by P. J. Post
I can’t help but smile at her, at my family. “You ready, Jem, or do we need more unicorn farts?” I ask.
Both of the kids laugh as Emily pockets Teddy and helps Jem to her feet.
“Careful, no one fall off the edge, not even you, Brenda,” I call.
Brenda glares at me, but she keeps her mouth shut.
I’ll take it.
The next roof is only slightly lower than this one as we head away from the warehouse looking for a place to cross back over the alley. The next building is two stories, though, a good ten-foot drop.
Neither of them have roof stairways, only access hatches, so we won’t have to worry about anymore Button Eyes surprising us. And for whatever reason, be it work crews or maintenance, someone has left a shitload of ladders up here, tarps, construction shit, like the first building at the other end of the block.
Finally, a break.
Halle-fucking-lujah.
I climb down the side of the building, hang from my fingertips and drop to the lower roof, careful not to twist an ankle.
Sam drops Jem, Emily and then Pixie over the side into my waiting arms before taking her own turn. I catch her but her weight throws me off balance and we land in a tangled pile of arms and legs again. She’s on top of me.
Her weight hurts, but I don’t really mind.
She stares at me, grinning, and then parts her lips, licking them.
“She’s gonna kiss him,” Emily whispers to Jem, but they don’t giggle like I thought little kids their age would.
Sam keeps staring at me as her eyes turn sad, shiny.
“Sam? Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods and kisses me gently.
And then she’s gone, spinning off of me and back to her feet. “Come on, asshat, ya lazy dog.”
I wipe my mouth.
I can still taste her.
Tears.
Jem points up.
Brenda is staring down at us with her hands on her hips. “Can I get a hand?”
I motion for her to join us and stand back, catching her and slowing her fall as she drops from the higher roof.
She jerks free as soon as she has her balance, but I grab her coat sleeve, holding her.
“We going to have a problem?” I ask, looking hard into her eyes.
“I don’t like being lied to.”
“I never lied to you.”
“What about the bite, the cure…”
“There’s no cure. I have no idea why I didn’t turn. I just don’t want to scare the shit out of a little girl, is that so hard to understand? I’d appreciate it if you’d follow my lead here.”
She looks past me to Jem, and then across the roof. “I think you’re lying.”
And then she walks over to the alley.
I try not to think about her as I scan the rooftop. It’s just another snowy roof with a simple access hatch. I walk over to the edge. The next building’s got to be at least twenty feet away.
A quick look reveals a fenced in courtyard with four capsule-shaped, steel containers along with lots of connecting pipes. Everything is painted gray and has red and white warning labels. It’s gas.
The adjacent buildings are all old, wood-framed structures — pretty fucking flammable.
Cool.
This is how we burn the rest of Freemont and her Button Eye hordes to the ground, or at least give it one hell of a try. Freemont is surrounded by the river and lakes, with fires at each end of town and this one in the middle, all we need is a little help from the wind.
“Pyro much?” Sam asks, grinning as she joins me.
“Think it’ll work?”
“Yeah, you don’t plan on being the fuse do you?” Her eyes harden.
“What’s a fuse?” Emily asks.
“Not me,” I say and jerk her beanie down over her eyes.
“Hey!”
Jem giggles and then winces.
Along the sidewalk, there’s a black-iron fence and planters. Straddling the whole mess is a steel-framed structure stretching up into the sky.
It’s a cell tower.
And it’s got to be at least ten or fifteen stories high.
I walk to the front of the building and look out over the street and the sea of zombies.
My girls follow me. “What?” Sam asks.
“This tower,” I begin, pointing up, “if we can knock it down, will it reach across the street?”
Sam grins and studies the problem. “I think so. And then we crawl over?”
“One block closer to the water,” I answer.
“How do we knock it down?”
I laugh. “I have no idea, but come tomorrow night, I’m kicking its ass.”
She hugs me and I try not to grimace. “Are you going to be okay?” she asks.
“In time I think, just sucks for now.”
Brenda shouts from the far side of the rooftop, “Hey, I think these ladders are long enough to cross the alley…like we did before.”
She turns out to be right, and it doesn’t take us long to get everyone back across the alley, and from there, to the warehouse roof, following the same path as Jem and Pixie.
The other’s head downstairs, but I take a few minutes to survey what’s left of Freemont, Pixie at my side. The fires are still burning at each end of town; small explosions detonate among the Victorian homes, throwing displaced lives along with forgotten antique furniture into the streets.
The wind picks up from the south as the snow begins to swirl. The hills surround Freemont, like a bowl, and I’d swear the fires to the north are burning brighter too.
I think the fires are going to get it done — just what we need. But we might not have more than a day or so before they get here, especially if the wind picks up much more.
At least we found Jem and Pixie.
My family is together again, and that’ll have to be good enough for now.
§§§§§
“Lane!” Sam shouts.
Keats is waiting for me when I get to the bottom of the ladder.
The warning is too late.
“Gun,” he demands over the muzzle of a double-barrel shotgun, and then motions me out of the small room.
I slowly step into the dimly lit hall as he steps aside, keeping his distance.
Brenda’s wearing a triumphant smile; she has her rifle pointed at Jem again.
Jem’s leaning against the plaster and glass wall of one of the offices along the hallway; Emily’s arms are wrapped protectively around her. They’re both glaring at Brenda.
Sam looks defeated, these were her friends. She trusted them.
I set Pixie down and hand my .45 to Keats, but he doesn’t look happy to take it.
“The little girl, she bit?” he asks.
I nod.
“How long?”
“I told you, it’s been over twenty minutes,” Brenda shouts.
Allen walks down the hall, his .45 out. I wonder if he’s figured out how the safety works. “What’s going on?”
“How’s that possible?” Keats asks.
“He has a cure, that’s how!” Brenda says.
“Shut up, Bren. Show me.” He motions with my pistol. “Show me your bite.” His tone is full of frustration. His patience is wearing thin. I think Keats makes for a better bottle washer than he does a cook.
I open my coat.
He whistles. “So there is a cure.”
“No, I don’t know…I didn’t turn, that’s all I got. Jem won’t either.”
“You’re awfully confident on that score, confident enough to risk our necks?”
“There’s a cure? You’ve been holding out?” Allen asks. He steps closer and aims his gun at my chest like it’s the hip thing to be doing. “At the tent, that soldier guy, you had a cure and you killed him anyway?”
Keats ignores Allen. “Holly, the girl missing the arm, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about why she’s healing so fast would you?”
Allen raises his voice, “Yeah, you
took her in that room, just the three of you, right after, what did you do to her?” he demands, staring at Sam. His gun slowly begins to drift toward her.
I try to ignore Allen too, and give Keats my attention. “I don’t really know you, but you seem decent enough, trustworthy. If I could help you, I would.” The lie is easy. “But how exactly would someone like me get a cure to the zombie apocalypse?”
Keats laughs.
“This isn’t fucking funny!” Allen is like a dog with a bone now.
“Kid, step off,” Keats says.
Brenda is getting twitchy. Every time Allen says something she gets more agitated, more pumped.
Can Jem survive getting shot?
What’s the limit of Pixie Dust?
I hear a murmur and look down the hallway to see all of the other kids, the fires of Freemont churning up the night behind them, but through the filthy old glass of the huge window — it looks like halos of flame.
Casey still has pigtails sticking out of the top of her head, she’s helping Holly Hawk walk. Holly’s in a lot of pain, her face is still bandaged and so is her arm, they’ve both stopped bleeding through. She looks to be doing better. She also looks pissed, which is probably a good sign. Her braids belong to someone old now…they’re already turning white.
It’s working faster in her.
Shinji is standing behind her.
Carlton is off to the other side of the hallway with Patty and Larry, two jittery tweens that have been following him around since the school, hiding in the shadows. She’s got dirty brown hair and dull eyes; he’s got dirty blond hair and the same dull eyes. They’ve both seen too much, experienced too much — hurt too much.
This world isn’t for everyone.
“That’s his girlfriend,” Allen says, nodding to Sam. “We’ll make him tell us what he knows.” He glances at me, sneering — his pistol follows.
Brenda steps away from Jem and stares down the hall. “He’s full of secrets.”
“Yeah, like what?” Allen asks.
Keats whistles like he knows what Brenda is up to. “Not here,” he says.
“Ain’t that right, Ghost? That’s what they called you after that day up on the hill,” she keeps going.
Sam steps forward. “Brenda, don’t…”
“Don’t tell them what he did? What The Ghost did? He’s kept the cure from them, made them suffer, put them through God knows what, shouldn’t they know all of it? Shouldn’t they know what he did to you?”
“He didn’t do anything to me…”
“What’s she talking about?” Allen asks, leveling his gun at me again.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Shinji demands as he tries to step around Hawk, but she pushes back and hobbles slowly but purposely over to Jem. Casey follows and stands with her friends. She’s so small, her pigtails flip and swoosh with every step, but her eyes are serious — murderous.
I think back, it’s easy, it’s always easy when I visit the clearing, it’s like I’m still there; the smell of rotting leaves, the coming of winter, the scent of burning wood, the smoke from the fire in the trees, I remember the faces — the order I shot them in — the middle-aged Asian guy was fourth, right after high school boy’s dad. The chin and the mouth are the same, I think that may have been Allen’s dad too.
“What’s wrong, Lane? Afraid to lose your little, hero-worshipping cult? You should be ashamed to look them in the eye after what you did.”
“Brenda, I swear to God…” Sam begins.
Brenda swings her rifle toward Sam. “Swear to what? I thought you were different, but you’re just like him. They should know.”
“Know what?” Allen and Shinji ask at the same time. They’re wound up pretty tight all of a sudden.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know. It won’t end well, for anyone,” I say softly.
Sam looks like she’s been kicked in the gut. She shakes her head gently, like she’s trying to let me know she didn’t tell Brenda about what happened, about me. I believe her. It would have been tough for her to talk about, but the caravan had plenty of witnesses, plenty of people willing to relive the bloodbath — there always are.
Keats raises his voice. “Brenda, we should talk about this later.”
“Too fuckin’ late to talk later,” Allen snarls. “Let’s have it.”
Brenda looks over all of the kids and scowls. She must hate them as much as me.
Her eyes are full of darkness now.
“He killed them,” she says pointing her rifle at me. “He killed your brothers, and your fathers…”
“Brenda!” Sam shouts, as if shocked Brenda made good on her threat. “He saved your life.”
“We didn’t need to be up on that roof in the first place, he has the cure.”
“How could you?” Sam asks.
Allen steps toward me, Shinji right behind him. They’re angry, but they stop before they get too close.
“Shot them in the back, like the coward he is,” Brenda says, obviously caught up in the moment.
“My dad, you killed my…my dad?” Shinji asks softly, trying to fight his tears and shock.
I meet his gaze. “I’ve killed lots of dads.”
“He ain’t done nothin’ to me,” Hawk mumbles defiantly, a small automatic pistol appearing in her remaining hand. She can barely hold it up, but it’s the thought that counts.
Sam is slowly moving down the hallway.
I wonder if they took her gun.
If this gets out of hand, most of us will die right here, right now. And the kids that survive won’t last the next few days.
I’m not sure what to do, what to say.
Casey’s dad was the last one, the desperate man whose hand was shaking so badly he missed every time he shot at me; I can see him in her eyes. I didn’t even wait to watch him hit the ground.
She staring at me now, her eyes are glassy, she’s not sure who to believe, not sure if her daddy is dead. But Jem knows the truth, she can sense it or maybe she sees it in my eyes, but I can’t tell what it means to her.
“Are you sure my dad’s dead?” Shinji asks, the emotion finally winning.
Brenda nods. “He did it.”
“We should kill him,” Allen says, sneering.
“And who is gonna do that, you? I said to step off you little shit. No one is going to kill anyone.” Keats is out of patience, but he’s not getting it. Allen has lost his fucking mind and I’m not sure how much further behind him Brenda is.
“We need the cure first,” Brenda says, and aims her rifle at Jem. “Sam, that means we need you.”
Sam walks back up the hall, her pistol at her side.
Allen meets her and wrenches the pistol from her hand, and then he punches her with it as he shoves her to the ground.
Emily screams, but Jem holds her back.
Sam is on her knees, one hand on the wooden floor, blood running down her chin.
Allen is the big man he always wanted to be now — the center of attention.
He grabs a handful of Sam’s scarf and coat and holds her head back as he points the pistol at her face. “Suck it.”
Sam’s dazed and shakes her head, but doesn’t have the strength to fend him off, besides, she’s off balance and has no leverage.
Allen is just strong enough, and wrenches her sideways, pulls her head back and shoves the gun into her mouth. She squeezes her eyes shut as she makes a gurgling noise. “I got your girl, give us the cure or she gets it; if you’re lucky, I’ll just kill her.”
He’s wearing that sneer like a badge of fucking honor now.
Someone’s seen too much television.
“What do you think of that, huh, answer me!” he screams.
Sam’s holding her arms out as if trying to maintain her balance. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, what nightmare she’s reliving…
Allen is behind her, smug with his new-found power.
Keats is silent. He’s a bottle washer again. And that’s not hi
s fault, not really, he never asked for any of this.
Not everyone is a cold blooded killer.
Holly is trying to decide what to do, like Keats, she didn’t ask for any of this either, the difference is, she’s about to do something — right or wrong.
“Is it true?” Jem asks Emily, even though she already knows the truth of it.
Emily looks her right in the eye. “He saved us. Saved me. Saved Samantha. Saved all of us. It’s true.”
Allen grins and pulls Sam’s head further back. Sam whimpers and it sends chills down my spine. Brenda’s eyes are wide and bright, like she’s enjoying it too.
I feel Pixie in my head again, like’s she’s trying to hop up into a cardboard box that’s too tall, but I don’t sense Jem. I see her wince, though, and the next thing I know, Jem has Emily’s knife and is stepping out from behind Holly Hawk.
“Then let’s kill someone,” Jem says before anyone has time to react, and flings the blade at me. She might be seven or eight, but she’s got wicked skills. The knife flies end over end through the air, but not at me, not exactly at anyone — more into empty space.
Electricity ripples across my scalp and I realize time has slowed down, I can see the blade, the trajectory and the spin — I know where the handle is going to be and when — if I just open my fingers…reach out…
I snatch the knife from midair, wrapping my fist around the handle, turning it…
Brenda lowers her rifle and starts to scream something…
I step into Allen.
His eyes telegraph panic as I shoulder the gun away from Sam.
I barely see her roll across the hall floor as I bring the knife up.
Allen’s gun blows a hole in the floor.
Screams fill the hallway.
I shove the blade into the soft tissue under his chin and drive it straight up, burying the blade to the hilt.
He fumbles backward, dropping the pistol as I wrench the blade free. He stands upright for a moment, wobbly, perhaps in disbelief, and then staggers against the far wall before sliding to the floor, clutching at his face.
Blood gushes out of his mouth and neck.
His eyes are panicked.
His voice gurgles.
I plant a knee onto his shoulder, shoving his hands out of the way, stare into his eyes, grab his hair with my bandaged hand, and then jab the blade into his neck once, twice and again, before pulling it out, slicing through his throat.
