Steven helps Lorento as she hobbles up to the shoulder of the road toward the truck. He hands me back the knife I dropped. The one that cost two people their lives. I don’t want to take it back from him, but I do.
“What’s going on?” Steven asks me.
“They’re coming,” I say. “Hurry.”
I step around the back of the truck and nearly bump into Blake as he rushes toward the vehicle. He pulls Danielle along with him. Her arms are covered in blood up to her elbows, and her knees as well.
“We can’t do anything for him,” Blake urges her as he drags her into the truck.
Danielle curses in rage but stumbles into the van.
“Give me a hand,” Blake orders me as he runs back toward the street. I run along and scoop up the ammunition and weapons left in the road. I haul the supplies back and toss everything into the back of the truck. We run back out to the road to get the last of it. After I grab a few stray shotgun shells off the street and shove them in my pocket, I can’t help but notice Midhun slumped against the van. The pistol feels heavy as I slide it out of the holster walk toward the body. I raise the gun, but hesitate to pull the trigger.
“What the hell are you doing?” Fletcher yells as he opens the front door of the van.
I reach a hand into Midhun’s jacket and pull out the book tucked away inside. Then I take a step back and point the pistol at his head and fire.
The rest of the group begins to fall back to the vehicle as the dead close in. I climb into the truck and wrap my arms around Stevie as he sobs on the floor. Hoff starts the engine and the tires squeal as he wheels the truck around. The dead bang their fists on the side of the vehicle as we roll passed them. One of them lunges for the open back door as we drive away and manages to grab on to the frame of the door. Blake grabs onto a shelf and lifts a boot up and kicks the thing in the face as it bites at the air. Finally it releases hold of the truck and skids to a stop on the asphalt.
Behind us, Fletcher speeds backwards down the road in the van. Once he puts more distance between the vehicle and the dead, he swerves sideways and spins the vehicle around. He shifts the van into drive and peels out leaving trails of rubber on the road.
I let out a breath and try to soothe Stevie some more.
“It’s okay now,” I tell him. “You’re safe now.”
Lorento pokes her head into the passageway from the front of the van. I try to avoid her gaze, but she just continues scowling until she knows I am aware that she is pissed.
I already know this whole mess is my fault. If we never helped that lunatic, then none of this would have ever happened. Now, because of me, two innocent people got killed. Stevie was nearly killed, too. I hear Danielle let out a sob as she wipes the blood off her hands. Blake wraps an arm around her and kisses her head.
“It’s not your fault,” he tells her. “Nothing you could have done about it.”
I want to tell her it wasn’t her fault as well. It was all my fault. Me and my stupid instinct to try and save everyone, even people that aren’t worth saving.
“Fuck!” Quentin curses as he slams a hand against the wall of the truck. The loud noise reverberates through the metal and Stevie jumps in my arms.
I feel like I should say something. Maybe I should apologize to everyone and own up to the fact that two people are dead because of me.
“This is all my fault,” I admit. “I should have never brought that guy back with us. I’m sorry.”
“You couldn’t have known that was going to happen,” Blake says.
“Sure she did,” Lorento scoffs. “I told her it was just a matter of time before something like this happened.”
“Maybe,” says Blake. “But we can’t just turn our back on people either. She wasn’t wrong to try to help him.”
“Two people are dead,” Lorento says. As if I needed a reminder. “We are lucky that asshole didn’t manage to hurt anyone else.”
“She’s right,” I say. “I fucked up.”
“No,” Blake shakes his head.
“It’s true,” I insist. “I should have known better than to put everyone in jeopardy. I won’t let it happen again.”
Lorento retreats to the front of the truck as we continue down the highway. The tires rolling over the pavement is the only sound for a long time. I hang on to Stevie, as much to console myself as anything else.
I can’t believe I was so stupid.
I squeeze the little boy in my arms, and realize how terrified I am that some harm will come to him. I know I need to be the kind of person that is strong enough to protect him; to kill for him, if necessary. Even when that guy was holding a knife to his throat, I hesitated. I could have shot the man myself. Should have. That isn’t who I am, but that might be the kind of person I need to become.
“I won’t ever let anyone do that again,” I whisper to Stevie. “I promise.”
The words are directed at myself more than the scared little boy that is crying too hard to listen. I got so distracted trying to help everyone that I nearly lost what matters most to me.
The truck rolls along as the sky turns a golden orange. The sun sinks into the horizon and night draws closer. We eventually reach a bridge and Hoff slows the truck down.
“There’s a town up ahead,” he says. “Jefferson City.”
“Can’t we go around?” Blake asks.
“Only so many places to cross the river,” Hoff says.
“Let’s get across,” Lorento says. “Then find a place to stop for the night.”
Hoff shifts the truck again and accelerates over the bridge. Once we reach the other side, Hoff takes a left down the first side street. It’s really not ideal staying this close to a town, but we don’t have a lot of other options.
Eventually Hoff pulls to a stop and we get out of the truck in front of an old sandy brick colonial with two large white pillars on each side of the door and white railings all around porch. A hanging sign that reads ‘Burkhead & Associates, LLC’ squeaks over the door. Crickets chirp in the overgrown grass and a pack of wild dogs howl and yap somewhere nearby. In the air hangs the foul scent of the dead. I glance up and down road but only spot a couple of them scuffling after us down the street. There must be more nearby.
I scoop Stevie up and follow Steven up the stairs to the front door. He checks the handle then pushes the door open and scans the inside of the offices. Steven cocks his head to the side and listens for any signs of the dead inside. I check back on the rest of the group as they make their way across the lawn. Quentin raises the rifle and fires a couple of suppressed rounds into the approaching corpses, and then the lifeless bodies collapse in the street.
“Let’s go,” Steven says and ushers me inside the dark building. The wooden floors creak under our boots as everyone files inside. Then Steven checks the street once more before he closes and bolts the door.
Thirty-five
Inside the creaky old house that served as an office for accountants, we wait for the dead to come. Even though we slipped inside without drawing too much attention to ourselves, all it takes is one or two riled up stiff to draw a whole crowd. Quentin watches the street from behind the blinds on the front window while the rest of us pick through the food we scavenged from the gas station. The only sound is the occasional crinkle of a wrapper or Steven chewing with his mouth open like an animal. For several minutes, no one talks. The world outside is so quiet, that even a casual conversation might be enough to draw attention to ourselves. Hoff helps Lorento over to a couch in the waiting area and sets her down. She grunts and curses from the pain and then settles with a long sigh of exasperation.
“I need to get cleaned up,” Danielle finally says. Her hands and clothes are still covered in dried blood. She shrugs off her gear and then Blake escorts her down the hallway toward the rear of the house.
After everything that happened today, I don’t have much of an appetite. I grab a can of alphabet pasta and meatballs for Stevie and watch him slowly spoon letters
into his mouth. Stitch plops down beside the kid and licks his chops watching each spoonful in case a noodle happens to fall.
Stevie is a resilient kid, but I can tell that today has not been easy on him either. Hell, he almost died. That can rattle anyone. It must be ten times more traumatic for a kid. I can only imagine what is going through his head right now. When Stevie gets down to the meatballs he licks the spoon and stares sorrowfully into the can.
“You should try and finish it,” I whisper.
“They taste bad,” he says.
Even though he needs some protein, and the mom in me wants him fed, I let it go tonight. I don’t have it in me right now. And the last thing we need is for him to start whining while we’re trying to stay quiet. So, I take the can and force myself to finish the meatballs so they don’t go to waste. After I taste one, I can hardly blame the kid for eating around them. They’re like dog food, which I can say because I have already had the lovely experience of eating dog food since the dead started walking.
I almost finish the can, but then I notice Stitch staring at me and I toss him the last meatball. The dog flinches when the food hits him in the face and falls to the floor. Stevie covers his mouth to stifle his laughter. Stitch sniffs at the meat on the floor, then delicately picks it up in his mouth and eats it. He swallows the meatball and his little tail starts to wag as he stares at me.
I grab a bottle of water from my bag and wash the taste out of my mouth before handing it to Stevie. He takes a sip, and then he tries to give it back to me.
“Finish it,” I tell him. I might have been a pushover about dinner, but I know he needs to drink enough to avoid dehydration.
“What about my treat?” Stevie remembers.
I reach into the plastic bag beside me and pull out a bag of chocolate covered raisins. A smile appears on his face as I pry open the bag and hand it to him.
“I found some coffee in the kitchen,” Blake announces from the doorway. “It’s Starbucks.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Fletcher grins as he rubs his hands together.
“What’s with you white people and motherfucking Starbucks?” Quentin asks.
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Blake says.
Quentin shakes his head. He turns around and peeks through the blinds to scan the dark street.
“Still pretty clear out there,” Quentin reports. He removes his finger from between the blinds. “There’s a few out on the street, but they don’t seem to have any idea we’re in here.”
“We should keep someone watching the street anyway,” Hoff says. He spits a sunflower seed shell between his lips. “Just in case. If more of those things start to show up during the night, I want us to have as much time to get out of here as possible.”
“I got it,” Fletcher says. He gathers his pack and rifle off the table and gives me a wink when he notices me watching him. “I’ll check out the second floor. Might get a better vantage point up there.”
I don’t know if he expects me to follow him or what, but I just roll my eyes as he heads up the stairs.
“What’s that all about?” Steven asks me. He cocks an eyebrow and curls his lower lip, clearly disgusted.
“Nothing,” I shake my head. The grime on Stevie’s face suddenly becomes too much to look at and I reach into my pack and look for a towel and a bottle of water.
“That wasn’t nothing,” Steven says.
I ignore him and continue to dig in my pack.
“You got a thing going with him or something?” Steven asks.
I toss the rag on the floor with a little more force than necessary.
“So what if I did?” I say. “What does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Steven stammers. My standoffish demeanor seems to have softened his tone. “Just want to look out for you, that’s all.”
“I can look after myself,” I remind him. The irritation causes my voice to rise and Lorento promptly shushes me from across the room. My emotions got the better of me for a moment. Steven has some nerve. Hell, I’m the one taking care of his kid. Asshole. I pick up the rag again and pour a trickle of water to soak it and begin to wipe the grime off of Stevie’s face. The stubborn dirt seems to cling to his skin so I rub harder until he winces.
“Sorry, kiddo,” I whisper to him.
“Are you mad at me?” Stevie asks. His tired eyes stare back at me.
“Of course not,” I assure him. I wrap my arms around his head in a hug him and kiss the greasy hair on his head. “It’s just been a bad day, that’s all.”
“You can say that again,” Steven sighs.
“Why don’t you get some sleep now?” I encourage Stevie.
“Can you do a story first?” Stevie asks.
“Not tonight, kiddo,” I say.
“Please?” he pleads.
“Bed,” I tell him. I tilt my head and press my lips together to let him know I mean it this time.
His shoulders droop and he lets out a frustrated sigh. I know I should make him sleep now. There’s no telling how long we’ll be able to stay in this building. When I see the disappointment on his face I cave.
“Fine,” I whisper. “Just a quick one, and then you go right to sleep.”
He grins and nods his head. He takes another sip of water and relinquishes his hold on the bottle to let me screw the cap back on. I set the bottle beside him as he rests his head on his backpack full of clothes. I shrug off my jacket and cover him with it.
I begin to recite the story about the Sneetches. It’s one of the stories I had read my kids over and over so I will never forget it. Before I get to the part where the Sneetches realize they are all the same, Stevie closes his eyes. I abandon the story and watch him drifting off to sleep for several minutes.
When I look over at his father, his head is tilted back against the wall and his mouth hangs open. He snores slightly. The unease I still feel over the losses we suffered makes me feel that sleep isn’t likely to happen just yet. I gather up my stuff and stand up to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” Steven mumbles.
“Upstairs,” I tell him. The wounded look on his face begs me not to go. “I’m just not tired.”
“Look, Scout,” he whispers. He takes his baseball cap off and pretends to inspect it. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do.”
“Then stop it,” I cut him off. “Jesus Christ, Steven. Just go back to sleep.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles. He puts the hat back over his face and rests his head against the wall again.
I know he just cares about me, but I can’t stand him trying to control my every move. It’s the same damn thing that made me feel like I’d stopped loving my husband. I got so tired of feeling like some thing that only existed to satisfy the expectations of a man who never bothered to care about what I wanted or how I felt. So even though I know that nothing is going to happen upstairs, and I didn’t really have any desire to be near Fletcher at that particular moment, I am damn sure going up there anyway.
“Well, well, well,” Fletcher grins when he spots me at the top of the stairs. I follow the sound of his voice to a darkened office along the front side of the building. He sits in a leather chair with his feet propped up on a metal file cabinet beside the window.
“No coffee?” he asks as he watches me step through the doorway.
“I’m not your secretary,” I remind him.
“Something about a feisty gal that always gets me going,” he says.
“Calm down,” I tell him. “I’m not here for that.”
The smile fades from his face and he shifts his gazes back to the corpses in the street.
“You just want to talk or something?” he asks. He cups a hand over his mouth and lets out a long yawn.
It suddenly feels like coming up here at all was a mistake.
“Just thought you might want some company,” I smile.
“Company?” he smirks and cocks an eyebrow.
“Go
d, not like that,” I roll my eyes. I take out the book of quotations from my pocket and stare at the dried blood on the cover. I flip it open and start to scan the pages for the quote that Midhun said. Something about how tyrants always fall. I see a different quote that makes me stop turning the pages.
“Where there is love, there is life.”
“What?” Fletcher mumbles. I look up and realize I must have read it aloud. Fletcher rubs at his eyes and then looks outside again.
“Shit,” Fletcher gasps.
He jerks upright in the chair and cranes his neck to see out the window. I lean over to get a better angle and see the crowd of dead at the end of the block. There are at least a couple dozen of them so far, but it’s impossible to tell how many more might be trailing along further down the street than we can see through the treetops.
“We need to get out of here,” I panic.
“Wait,” Fletcher grabs my arm. “They don’t know we’re in here. If we just keep cool they should pass right on by us.”
“I need to warn the rest of them downstairs,” I say.
“No need for that,” Fletcher says. “Listen. They’ll hear them soon enough.”
The moaning of the dead grows louder and louder as they filter down the street. The sparse group out front is followed by a much larger horde of hundreds and hundreds of corpses shambling down the road. Their bodies fill the street and spill out onto the front lawns along both sides of the roads.
I step back from the window even though I doubt any of them would notice me from the street. The sight of so many of them is still terrifying. Suddenly, I can’t help but feel trapped inside this building. My elbow bumps into a lamp on the desk as I move away from the window and it topples over and crashes on the floor. Fletcher whirls around and stares at me then returns his focus on the street.
“Did they hear?” I ask.
“We’re still okay,” Fletcher whispers. “Just stay calm.”
I settle myself into an armchair on the opposite side of the desk and try not to hear the sound of the dead outside. I slump in the chair and rest my head on the thin cushion. As Fletcher stares down at the street and eyes the crowd below. I stare up at the ceiling. The noise goes on and on for what seems like hours. It seems like it will never end. Eventually, my eyelids get heavy and I feel myself drifting off to sleep.
Rise of the Dead (Book 2): Return of the Dead Page 22
