by TW Brown
“Yes, but—” Vix started, but Harold was suddenly on a roll and brushed her attempted response aside.
“The world is done for and we are living on borrowed time. Sure, we can run for a bit, but they will always be there on our heels. No place is safe. I was online in the early days and this is everywhere. Asia, the States…China and India for bloody sakes! That is over two billion people! And since these things show no signs of just falling over and dying…”
Tears flowed down Harold’s cheeks. He shot a look at Gemma, and then turned and fled. Of course, he could not go very fast with all that armor, and about twenty paces away, he stumbled and fell with a loud clang.
Suddenly, she felt foolish. She had fixated on this one task without really seeing it clearly. Perhaps it was because she had so desperately wanted to keep the hope that her one dear friend would still be alive. She had been a fool.
“All those books…and this is what you come up with?” she berated herself. Vix sat down and began to cry.
She cried for all the things she had lost in the past year, she cried for all the things she had never had the courage to pursue in her life…and she cried for her husband. She had lost the one thing that had managed to bring her joy in her life. Now…well, now it all seemed like a waste.
She let the tears flow freely as she mourned everything that had been snatched away. She cried so hard that she did not even realize that Gemma and Harold had come to her and sat on either side, clutching her to them and joining her in her sobs.
She did not know how long they sat there, but eventually, the tears subsided. They sat huddled together for quite some time after; each lost in thought.
Vix methodically went through each and every single one of the books she had read back when zombies were all still fantasy. She tried to latch on to just one story where the heroes triumphed. None really came to mind. They all seemed to be an exercise in futility. Perhaps that was truth being revealed in fiction. However, she was not ready to give in and let death claim her just yet.
“We need to get out of London,” Vix whispered.
“Agreed,” Harold and Gemma chimed.
“But we can’t drive.” This was met by silent nods. Vix climbed to her feet and looked down at her two companions. “I don’t want to lose these suits, but they will slow us down.”
“And they do create quite a racket,” Harold offered.
Her first plan had proved to be a bust. She was not prepared to abandon all of the gear, there would be some parts that they could keep, but she conceded that wandering around the countryside in suits of armor was a bit far-fetched.
“I have an idea,” Gemma whispered. She seemed uncertain as to whether or not she should speak. Vix nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder as a sign of support and comfort.
Gemma began to talk. Slowly at first, but as Vix and Harold began to nod, she gained confidence and enthusiasm. Vix had to admit, it was surprisingly simple, but it seemed a solid plan. Perhaps that had been her problem: over-thinking.
“Well,” Vix said with a smile, “what are we waiting for?”
***
Juan cut the motor. The day was promising to be warm and the sun was already dancing on the water. This would be the final trip if he had his way. He did not really want to make this one, but he had no choice.
The boat glided into the beach and scraped along the mud and rock of the shore. Climbing out, Juan was already seeing activity headed his way. These runs had drawn deaders from all over. Once those things got interested, they just did not leave.
He started towards the warehouse. The doors were still shut, that was a good sign. The truck was still parked in the same place he’d left it when he brought down the rest of the supplies from Donna’s house as well as all the others in the walled community.
Taking the time to drop the few deaders that came close, Juan finally reached the long aluminum-sided building. He fished a key out of his pocket. The lock had been one that he’d plucked from Donna’s house; it had still been in the package. As he slid the key in, he paused.
How long had it been since he had not used a set of bolt-cutters to enter a place? Of course, he could lock the doors at the house, but he didn’t think anybody on the island locked their door. Perhaps if they knew some of their neighbors better…they might.
Giving the door a yank, Juan opened it and stood in the shaft of sunlight. He could hear the sounds of somebody struggling and making a fuss. Walking in, he looked up at the first storage platform. April was still tied securely to the post where he’d left her. The long tube that came down from the large plastic container was still in place.
He’d made sure to leave her with water. After all, he was not an animal. The choice on how quiet she chose to be was her own. If she wanted to yell and scream and bring the deaders, that was solely her decision.
“Juan, you don’t want to do this,” April said with a hitch in her voice as he climbed the ladder.
“You’re right,” Juan agreed. “But did you leave me any choice?”
“Listen,” April pleaded as Juan stood before her now with as little expression on his face as possible, “I may have acted a bit hasty. And that is your leverage…right?”
Juan remained silent. He would listen to her, but he felt that his choices were already made. He did not enjoy it, but she had actually brought this on herself. She could have kept her mouth shut…she could have actually tried to blow his cover with the group, but perhaps she was right when she said that folks saw him as a leader. Maybe…just maybe they could look beyond his past.
April had been a paramedic in the Old World. As fate would have it, one of her calls brought her to a seedy hotel in Portland’s Southeast district. A ‘working girl’ had been beaten badly by a john. When she arrived, a man met her on the scene and told her what room to check. He also passed on the information that the police were already en route. Surprisingly, the man turned out to be the girl’s pimp. He had not tried to interfere, and had actually been helpful in providing some of the girl’s personal information before slipping out as the police cars pulled in.
The reason April had remembered this particular call was the fact that, as she was finishing with putting the girl into the back of the ambulance, the pimp had approached and waved her over to speak in the street just beyond the yellow tape barricade. Since the police were on the scene and close by, she was not too concerned that the man would try anything rash.
“You might want to send somebody back to the Dumpster,” the man said, and that was it. He turned and walked away before she could ask any questions.
She had gone around back herself with an officer in tow. In the Dumpster they discovered a man who had been beaten almost to death. From the looks of it, a bat or baton had been taken to the man. It would seem that they had discovered the disgruntled john.
The police had shown about as much interest in locating his attacker as they had the prostitute’s. The fact that somebody had beaten the man almost to death was filed, but April already knew how much effort would go into finding the assailant even if she were to give them a detailed description of the man. In her mind, while he had been helpful, he had still done something terrible to another human and that did not make him much better in her eyes. In fact, once she read the laundry list of damage inflicted on the john, she built a strong sense of dislike for the supposedly helpful pimp.
In all her time, she had never had a call quite like it. She often wondered if the pimp had done what he did to the john because of the potential damage to his income…which was built on the debasement of women, or was it an actual act of trying to avenge the assault on the girl? She had puzzled over it for months…and then the zombies came.
She knew who Juan was the moment that she laid eyes on him. She was actually about to rally the others in her group to have the man evicted from the island…until she learned that he was the one in charge. She sat back and watched, trying to figure the man out. A part of her mind screamed that
what was past was past and that there were greater worries. Yet, for some reason, she could not see past the man who had almost killed another human being with his bare hands…and perhaps a bat.
As time passed, she saw things that caused her to evaluate her opinion more closely. This man seemed gentle and kind. He was also a very charismatic figure. She decided that it was perhaps in her best interest to get closer and see if she could put her fears to rest.
Then there was the unfortunate miscarriage. Mackenzie lost her baby and she saw yet another side of Juan. She was ready to just put the past behind her…and then they had made that ill-fated run to a shopping center. She had seen Juan turn his back on one of their own in a flash. She’d seen him let Al be torn apart. The fact that he’d been bitten was something that she chose to ignore. The fact was, that he’d had no apparent problem ending that man’s life and then justifying it as a mercy killing.
And then there were the kids. Juan had been at odds with them seemingly since the beginning. And now several had found their lives cut short…and Juan was the common theme through it all.
Try as she might, April could not divorce herself of the animosity she felt for the man. And when she started hearing all the talk about establishing Juan as the de facto leader by consensus, she had to find out for herself once and for all.
The revelation of the deaths of Donna and Frank had been a tough one, but she could also see the bigger picture. The fly in the ointment had been the appearance of Kip and Vin. They had started to figure out that something was not right about how their friends had died. She had taken the first step crushing Kip’s skull. In that single act, something had changed in her. There was so much power in that single act.
Juan had finished off Vin and then turned on her in a fury. She told him all about what she remembered about that night. At first, the big man had seemed confused. As she continued, she saw a change in the man. The face she was now seeing was more like that hard-edged pimp and less the soft, kind-hearted leader that all the rest of the people saw.
He had asked what she wanted and she told him it was simple. When the community named his as their leader, he would refuse. He could stay, but he would not be the mayor or governor or president…or whatever the people were clamoring for. She never saw his fist coming.
She’d come to in the warehouse tied to a wooden pillar. Juan was sitting there watching her. She had tried to talk her way out of the situation. Juan explained that he would never be able to trust her. He said that he simply was not sure what he was going to do. This had surprised her.
“You haven’t just killed me…why?” April asked.
“I don’t know what you think you know about me…but you have your wires crossed,” Juan said as he looked into her eyes. “I really don’t know what to do about you.”
“I don’t know what came over me,” April sniffed. “I just got so hung up—”
“On the past,” Juan cut her off. “Do you really think that people can’t come around? You met a kid five years ago who was living on the streets and doing the only thing he knew to survive.”
“You were making a living off of other girls selling their bodies!” April snarled. “People like you are animals. You are abusers who make excuses for your actions!”
Juan sat quietly and regarded the angry woman. He did not and could not dispute what she was saying. And the fact that he had flipped over on Frank and Donna so quick only seemed to back up her appraisal of his character. Was he simply fooling himself?
He got up and walked over to April, staring down at her. She glared back defiantly. He had to admit, she was a pretty tough little woman. Here she was, tied up and helpless with a man she considered to be a horrible criminal. Yet she was defiant and unafraid.
As much as it hurt him…as tough as it was to do, he knew what his choice would be. He had known the day he tied her up and left her. He had known the whole way over.
Juan drew the blade at his hip with a sigh.
***
The questions came in a jumble and Cynthia Frey held her hands up to silence them. She glanced down at the gathering pack of zombies that had ignored her gesture and continued to moan and cry. They still made her shudder and feel just a bit sick every time she looked at them.
“No, I did not get a look at who…or how many. I was running down Easy Street when it happened.”
This received nods from everybody. It had been something that each of them had seen as ironic and humorous when they had first ventured out to get an idea of the surroundings. From the looks of things, it had been anything but easy for the residents of this area. Most of the houses were burned to some extent; many were little more than black skeletal husks hinting at their former grandeur.
From what they had seen from an overlooking hill as they arrived, there was a small town just northwest of where they were currently holding up. It appeared to have suffered from a catastrophic fire and held little promise that there would be anything worth scavenging.
“I had just passed Playboy Mansion…” she referred to one of the residences by the nickname Mel gave it when they had first spotted the expansive abode with its gated entrance, “…and was cutting down between that rock wall and the trees when I heard a popping sound. I think I took a handful of steps before my leg buckled and I felt pain. I had to ditch my pack because I could barely move…much less run.”
“I’m going back there,” Glenn growled and moved for the rope ladder. Kyle grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“And what do you intend to do? First you have to get past those.” He pointed to the gathered cluster of zombies below. “Then what? We haven’t had bullets for how long?”
Glenn jerked away and moved over to squat next his wife. She leaned into him and patted him on the arm.
“I need the kit,” she announced.
The one thing they had in their favor was the fact that Cynthia was a veterinarian…at least she had been before the dead began to walk. Her medical skills were better than most doctors who worked on humans. One thing she had stressed any chance they got, was the need to gather medical supplies. Sometimes those came at the expense of food.
“We can skip a meal…but if somebody gets an infection, they can die quick,” was her credo anytime they approached civilization.
Mel fetched the black backpack with the hand-painted red cross on it and set it down beside her sister-in-law. She had become one of the first converts to Cynthia’s way of thinking after Xander became horribly ill one day. She watched helplessly as Cynthia hovered over the child, checking him hourly and administering a variety of antibiotics.
Of course, while the women were caring for the child, the men had to fend off countless zombies who were drawn by the noise of Xander’s crying. Mel had found an entirely new version of love for her family that week. Not once had anybody complained. There were a few times when it looked as if they might all die, but nobody flinched. Cynthia continued to stay at Xander’s side and the men fought like fierce animals.
“Okay, Glenn…sweetie, I need you to go be with the baby,” Cynthia said through a wince of pain. He started to protest and she hushed him with a finger over his lips. “I know you could and would help, but this is going to be ugly and it is really gonna hurt. You need to be out of the room.”
With visible reluctance, he stood and ran his hands through his shaggy dark hair. Gone were the days of his clean, close-cropped and perfectly styled hair. She found his new look strangely appealing and had let him know one day when he was contemplating on how he might just try and shave it all off.
Once he had gone inside the treehouse, she looked up at her brother; Kyle was doing his best not to look upset. “I need you to get your knife as hot as possible. Mel, rip something into strips for me that are about an inch or so wide. Also, bring me something that we can use to elevate my leg.”
Once everybody had run off on their assigned tasks, she took another glance down at the pack of thirty or so undead gathered below. Sh
e could not accept them for what they were despite the evidence to the contrary. As somebody with medical training, they were simply a biological impossibility. Then she saw the thing that she had even more trouble accepting. Dragging itself along, worming in between the legs of the gathering mob was a Saint Bernard. His fur was missing over most of his body, but there was enough in his appearance for her to identify the breed. One ear was torn away and there was a section of rib exposed, although it was so crusted with filth, you could barely make anything out. The muzzle was what had her transfixed. It was dripping blood…fresh blood.
At last Mel and Kyle returned. Cynthia snatched a few more things from the first aid bag and had Mel make a tourniquet just above mid-thigh. She tore back her pant leg, exposing a nasty, puckered hole.
“Okay, Kyle, I need you to make a slice here,” she indicated with one finger, “and across here. Then grab those needle-nose pliers and get the bullet. But you also need to make sure you get any of the denim from my jeans that might have gone in so it does not lead to infection. For that you will need the alcohol. Pour it in to clean the wound, clean your hands, the tools, and wash away the blood. Use the Maglite to help you see. We can just hope for the best” She looked up at Mel. “I need you to hold me…this is gonna hurt and I will probably kick and thrash around a bit. As soon as you are as sure as you can be, soak one of the strips in alcohol and pack it in the wound. Squeeze a hefty amount of that anti-bacterial ointment on the wound and dress it”
Kyle knelt beside his sister. It was one of those very rare times when he looked unsure. She gave him a nod and put a half inch dowel between her teeth. By the time he finished, Cynthia had passed out. Twice he’d been forced to stop because he could not see through his tears.
Oblivious to the moans and cries below, Kyle scooped his sister into his arms and carried her inside. Mel followed and was just about to shut the door when a scream sounded from close by.
