by D C P Fox
“I found her here, sleeping.” Not a good one.
“Sleeping! Wasn’t it her watch?”
“I took over for her. She said she needed some blood-pressure medication. When she didn’t come back, I came in and here she was.”
“With her pack and weapons on the floor?”
Alexander shrugged. He needed to make Vin believe he thought it was no big deal. “People can do some strange things when they’re asleep, especially as they’re falling asleep. Remember, she’s beyond exhaustion. We all are.”
“Still, I don’t see—”
A crash of breaking glass sounded, followed immediately by a scream from Emily. Both sounds came from the front of the store.
Vin sprang into action, a shotgun in his right hand, a flashlight in his left. He ran fast toward Emily’s screaming. Emily came into view, only a few steps away from the entrance. A zombie had smashed a small hole in the front door and was pounding, trying to break down the glass further.
Emily continued to scream but did not move. Vin cursed and put his shotgun back over his shoulder. He reached Emily, grabbing her with his right arm into his chest, and turned around to run when the crash of the glass sounded behind him. He yelled out, “To the break room, NOW!”
But it was too late for him as the zombie overtook him, picked him up, and slammed him into the floor, Emily breaking his fall. Emily screamed and began crying. She had hit her head. The zombie mounted on Vin’s back, pounding away at his temples, on the crown of his head, on his neck before grabbing his head and slamming it down onto Emily.
A shotgun shot rang out and the zombie crumpled. Two more gunshots, then a third, then a fourth.
He got up, pushing the zombie off of him but careful not to hurt Emily, who still screamed and bawled, even more than she had already been. He looked around. Four zombies all down, but their brains were not pulverized. The sheriff moved his gun back and forth, pointing at them. They’d be waking up soon.
“Hold your fire,” he said to the sheriff. “If they move, shoot them in the brains.”
He looked around. “Where the hell is Jocelyn? She needs to chop off these heads!” Vin figured Jocelyn’s way of killing the zombies was a surer thing. And less gruesome. And wasted no ammunition.
“I think she’s still asleep,” Alexander said, his voice distant.
“Fuck!” Vin didn’t understand how Alexander came to that conclusion, but she clearly wasn’t there. He ran to the pharmacy to find her still passed out on the tiled floor. How could she sleep through all this?
He grabbed the sword, surprised at its heaviness. Was this iron? How can she even lift it? He carried it with two hands and went back to one zombie and chopped three times from above before the head severed. She had said she could do it in one blow. Did she lie about that? She did say it took training. He did the same thing to the next zombie, too, but as he did it, more gunshots rang out as the other two zombies were put down again.
His arms achy and tired, he moved over to one of the other zombies and chopped at the head. This time it took four blows.
And the next one took five.
Jocelyn awoke to pain in her cheeks as someone slapped them. Instinctively, she pulled her arms up and covered her face, and the slapping stopped. She opened her eyes, and Vin was hovering over her.
Vin was alive!
And then it all came flooding into her head—her suspicions, Vin being stabbed, sounding like Marty . . . he really had been Marty. She just lay there in confusion and turmoil as she adjusted to her new reality. That Vin had tried to kill her melted away to the knowledge that Alexander had killed him. But he had been Marty.
“Where’s Marty?” she asked.
“I’m right here,” Marty said, to her right. He took her hand and squeezed it. “We’re all alright. Everyone is here.”
“No thanks to you, sleeping beauty.” Vin scowled.
As the seconds ticked on, her confused mind gave way to further clarity, and she looked around. Vin was in her face, angry. Janice was carrying Emily, who whimpered, her lavender sweatshirt streaked with blood. Blood splattered Marty’s orange sweat suit, and he held his shotgun, the barrel pointed down. Vin’s face was bloody and bruised. She sat up and saw her sword—now bloody—on the floor near her, next to Vin’s spiffy shotgun. She widened her eyes.
“What happened?” she asked. “Where’d all this blood come from?”
“While you were getting your beauty sleep,” Vin said, “we were busy fighting four zombies.” He pointed at Jocelyn’s sword. “That was useful, though not near as much as you let on. You were not. I’m calling a meeting. Break room. Five minutes.” Vin turned to Alexander. “Make sure she’s awake and coherent, or I swear I’ll kill this bitch.”
At that, he turned around and walked out without another word.
“I’m sure Vin didn’t mean it literally,” Alexander said while looking at Janice and Jize. “He’s angry, and I don’t blame him.” He looked at Jocelyn. “Jocelyn’s exhausted. You all go to the break room. I’ll take care of her.”
Marty nodded. “Okay,” was all he said. Jize and Janice—still carrying a whimpering Emily—turned and left in silence.
“Marty knows,” Alexander murmured. “No one else does.”
“That’s good. Marty already knew. Oh, Alexander, I really screwed things up.” Profound sadness took hold. Another violent psychotic break. She felt so low that Vin killing her would be a relief. At least she would be rid of her illness for good. Maybe she would have a chance before they left in the morning to kill herself, to take a lot of sleeping pills.
Was it realistic to think that someone could find a cure just because of her? Was it worth the risk of another psychotic break? What if she killed some more innocent people?
Even the draugar were innocent victims; they had no control over their behavior. People killed draugar so why not kill her? If Vin knew what had really happened, he would kill her for sure.
And she would welcome it.
Alexander moved to her side, placed his arm over her shoulders, and gave a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t screw up. It is an illness.”
Jocelyn looked up and saw a caring man—handsome and smart and now reassuring. She allowed her head to rest on his arm, and she found she liked him very much.
Teary-eyed, she broke away from his hug, wiped her eyes, and stood up. She felt vulnerable and didn’t want Alexander to witness her in this state.
“Thanks, Alexander, but I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine.
She looked down at him and genuine concern reflected in his eyes. He told her how he faked Vin/Marty’s stabbing, about the medicines he’d administered to her, and that he’d swiped all the haloperidol from the pharmacy.
Shit. Not haloperidol again. She’d been on that before—the old standard medication that worked well, but for which the side effects were annoying and embarrassing. More than annoying. She had developed Tardive dyskinesia while on it before—kind of like a mouth tic that can become permanent, even once you’ve discontinued the medication.
What dosage had she been on way back then? She forgot and would have to wing it.
And wing it she would. A part of her desperately wanted to kill herself, but Saint Michael had put her on a mission to get her meds. She would ask him her next step when she got a chance, but she knew what she had to do.
Go to Colorado Springs. Become a guinea pig.
Alexander stood up and they both headed for the break room. Jocelyn saw two dead, headless draugar down a grocery aisle about twenty feet from the pharmacy counter. She felt another pang of guilt at not being there to defend the group.
No one dealt with the dead zombies for now.
When Jocelyn and Alexander entered the break room, Emily was crying, held by Janice on the couch.
“Vin,” Janice said. “Charming, why don’t you come over and give your princess a hug?”
Jocelyn expected Vin to scowl as usual, but his bruised face softened as he went o
ver to the couch and picked up the little girl who wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Charming, you saved me again,” Emily said. “My head hurts.”
Vin’s face broke down and he closed his eyes. Is he crying?
“She will be fine,” Janice said. “She doesn’t appear to have a concussion. A few bruises, but she’s a tough girl. I gave her a small dose of Tylenol.”
Vin nodded and gave Emily back to Janice. He ran his hand through his hair, composing himself before giving Jocelyn a grim expression.
“How can we trust Jocelyn if she sleeps during a critical time?”
Marty grunted. “It doesn’t matter. We need to bring her to Colorado Springs.”
This time Vin gave the familiar scowl. “I suppose you’re right. I suppose the zombies have come back. Let’s hope they’re not in strong numbers. Janice, when can Emily travel?”
“I think she needs to sleep the night.”
“Okay, we leave first thing in the morning as planned. In the meantime, let’s barricade the doors.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Day Nine
An hour into her watch, Jocelyn felt the familiar tingling on the back of her neck.
She still did not understand what caused it. It wasn’t like she could consult a neurologist.
A while later, she yawned, closed her eyes, and rubbed where it tingled, but that didn’t help. A screech came from the vicinity of the double doors. She silently cursed herself and opened her eyes.
Too dark to discern anything but silhouettes, she guessed the continuing screech was from the barricade of tables moving. She turned on the electric camp lantern.
One door was opening, pushing the barricade forward, but no one was in sight. The intruder must be just behind the opening door. Since it didn’t require superhuman strength to move the barricade, she didn’t know who or what to expect.
Now she drew her shotgun from her harness on her back and aimed at the door. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw others up and reaching for their weapons. She kept her gaze fixed on the doors.
A man dressed in women’s underwear, with sores all over his body, appeared in the doorway. The draugar looked right at Jocelyn and pushed at the tables.
Jocelyn fired and blasted his stomach, propelling him backwards against more draugar that had entered the room. The draugar all tumbled down together.
Emily screamed. Jocelyn ignored her.
“Hold your fire!” Jocelyn yelled. She leaped forward, stood on the barricade and began shooting at all four prone draugar.
Jocelyn aimed for their heads and kept shooting until she ran out of ammo. Three of the four draugar had head wounds and did not move. But one leapt up, snarled, and rushed at her. She kicked it in the head, but that merely slowed it down as it grabbed her legs. She fell backwards and pain erupted as she landed on the table, half her body dangling in mid-air as the draugar held onto her legs.
She heard a shotgun blast and her legs were released. Gravity pulled her down, and she went tumbling backwards, a sharp pain in her head as it hit the floor.
Alexander looked over at Jocelyn. She barely moved, her head in a pool of blood.
Vin took over and climbed onto the table, unloading into the zombies.
Alexander went over to Jocelyn, careful not to touch her blood, and when she opened her eyes, she looked at him with warmth and an intoxicating fierceness.
“Are you all right?” he asked, shouting above the noise of the shotgun blasts. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the sheriff had joined Vin.
But all Alexander thought about was making sure Jocelyn was fine. Jocelyn sat up and grimaced as she felt the back of her neck. Her hand came away covered in blood. Her blood.
“I’m fine. How could I bleed so much?”
“Head wounds bleed profusely. It must have bled a lot prior to the wound closing. I wouldn’t be concerned.”
“Stop firing!” Jocelyn yelled as she stood up and drew her sword.
At that moment, Alexander thought her the most majestic and beautiful person he’d ever seen. And she was so cool wielding that sword.
Vin and the sheriff kept firing as if they didn’t hear her—hard to do with the sound of the gunfire and Emily screaming. Jocelyn continued to cry, “Stop firing!”. Eventually they stopped, and Jocelyn climbed over the table and lopped the heads off of what remained of the zombies. She took only one blow for each.
“How the hell does she do that?” Vin asked.
Emily stopped screaming and whimpered in Janice’s lap. Emily would definitely be a burden, though Alexander would never in a million years abandon her. And Janice had helped him with his wrist, which had healed well. Janice nurtured Emily well. She nurtured all of them well. He would not be the one to cause their deaths by abandoning them.
Perhaps this whole goddamned thing could be reversed, and perhaps Jocelyn was key to that.
Alexander did not know the state of his family. Were they somewhere safe? Zombies? Dead? Certainly, they had no access to cell phones, or at least no text coverage. A long time ago, based on that, he concluded they must not be safe at all. Still, he wanted to go after them, but it would be foolish to do it alone, and doubly so without a shotgun.
Most likely, they were zombies, and any hope for a cure lay in Jocelyn and himself—her blood, his expertise. They could be a team that, together, saved the world, but even if not, he needed safety, he needed information, if he were to survive to get to them. Perhaps Colorado Springs knew how Northern California fared? So his best hope of helping his family lay in Colorado Springs.
That he was more than a little attracted to Jocelyn complicated things.
He might be the only one, besides Jocelyn, to note that the zombies didn’t attack at first this time. They must have pushed aside the barricade with no great force, or Alexander would have woken up to the sound, and after he awakened, he saw the zombies file in as if they would hold a board meeting right there in the room.
But Jocelyn attacked anyway.
It might have been a missed opportunity to learn what the zombies would have done if she hadn’t attacked. But Jocelyn’s guess—that they would eventually attack—was as good as anybody’s.
Alexander always thought zombies turned animalistic. But could they have moments of lucidity? Jocelyn was close to being a zombie, and she was very lucid. Wait . . .
Jocelyn was close to being a zombie.
He had never seen a zombie attack another zombie. What if one did? What would the other zombie do? Just like in the animal world, it would protect itself. Why didn’t the zombies attack each other? In fact, now that he thought about it, animals attacked each other all the time. In nature, under what circumstances do animals never attack each other? When they were part of a hive. In family units, many animals attacked one another for dominance, but not in a hive. Except where the Queen killed her suitors, or vice versa, but they never encountered anything resembling a Queen.
Could the zombies think of Jocelyn as part of their hive? Was that why they didn’t initiate the attack? Could they think of her as their Queen?
A big, speculative leap, but as good an explanation as any.
“Alexander!” He broke out of his reverie.
“Huh?”
“Are you all right? You lost us for a while.”
He gathered his thoughts, bringing himself back to the present. He would tell Jocelyn what he discovered, but it would wait.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Worried about Emily, Alexander looked around and spotted her. Janice sat up against the wall with Emily’s head rested in her lap. “Yes, if you said anything, I didn’t register it.”
The sheriff started in with his drawl. “I told the others we should leave right now. We’re going to go anyway, so why wait around for another attack? We’re running low on shotgun shells, too.”
“Weren’t we going to wait because Emily wasn’t ready to travel?” Alexander asked.
“It’s a risk,” the sheriff
said. “But Janice said it was okay with her if the need to leave was urgent.”
Alexander shook his head. “Well, I disagree. If we’re attacked out in the open at night, we won’t see them coming. If we’re in here, at least we have the advantage.”
The sheriff grunted. “But what if the rest of them know we’re here?”
Vin said, “We’ll compromise. We need to gather supplies, get rid of the zombie bodies, and pack everything up anyway. Instead of doing that in the morning, we’ll do it now, and leave for the rental car lot at first light. Sound like a plan?”
They all agreed.
Jocelyn kept searching but didn’t find the medication she took—not surprising as her pharmacy in California didn’t keep it in stock either. She’d have to settle for haloperidol, but at least she could add lithium, and while both were the gold standard, like the actual gold standard, they were out of date.
Alexander took Jocelyn aside while in the pharmacy and told her his theory that the draugar think she’s a member of their hive. It could be a huge advantage in combat, and Alexander guessed that the draugar would still attack normals on sight, or smell, or hearing, or whatever senses they use, and that the only reason the ones in the break room attacked Jocelyn was because Jocelyn attacked first.
And maybe they weren’t expecting normals. If the draugar had spotted any of the rest of the group beforehand, Alexander guessed the draugar would have attacked in full force.
After telling her all of this, Alexander looked at her funny.
“What’s wrong?” asked Jocelyn.
“Your face . . . Your face . . . It’s blank!”
“What do you mean, blank?”
“Jocelyn, I’m good at reading faces, and I can’t read yours at all.”
“Oh, shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s a side effect of the haloperidol. I had this side effect back when I used it, and my psychiatrist called it ‘lack of facial expression.’ Luckily, it only lasted for a day or two, and only when I didn’t think about it.” She managed a smile. “I’m not sure how the others will react, though.”
