as she dropped to the ground.

  14.

  ‘Well, I’s Doug Willis. And yes, I saw the news reports where they made out like I was some old crack pot. Doug ain’t no fool, though. No sirree. I knew it, did’n I? That Area 51 place, it was the cause of it all, was’n it? The folks on that there radio did’n say it out and out, but Doug knows it. People think that when you live out in the sticks you’re just some redneck idiot, but ol’ Doug went to school. Yes I did. Studied hard as anyone else before I inherited my old man’s circus. Ran that alright too, nice little earner. O’course that was until they go’n banned the animals. If anyone survives the end of the world I e’spect there’ll be circuses what show off those dead people who’s still alive, won’t be nobody to stop it either. Ol’ Doug’s pissed off about it all either which way, damn apocalypse could’a waited a week or so. Won the god damned lottery, did’n I? Not go’n get my winnings now though, am I? Stuck on this little rat piss, shit smelled ranch my dear ol’ pop left me. Tha’s why I was wanting to go off and find those dang idiots with their broadcast. Doug can show them a thing’a two, show ‘em why they should keep their science-meddling away from the good ‘Merican folk.’

  Doug’s ‘ranch’ could scarcely be called a ranch. The small wooden structure that he actually inhabited had seen better days to say the least. It was grotty and ill kept; with no woman to clean and tidy for him it simply didn’t get done. The barns on his land were barely more than collapsing piles of firewood. His land had long since died off and Doug had no interest in farming in the days of cable television and fast food.

  Doug sat and watched his cracked TV set, chuntering to himself about the ‘dang idiots’ and ‘poor bastards’ that were interviewed. He’d been doing this for days since the initial outbreak. When the evacuation had seen a checkpoint set up just down the road from his little ranch, in the middle of nowhere, Doug was outraged. He liked it out here, without the outside world poking around his business. When the checkpoint went up he felt it was a great invasion of his privacy. He had hauled his fat ass out of the tattered, grimy armchair and intended to give the first person who would listen a piece of his mind. His long, thinning, grey hair was greasy; his vest had stopped being white a long time ago and was covered in stains that did not bear thinking about. His elasticated brown pants were big enough to cover his vast backside but he let them ride down and sag, exposing greying underpants. With age his face had sagged and great jowls drooped at the sides of it. The skin that had once been muscle now hung down from his arms, it mutated the tattoos that had turned blue and blotchy long ago. None of this bothered Doug in the slightest. With half a cigarette hung smoking from his lip, he had stalked out of his house and stepped right into the cameras and reporters that were in his front yard.

  After his interview he’d gone on to yell at all the cars that were waiting to get through, telling them all that they were ‘chicken shit pussies’. He even yelled into a car with a family in it, telling the kids in the back that ‘momma and poppa go’n get you babes killed, running away like spooked rabbits.’ After that he had been escorted home by two police men. When he had been bundled inside, he had headed indignantly into the shabby room that he called his office, to dig out his old CB radio set up. That night he had heard the broadcast. In the following days, when his microwave dinners and cold beers ran out, he decided that was the time to fill up his rusty old pickup truck and go and investigate the base.

  As Doug drove closer and closer to town, he was spotting more and more abandoned cars. When he came across one with a great splatter of blood up the bonnet, he chuckled to himself.

  “Town folks, can’t even drive right. If Doug sees some mutt in the road, he got sense enough to swerve and not dent up his dang truck.”

  The sun was directly above him in the midday sky, and his crappy air vents were only managing small bursts and puffs of cool air through the clogs of dirt and years of nicotine grime. He had the windows rolled down as far as they’d go and kept mopping his sweating brow with an old rag. He hadn’t come across any people yet and when he rolled into town it was deserted.

  “Fools all go’n and left,” he muttered, “Just as good, I ain’t stopping to pick up no one.”

  He looked at the passenger seat where his old hunting rifle was laid amongst a few boxes of ammunition. A grin spread over his face and he hoped he’d get to use it. The thought had only just crossed his mind when encountered the first sign of life. In the middle of the road, tripping towards his oncoming truck, was a woman. Doug pressed heavily on the horn but she didn’t show any intention of getting out of the way. The blaring noise alerted another man to Doug’s presence. The man ambled over and into the road to join the woman.

  Doug pressed the horn a couple more times and got angrier when they still didn’t move. He wore a deep frown and swore as he swung the steering wheel around and pulled up beside the woman. He leaned over the passenger seat to yell out of the window at her.

  “You dumb bitch. Got no sense to get out the way when a man’s driving up the road?” He spat. The
woman lurched towards the window snapping her teeth. “You a retard, lady? Not right in the head? Not all there?” When he got no response he moved his attention to the man shuffling up beside her. “Oi, you ought’a know better than to let yer woman out if she’s handicapped,” he yelled. The man groaned and snarled in response and Doug couldn’t believe it. “I ain’t fool enough to believe yer both backward. Get out’a the road!” He let out another blast on the horn. This time it drew the attention of three more people, who began making their way towards the commotion from behind an auto repair shop.

  “Ah great, there more of ye. Look, yer little nigger pals are heading over too,” Doug goaded. “They go’n come into the road too? Put my truck in reverse and kill some niggers and retards, should I?”

  Doug was getting beyond frustrated now. The woman stuck her head into the passenger window and reached out in and attempt to get at him. She was still snapping her jaws at him and growling.

  “You crazy bitch. Get yer head out’a my dang vehicle!” Doug reached out, avoiding the woman’s flailing arms, and snatched up his gun. “I’m go’n ask you one more time, lady. Get out’a my truck or I’m go’n blow a hole through that face’a yours,” he told her and pointed the gun towards her face. He looked at her, her eyes were the eyes of a crazy person. She looked like, given the chance, she would claw off his face and this made Doug feel a brief spark of panic.

  “You asked fer it,” He told her. But instead of shooting at her, he flipped the gun around and used the butt of it to smack her in the face. Her head lurched backwards out of the window and Doug felt a short lived satisfaction, then she was back at the window. The man had drawn up to the vehicle now too and both proceeded to try and cram themselves into the cab.

  “Yer some crazy bastards. I ain’t got no time for this! Get out’a my god damned truck!” Doug balled and spittle flew from his mouth. This time when they didn’t listen to him he was more than a little scared. He put the truck into drive and jammed his foot onto the accelerator.