The candles provided a cacophony of odors as well, as the candles were not the useful, utilitarian light suppliers of emergency; they were instead the decorative, perfumed things one might purchase at Yankee Candle or Bath & Body Works. They mixed with the smell of the nail polish, and the resultant odor attacked the senses with a mix of vanilla, cucumber, cinnamon, apple and ethyl acetate. Just below those scents was another, far worse one — the faint mixture of human waste, coming from somewhere deep within the home.
The two women didn’t seem to mind the scent, which was only accentuated by the stagnant air. The candles had all burned down to below half their height, and other, burned-out candles lay discarded in a corner, indicating that the women had had ample time to grow accustomed to the smell.
Her last toe painted, the girl recapped her polish. She leaned as close as she could and blew on her feet, then looked to her mother.
“I’m hungry,” she said, putting just enough of a whine in her voice to give it the definite “feed me” inflection children often give their mothers.
Her mother nodded, but didn’t take her attention from the book. The girl gave it ten seconds, then sighed. “Fine,” she said petulantly. She threw her legs off the table and forced herself from the couch, rising to her heels, balancing with her toes in the air.
She gave her mom the kind of look only a teenage girl can produce and hobbled to a door that stood just inside of a narrow hallway out of the room. She reached blindly into a cardboard box on the top shelf of the closet and pulled out a thin, brightly wrapped package, about the size of a candy bar. The girl examined the label, scowling at the words “Nutrisystem coconut almond bar,” before unwrapping it. She tore off a chunk about an inch long and sniffed it before biting it in half.
Hobbling back to the couch on her heels, the girl chewed slowly, scowling all the while. She threw the rest of the wrapped bar onto the coffee table next to one of the Kindles and plopped back into her seat, eying the other half of her bite as though she hoped it would change into something more appetizing. When it failed to do so, she swallowed the first bite, waited a few seconds, and threw the other piece into her mouth.
When that bite, too, was gone, the girl sat in silence for five minutes or so, growing more restless with each one. Finally, she leaned forward, reaching for the rest of the bar that was before her.
“I thought you didn’t like those,” her mother said without looking up.
The girl stopped, her arm still stretched out in front of her, inches from the bar. “I don’t,” she said. “But it’s not like we have any more Diet Cokes or peanut butter. I’m hungry.”
“Mmm,” her mother said. “Well, I think you’ve had enough for now. Once we run out of those, we’ll really be in trouble.”
The girl rolled her eyes and flopped back. “Yeah,” she said. “Kellee bought two years’ worth and ate, what, two meals? We can eat Nutrisystem forever.”
“We might have to, dear.”
“Well, great.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess, then, we’ll be super-thin when those things come.” She looked back to the bar on the table. “And we’ll taste like crap.”
The girl’s mother chuckled and closed her book, carefully placing her bookmark in place as she did so. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” she said. “We don’t need both of us awake this long.”
She shook her head. “I’ve only been up for, like, three hours, mom.” Her face suddenly grew more serious. “When is the last time you slept?”
“I can’t sleep,” her mother said with a sigh. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m afraid something will happen. The dead will come, or your sister…”
“That’s why I’ll stay awake. You can’t just stay up forever. Sleep.”
The older woman nodded. “Perhaps I will.”
Just then, a cry came from a room a little farther down the hall than the closet. It was a female voice, crying in pain.
Both women sat up at this, suddenly on alert.
“Kellee?” the mother called out. “Kellee, are you okay?”
A door in the hallway opened, and Kellee waddled out. She was breathing heavily and using the wall for support.
She was in her mid-20s at least, and could have been pushing 30. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, though nearly as many strands had come loose as remained in place. She wore an enormous pink and yellow dress. Her face was dripping with sweat as she made her way toward the living room.
And she was enormously pregnant.
Kellee’s mother rose from her seat at the first sight of the girl and hurried to her. She took her daughter’s hand in her own and put her other arm behind her back to help guide her into the room. The other girl watched with interest but didn’t yet make a move.
“Michelle, get up!” her mother said. “Move the coffee table, make some room for your sister.”
Michelle finally made a move, following her mother’s instructions. She unfurled an enormous blanket over the couch just before the other two got to it.
“What was that scream?” Kellee’s mother asked as she helped her daughter lie down on the couch.
Still breathing heavily, Kellee looked at her mother and sister before answering. Finally, she shook her head. “Contraction,” she said.
Her sister’s eyes widened, but her mother just nodded. “Was that the first big one?” she said.
“No,” Kellee said. “They’ve been coming for a while now.”
That got the mother’s attention. She pushed the coffee table even farther to the side, knocking over her straight-backed chair in the process, and knelt by her daughter’s side. “What does ‘a while’ mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Kellee said, wincing as she did. She moaned again, then breathed steadily for a few seconds. “A while,” she said finally. “They’re getting pretty bad.”
Her mother glanced at her watch. “Honey, you should have told me. With the way your stomach has been bothering you, you shouldn’t be taking any chances,” she said. “Come on.” She grabbed her daughter’s hand again and pulled on it, standing as she did.
“Mom, what are you doing?” Michelle asked. “She should lie down.”
“No, she shouldn’t. Not on the couch. If she’s lying down, she’s doing it on the floor. But if the baby’s coming, she needs to squat.”
“Squat? Like she’s peeing in the woods?”
“That’s how it’s done, dear,” her mother said. “Now hush, so we can do this.”
Michelle rolled her eyes and stepped back from the other two. At the same time, Kellee got up from the couch. Just as she got to her feet, though, she let out a cry again, grabbing at her midsection.
“Squatting it is,” her mother said, centering her daughter over the bed linens on the floor.
“She looks like it hurts,” Michelle said.
Her mother nodded, but barely seemed to have acknowledged the words. Kellee cried out again, bending over as she grabbed at her enormous stomach.
“Mom, she looks bad,” Michelle said again. “Should I go try to find someone?”
“No!” Kellee cried through heavy breaths. “No,” she said again once she had gathered herself. “No, don’t go out there. Not for me. Not for anything.”
“Kell,” Michelle said softly. “Kell, you don’t look good.”
“It’s fine,” her sister snapped. “It’s a contraction. They happen all the time. It’s how babies get born. That door doesn’t open.”
As Kellee spoke, Michelle’s attention was drawn lower, to the white linens on the floor. Just below where her sister stood were three red spots. Seconds later, they were joined by a fourth, then a fifth.
“Mom?” Michelle said. “She’s bleeding.”
Her mother nodded. “That happens.”
As the woman reassured her daughter, though, something inside Kellee opened up, and a veritable river of red flowed down from beneath Kellee’s dress.
“Mom?!” Michelle cried again, s
tepping back.
Now Michelle’s mother sprang into action. Kellee looked down, seeing the situation for herself, and suddenly seemed overwhelmed. She collapsed to the floor, lying in a pool of her own blood, and started to sob.
“What do we do?” Michelle asked, frantic.
“Stay calm!” her mom hissed back at her, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll figure this out. She’ll be fine.”
“No, she won’t, mom!” Michelle cried, her voice getting louder as her mother’s got softer. “This is not how it’s supposed to be!”
Michelle watched her sister and mother for another moment, then nodded. “I’m leaving,” she said. “I’m going to find someone who can help.”
“No!” Kellee said, her voice barely audible. She had grown pale, lying on the floor, and the pool of blood was only growing. “You can’t…”
Michelle didn’t acknowledge her sister, making her way out of the living room, through the kitchen toward the door.
“Where are you going to go?” her mom called, apparently resigned to the fact that Michelle was leaving.
“Dr. Norris,” Michelle said as she unlocked the two deadbolt locks. “They’re, what, two houses down? If she’s there, she can help.”
“Honey, there’s no chance she’s there. None.”
“So what do I do, mom?!” Michelle cried. “Do what you’re doing? Just sit here and hope she doesn’t die? I can’t! If Dr. Norris is there, she can help. If she’s not, I’ll come back. But I can’t not look!”
Without waiting for a response, Michelle ran out the door, not even putting on shoes.
The family’s cul-de-sac was barren, empty. Street lights lined the road, but they were unlit, standing in darkness like suburban scarecrows. No creatures, human or otherwise, were in sight, other than the teenage girl on her doorstep.
Michelle stopped just outside her door for a second, though whether her hesitation was due to her surprise at the darkness, the fact that she was no longer used to the fresh air, or another reason wasn’t clear.
Seconds later, she kicked back into gear, sprinting as quickly as her freshly painted toes would allow to her right, to the first house off the cul-de-sac.
“Hello?!” she called when she reached the Norris’ doorstep. She pounded on the door, calling out again, but heard no response. “Hello?!” she called again, louder this time. Still nothing.
Michelle stepped back from the door. The house, like the rest of the neighborhood, was in darkness. If there was a candle burning inside, it was not apparent to her.
“Somebody help!” Michelle cried out, turning her attention to the street at large. “Somebody! My sister…she’s…somebody help!”
She looked in every direction, looking for somebody who would hear her, somebody who would come to Kellee’s aid.
The street, though, was dark and silent.
Michelle walked further from her house, her head turning right and left as she scanned the available windows for any sign of life. When she reached the street corner — some seven houses away from her own — Michelle seemed to realize the risk inherent in traveling so far from safety and slowed down.
“Hello?!” she cried again, but the response from nothing didn’t change.
The girl stopped again, panting as much as her sister had been. The sweat mixed with tears to form a salty stream down her face.
Michelle stood still in the middle of her street, at the point where three different routes met, and continued to scan. “Can’t go back,” she whispered to herself. “Not without help.”
Suddenly, a shot was fired somewhere behind her. Michelle jumped and turned.
She couldn’t see who had fired the shot, but the target was evident — in the yard next door to the Norris’ house, some thirty feet from Michelle, a zombie had been sent sprawling onto its stomach. Even in the darkness, illuminated by only the moon, a growing circle of dark liquid around its head was evident. If it had fallen in the direction it was moving, it had been directly for the unaware Michelle.
She ran back toward the sound. It was too far back to see the shooter, only enough to make out a standing, indiscernible form a ways back from the now motionless zombie. She stopped over the zombie. “Mrs. Cormoran?” Michelle breathed.
She blinked and shook her head, turning her attention away from the zombie toward the shooter that had saved her life.
“Who’s there?” Michelle said as she drew nearer.
“Get back inside!” a voice hissed. “Now!”
Michelle stopped, surprised. “Mom?” she said. “Mom what are you doing out here? You need to be with Kellee.”
Her mom faltered briefly. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “Inside!”
“Mom, I’m not going back in there until I find someone who can help her. You go in, I’ll be fine.”
Her mother exhaled deeply. “Michelle,” she said, her voice stern and sad. “You will come inside right now. Lord only knows how many more of those…things will show up, after hearing the gunshot.”
“Mom, Kellee…”
“Michelle, your sister is dead!”
Michelle stopped. She looked at her mother closely, then shook her head. “She can’t be dead. I’ve only been outside for…”
“She is,” her mother said, her voice sinking again. “I don’t know what the hell happened. One minute, she was there, then she just…stopped.”
Michelle didn’t respond at first. Then she nodded and started to walk back toward her house. Her mom watched long enough to make sure the girl was coming, then turned back toward home as well.
“The baby?” Michelle asked, though she sounded like she had a good idea of what the answer was going to be.
Her mother shook her head.
Michelle lagged behind as her mother climbed the steps and entered their house. Just as her mother crossed the threshold, Michelle heard her let out a sob. Michelle entered seconds later. She peered into the room where she had left her sister and saw her mother curling up on the floor next to the body, lying down beside her in the blood.
Michelle’s eyes filled with new tears and she swung the door shut. She threw the deadbolt closed again and sank down to the kitchen floor, where she curled up in a ball and cried. She could do nothing else; her sister was beyond saving.
Chapter 2: What to Do Next
“They’re okay,” Lowensen said in response to questioning looks from Celia and Simon. “They got in.”
The students and their teacher were gathered around the podium in the front of the room, just underneath the chalkboard. Brandon had sunk into a chair and was rubbing his ankle, but the others all stood, panting, waiting for the arrival of the fathers.
Celia found herself devastated to be back here, back in the classroom that she had already been in twice in the past twelve hours. Earlier, Celia had thought the room was fresh, exciting, new. Now, it just felt stale, stagnant and terrifying.
“What do we do, Mr. Lowensen?” Simon asked. “You said we can’t stay here.”
“We can’t,” the teacher said. “Not forever. But we might be able to outlast the Z’s upstairs, wait until they move on. It’s all we have right now.”
Celia’s mind immediately fell back to the small bit of food she had eaten out of her father’s trunk back in Barnstable. It wasn’t much, but she was glad she had had it, now that she was faced with the question of when she might be able to eat again.
The group fell to silence, everyone watching the stairwell entrance for when Andy and Roger would pass through. They could hear the two men talking, but Celia, at least, couldn’t make out the conversation. She strained to hear what was going on up there, but to no avail — if she hadn’t already known who the men were, Celia wouldn’t even have been able to make out the identities of the speakers.
After a minute, they got quieter. Then there was another noise, one that Celia thought she recognized.
The door had opened.
She couldn’t make out any other voices
from up top and, once the door closed back, it was silent. Celia couldn’t figure out what that meant.
Minutes passed with no one moving, no sound coming. The six of them in the classroom waited, twelve eyes on the entrance. Celia realized at one point that she was holding her breath, and exhaled, wondering how long it had been since her last breath.
Finally, after at least five full, silent minutes, a sound came from the concrete stairwell. Someone — and only one someone, based on the footsteps — was descending, coming toward them.
Instinctively, Celia grabbed at her weapon, and noticed Simon and Stacy did the same. The chances that a zombie had been dawdling at the top stair for so long before moving toward them idly was slim, to be sure, but there was no sense in taking chances.
The footsteps stopped again, just shy of the spot where the owner might have come within sight of the classroom occupants. Again, the pause was excruciating, as Celia didn’t know what to expect. Had Roger left when the door opened? Had her father? Had both of them, for some reason, and the feet belonged to a slow-moving zombie that had wormed its way in?
Then, suddenly, the owner of the feet cleared his throat.
Andy.
Though it was only a noise from deep in his throat, Celia knew that was her father’s sounds. There was no doubt. Simon, only inches to her right, let his shoulders fall, and she could tell he knew that was not a noise made by his own father.
Celia put the gun on the podium and hurried to the entrance, just as her father came within sight. When she finally saw him, she came to a stop. Andy looked wiped out, devastated. He had somehow aged years in the fifteen or so minutes since they had arrived back at Morgan College, and seemed far smaller than he ever had before.
“Daddy?” Celia said. “Daddy, what happened?”
Andy looked up at her as though he were surprised to find her in front of him. He surveyed the group at large, meeting each set of eyes in time. He stopped on his daughter, Simon and Brandon.
After Life Page 23
