by M. Van
Ash’s chest heaved as she dealt with her target. I knew her body lacked the strength for this, and I felt stupid for having her out in the middle of it. However, I knew she was stubborn enough to head out on her own if I hadn’t let her come along. I noticed the third zombie had gone missing.
“Where’d it go?” I called to Ash in a low voice. She looked up in surprise when the door to the house swung open.
A strange, bulky figure stood in the doorway. He reminded me of Jason from the Friday the 13th movies. Mouth open, my eyes widened when the figure let out a full-blown battle cry and came storming down the steps. Instead of a machete, it carried a bright red firefighter axe.
Overcome, I couldn’t draw my gaze from the giant mass that hurtled my way. I stepped backward, nearly stumbling over my own feet when I smelled a breath that set the hairs on my neck upright. I swung around and heard Ash call out my name. Our missing zombie’s face looked like a cleaved T-bone steak, but what remained of its eyes didn’t seem to have an interest in me. Its hands shoved me in the chest, sending me backward. I stumbled along in its stride.
“Get down!” A bulk of a voice hollered from behind me. I dropped to the ground. There was a loud crack. When I looked up, the zombie lay by my side. It jerked, eying the red axe sticking out of its breastbone with suspicion. I snatched my machete from my belt and swung it in one swift move. The metal clanked on the concrete when the top of the zombie’s scalp fell open. A gray mass leaked out onto the pavement.
A breath escaped me when I remembered Jason. I scrambled to my feet, stumbled until a hand took me by the shoulder.
“You all right, kid?” the bulky voice said, in a restrained volume. I stared at him, but I had to blink a few times to understand what I was seeing. The guy was enormous, but the football uniform he was wearing made him look ominous.
“Fine, thank you,” I said after a beat. It might have gone down smoother if he hadn’t interfered, but I didn’t say that. Ash stopped by my side. She had to crane her neck to look at the guy.
“That’s nasty,” he said and pulled up his nose. A moan sounded in the distance, and the guy turned to check his door. He seemed nervous.
“The name’s William,” he said and shook both our hands. We introduced ourselves, and he invited us inside for drinks. Astonished, I turned to Ash as William made his way up the stairs.
“Holy fuck,” she exclaimed in a low voice, eyes wide. “Do you believe that guy?”
“I’m just glad his name’s not Voorhees,” I said, a bit dazed. “You think we should follow?”
Ash shrugged and then turned to the door. “If he wanted to kill us, he could do it perfectly well out here.” She had a point, and I shrugged.
As we sat on William’s couch, he started to take off his helmet and what I now recognized as a dark-blue Giants uniform with the number eighty on the back. I couldn’t make out a name. Even without the shoulder pads, his shoulders looked wide, and his face had a rugged edge with a strong jaw. He watched us in amazement for a minute.
“You both go out like that?” he said, a bit amused. I inspected our camouflage pants and black jackets. It hadn’t occurred to me to wear protective gear, probably because we didn’t have that much trouble with zombies trying to eat us. We had weapons, though.
“We like to travel light,” Ash replied. William laughed at that as he walked to his kitchen.
A bed sat crammed in a corner of the room, and he had boarded up every window. It seemed he’d been living out of this little room, similar to the setup we had at our house. Except I hadn’t thought of fortifying our windows, but then I hadn’t seen one zombie that tried to climb our stairs.
“You’re not from around here,” William said when he planted two cups of steaming hot coffee in front of us. He said it more to me than Ash. I would have answered his question, but my heart stopped at the sight of the beautiful dark brew. I reached to grab the mug, but Ash caught me midair.
“Watch it,” she said with a grin. “Might be hot.” I scowled at her, took the mug, and let the aroma caress my senses.
“This isn’t instant,” I said, taking in the smell, and looked at William for confirmation.
“It’s not,” he said. “Old-fashion brew.” A little moan of delight passed my mouth that made William laugh.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty, and I’m not much of a coffee drinker,” he said. “You can have some to take home.” My mouth spread into a smile.
“That would be awesome.”
“We might have something you need,” Ash added. I quirked a smile at her suggestion. It might be a good way to make some friends. A sense of pride fell over me as I watched Ash negotiate the coffee. I withheld the urge to rub a hand over her head. William looked up with a sour face after his first sip of his own coffee, which broadened my smile. He really wasn’t a coffee drinker.
“You’re quite the bargain hunter,” he said, pointing a finger at Ash. She flashed him an all-ear grin.
William told us how he had boarded himself inside after he had started seeing the first images of the zombies on the news. He didn’t have any family, and he had tried to warn everyone he cared about, but in the end, it had taken a trip to the supermarket and a Home Depot for him to get his house secure and settled.
We told him bits and parts of our story, how we ended up subletting a couple of blocks down. Without prior agreement, Ash and I both seemed to think it wasn’t in our best interests to mention the bite on my shoulder.
William told us about the evacuation order that had been given at the beginning, even before things started to happen at the airport. The evacuation combined with the martial law I experienced at the beginning of my vacation would explain the lack of total chaos on the streets, but it didn’t explain why they had left some people behind nor the lack of information through the media. I asked William, but he didn’t have an answer.
“Martial law kept the news teams blind, although some stories got out, mostly on the net. Everyone focused on the riots and not the reason behind them,” he said. He didn’t relay any new information, but it felt nice talking to someone else for a change; even Ash seemed to enjoy sifting through William’s stories, and we ended up hanging out for a while.
Ash hung on my back when we said our good-byes. William insisted on helping me get Ash’s chair down off his porch. He hurried inside after he had set it down, totally out of his comfort zone without his football uniform. He thought we were out of our minds, walking around the way we did, but he hoped he would see us around.
“You will,” I said with a smile. “You have coffee, and we have those cheese crackers you love.” He laughed, waved, and then closed the door. I eased Ash down in her chair and gave her a push onto the street.
“You seem pleased,” she said and narrowed her eyes at me.
“He gave me coffee,” I said.
“Yeah, he seemed nice enough,” she said, followed by a shudder. “It really is getting colder.”
I stepped in line behind her and rubbed her arms to get some warmth in them.
“Aren’t you cold?” she asked through chattering teeth.
“Nope, he gave me coffee.”
Ash groaned in frustration before she elbowed me in the knee.
| 18
My back ached when I sat up in the recliner and retracted the footrest. Tiny pinpricks ran from my butt up my back. I should have gotten a mattress down from upstairs. That would have given us both some comfort. I glanced at Ash, who lay curled up in a little ball on the couch. Should have thought about that before. I shook my head.
I grabbed my glass of whiskey from the table and strolled to the window. My nose took in a whiff of the single malt. As I sipped, heat trailed down my throat and lighted up my stomach. My body shuddered against the cold air inside the room. We didn’t have access to gas anymore; it must have been cut off for safety reasons. Although we had electricity and we used a small electric heater, the room still felt chilly.
The view fr
om the window displayed a sober picture. Dark clouds unleashed a pounding rain, announcing summer was about to make room for a bleak autumn, and I wondered what it would bring.
A single zombie kept bumping into a fence, bumped, turned around, and bumped into a parked car in an endless loop. It didn’t seem bothered by the rain, though its dress stuck to its bony limbs.
I felt safe having one or two zombies in our neighborhood. They’d act as an alarm for other bad things. The encounter with the men downtown and that poor woman’s screams had turned me, a restless sleeper, into a complete insomniac. I’d wake up in a sweat with the cowboy’s breathy words humming in my ear. Zombies were a disturbing but predictable problem. Thugs, even with brains the size of a pea, could mean all kinds of trouble.
I turned at the chatter of teeth and moved over to Ash. Her upper body shivered, and when I pressed a hand to her forehead, it felt damp and burning hot. “What the hell,” I whispered through clenched teeth.
I tucked her in with an added blanket, but her hands stayed cold as ice cubes, and I had no idea what to do. Her hand tightened around mine as her foggy eyes opened. It took her a little while to focus.
“Hey,” she croaked through clamoring teeth. “I’m cold.”
I sat down on the table and rubbed a hand over her back. “I know, but I can’t get you warm,” I said. My voice had reached a breaking point. I cleared my throat and stood. “I’m going to find the other sleeping bag.”
“Please don’t go.” Her voice was a mere whisper as she clung to my hand. Her pleading eyes made me stop. With a faint smile, I kneeled down beside her and placed a hand on her head. I chewed my lower lip, uncertain whether to ask, but I decided to risk it.
“What stage of treatment were you in?” I asked.
“Does it matter?” She closed her eyes and turned her head from me. She wasn’t ready to deal with that. I couldn’t blame her. Besides, she was right: there was nothing I could do. I eased a hand over her smooth head.
I sat with her awhile, rubbing her hands and shoulders until a yawn escaped me. A glance at the clock revealed dawn was mere hours away.
“Make some room,” I said. Ash scooted to the edge of the couch, and I wedged myself behind her. I tucked us both in, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her close. The cold shivers radiated through her sweatshirt.
“Don’t dump me over the side, okay?” she said in a quivering voice.
“Only if you don’t squash me,” I replied.
I closed my eyes and tried to get some sleep. That wasn’t easy next to someone who trembled with cold. However, it wasn’t as if my mind would let me rest. I had gotten myself stuck on another continent in the middle of a zombie apocalypse with a sick kid who, on top of that, was stuck in a wheelchair. Could it get any worse? I was sure it would. The zombies were one thing, but this thing that was eating at us from the inside, I couldn’t protect us from that. I gripped Ash tighter as the thoughts whirled inside my mind.
Light filtered through the curtains while darkness started to loom over me. The bucket thumped on the floor, and it pulled me out of my haze. Ash squirmed before her shoulders heaved and vomited into the bucket. I closed my eyes and didn’t dare move, unsure if she’d appreciate being comforted. When she retreated under the covers and squeezed my hand, I released the breath I was holding. I placed my forehead against the back of her head. I felt so damn helpless. Only when her breathing slowed, I allowed the looming darkness to wrap around me.
When I woke, the sun was high in the sky. Ash had abandoned the couch. It took me a second to process that her chair, usually parked next to the couch, was gone. I scanned the room as I sat up. Worry started to set in after I checked the bathroom. I even ran upstairs, and down to the garage without a sign of Ash. Where the hell was she? I returned to the kitchen and found her gun where she’d left it last night. Why would she leave without a weapon?
Within a minute, I stood on the street outside, armed with my spear and a gun. A machete hung from my belt along with a hunting knife. Just in case, I had shoved a small-caliber P-22 into one of the pockets of my cargo pants.
The autumn sun had replaced the rain. Everything felt damp with a chilly breeze, and I closed my jacket. The ramp up the stairs was in place. I didn’t even want to think how she had gotten down. And why hadn’t it woken me up? My heart raced inside my chest, and when I stopped berating myself, I could only come up with one reason for her to go outside unarmed. Too hard for me to think about it, I set off running.
Streets came up left and right, combined with houses, abandoned cars, and roaming zombies. A snarl caught my attention. The snarl was followed by a man in shorts who charged at me from a garden ahead. The man had seen better days. I let the zombie come toward me without slowing my pace. When he cut across the pavement to intercept my approach, I ducked behind a parked car where I listened for its snarls. As it came around, I stood vast and jabbed my spear inside an eye socket. It jerked as I removed the spear. Before it even fell to the ground, I spun on my heels and ran without checking if it were dead. I called out Ash’s name without caring if anyone or anything heard.
“Where the fuck are you?”
A fence rose along the waterfront separating the shore from the residential housing. Boats of all sizes, from yachts to rowboats, aimlessly rocked their hulls against the tide.
Relief washed over me when I spotted Ash sitting at the waterside. My heavy breathing reminded me I was out of shape. It didn’t matter; at least I had found her. My spear bounced on the concrete when I threw it across the fence. Ash wiped the sleeve of her shirt over her eyes. I knew she had seen me when she called out, “Go away.”
With a thud, I landed on the ground. Ignoring her request, I grabbed my spear and ran to her. As I called her name, she spun around and pushed her wheels toward the main entrance. I caught up with her before she could manage any speed, grabbed the chair, and spun her back to face me. Sunlight accented the gauntness in her face. It made my stomach drop like a brick.
“Let me go,” she said, her face wet with tears. Her quiet voice came out erratically, in breathy hiccups.
“What are you doing?” I kneeled down in front of her and took her hand. She snatched it from my grasp. I felt my heart sink to the depths of my stomach. She tried to turn the chair, but I forced her in place.
“Let me go,” she croaked again, but this time I felt anger replace the worry inside me.
“And what?” I yelled. “Watch you run off and kill yourself?” It wasn’t what I wanted to say, although it was what I feared. She clasped her shaking hands in her lap, and her eyes fell on them.
“Fuck,” I said. “You were.” The words turned painful as they exited my throat.
“I’m good for nothin’, and I’m only gonna get worse,” she said through shuddering breaths while tears streamed down her face. “I won’t get you killed.”
“That’s not your damn choice to make.” The anger fumed inside me. She lowered her chin to her chest. I eased up on the chair and reached to hold her. I lost my balance when she jammed her fists into my shoulders, and I fell to the ground.
“Dammit. Ash, you can’t do this to me,” I yelled. She ignored me, spinning those wheels as if possessed. I got to my feet and sprinted after her past the long row of abandoned boats.
With that chair of hers, she was able to pick up a formidable pace. I used the gates to exit the harbor and ran into the street. Sweat trickled down my back as the echo of my boots pounded on the empty road. I squinted against the sun and felt it burn my skull. Ash turned around a corner at the end of the street. My chest heaved, and my lungs started to burn. God, I was out of shape.
A gunshot rang out, and I froze as my heart caught in my throat. Ash had left her gun on the kitchen table, which meant it wasn’t hers. I let my spear fall to the ground as I drew my own gun and set off after her. When I neared the intersection, unfamiliar voices drifted from around the corner of the street. My throat tightened at the memory of the m
en in town, and I released the safety on my gun. Speeding around the corner, gun raised, I took in a breath at the sight of two men. My gaze spun from one to the other.
A man, who might have stepped out of a grease pit, stood next to a yellow monster of a pickup truck, wearing a tartan shirt and dirty jeans. Another man, stocky in build with a round face and a thinning hairline, stood in front of Ash. He held a shotgun to her head.
The yellow truck stood parked in front of the lawn of a red-bricked house. A man lay dead on the path leading to the house. The door to the house stood wide open. The man, not a zombie, seemed to have tried to defend his home. The one with the shotgun didn’t even look up when I called, “Freeze!”
The guy next to the truck snorted a laugh and gestured a dirt-crusted finger at me. The stocky guy looked up before the nasty-looking grin on his face widened.
“Back the fuck off,” I said in an effort to sound threatening. I gripped the gun tighter with two hands to steady it. Ash didn’t move and kept her gaze on the stocky man.
“This might not be such a bad day at all,” Stocky said as he lowered his shotgun.
“Step away from her.” His smile grew wide when I edged closer without taking my eyes off them. The second the pain hit I knew I’d screwed up. Expanding from my upper leg, my nerves caught fire. Shock dropped me to my knees. I groaned through gritted teeth.
I heard Ash call out to me, her voice distant as if caught between voids. The pain eased off, and I tried to lift my gun when another shock hit. Blood boiled in my veins. I couldn’t hold the gun, and it clattered to the ground. My hands dug into the pavement as I tried to keep myself up. I shifted my gaze, desperate to find the source of my agony. Tears blurred my vision, but I saw a small figure standing in the door opening of the red-bricked house. A young boy stared at the dead figure. I would have prayed it not be his father, but the look on his face told me it was. Another shot of pain went through my limbs, my arms buckled, and my face landed on the concrete.
