State of Grace

by M. Lauryl Lewis

  I got on my belly and scooted to the edge of the roof, which extended vertically and provided about two feet of cover. I had already lost my bearings and was unsure if we were at the front edge of the store or not. I got into a crouching position and looked over the edge. Sluggish Roamers surrounded us, but were still a good hundred feet away. The truck was thankfully below, Brenda’s leg nearby. A wide streak of blood led away from the truck.

  “There’s a dumpster just below us,” I said hurriedly.

  Without thinking about the distance, I swung my leg over the edge and prepared to jump.

  “Zoe, no! We can’t leave Kendall.”

  “We have no idea where she is. If we don’t go, whichever one of those monsters below us that wins is going to kill us both.”

  Chanel looked at me with horror in her eyes.

  “The best thing we can do is get to safety. We can go back home and get help. If she’s still alive...”

  “Stop!” snapped Chanel.

  “If she’s still alive,” I continued, “we may be her only hope of help. She has her bug-out bag. Give her some credit.”

  I was growing irritable over her hesitation. The Roamers were slow, but still getting closer. The beasts below us were thankfully still occupied with each other. Getting to the truck and getting out of there was our best chance, and perhaps our only chance.

  I turned away from her and swung my other leg over. Looking back one last time, I whispered.

  “It’s now or never.”

  With those words, I wrapped my arms around my torso and let myself fall over the edge.

  CHAPTER 17

  Falling onto sacks of old trash hurt more than I could have imagined.

  The pain of another human landing on top of me was just as bad, if not worse. As Chanel landed on my right side, the force pushed my head against the edge of the dumpster. Still, we didn’t pause in our effort to flee. Seeing stars and my head throbbing, I hoisted myself over the edge of the trash receptacle and ran toward the truck. The dead in the distance suddenly looked much closer than they had from the roof and the truck much farther away. The monsters within the building were aware that we had run, the distraction leading to the ultimate demise of the weaker of the two. I could feel its rage. Instead of looking back to make sure Chanel was still with me, I kept my eyes focused on the truck and trusted that the footfalls that mingled with my own belonged to her.

  From the reflection in the back truck window, I saw the misshapen form of the Hunter emerging from the building behind me. I could only assume that it killed whatever horror it fought inside the nursery. The truck was a mere two yards away and I didn’t dare take my eyes off the vehicle. The stench of decay was overpowering. Reaching the pickup, I fumbled to open the door. My hand slid from the handle and hit the mirror with more force than was comfortable. Chanel ran into me in her own rush to enter the vehicle. I stepped aside just long enough for her to open the door.

  “The truck’s covered in blood,” she huffed, struggling to get enough air.

  “Get in,” I urged.

  My gaze focused on the Hunter, who in all its bloated glory bumbled toward us. One of its legs was limp, causing it to undulate as it made a sloppy attempt to run. I sensed from it both the sweet joy of victory over whatever it had fought inside the garden store and the sour desire to devour. I clambered into the truck before Chanel was in the driver’s seat.

  “It’s different than other Hunters,” I said quickly as I forcefully pulled the door shut behind me. “Start the truck and go!” I screamed.

  Chanel’s hands were shaking, causing a delay in inserting the key into the ignition. The Hunter was slow and not posing an imminent threat, but the horde of Roamers quickly approached, threatening to surround us. It seemed an eternity before Chanel finally turned the engine over. She stepped on the gas pedal, but the truck didn’t move forward as smoothly as it should.

  “The parking brake,” she gasped.

  A moment later she managed to dislodge the brake and the truck lurched forward. A thunderous screech shook me to my core. The effect inside my head was dizzying and I panicked. It was unlike any sensation I had experienced before.

  “Zoe, what’s wrong?” I heard Chanel ask.

  I clutched at my head. It felt like a large fist was latched around my brain and I wanted to vomit.

  “Zoe?!”

  I clenched my teeth together and forced two words out. “Keep...going.”

  Whatever it was that had a hold of me was terrifying, and I knew on a primal level that it was by far the worst of the plague we’d yet to encounter.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Chanel.

  “There’s something waiting for us,” I groaned. “It’s in my head and hurts like a sonofabitch.”

  “I thought you stopped hearing them?” she asked.

  “Yeah I did.”

  “Up there. See it?” she asked.

  I looked in the direction she indicated. Roamers were beginning to cross the highway, directly in our way.

  “Run them over,” I half growled.

  “Not them. We can take those out easily. Over by that pine tree. Do you see her?”

  I strained my eyes. Both the tree and the figure were far enough away that it wasn’t easy to make it out. It was the presence of pure white that drew my eyes. In a world ravaged by the dead, everything wears a coat of grime and white that pure is rare. The truck jolted when it hit one of the Roamers.

  “Keep going,” I said.

  The faster Chanel drove, the worse the splitting pain in my brain got.

  “Your nose,” said Chanel as she ran into another of the dead.

  I looked at her sideways.

  “It’s bleeding,” she explained quickly.

  I wiped the back of my right hand against my upper lip and inspected it afterward. It was smeared in bright red blood. Two more Roamers met their fate with our front bumper as I searched the distance for the lone figure again. I made an inhuman noise as my head filled with the thoughts of the creature topped in white.

  You’re ours.

  The truck came to a screeching halt, throwing me into the dashboard. I had no idea what Chanel had hit, and I was dazed for a moment while the dust from the air bags settled.

  “Chanel...” I groaned.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Chanel...”

  I scooted over toward the driver’s seat and felt for her. She moaned when I found her arm.

  “We have to move,” I said quietly.

  The minds of a hundred dead filled my head, and each of them was ravenous. One was commanding the others. She was stronger than any other presence I had ever felt, and she was evil. She wanted me. She wanted me alive. She had already told the others to take Chanel, to do what they wanted with her, but to keep me alive.

  “I can’t get out, Zoe,” said Chanel with panic rising in her voice.

  “You have to. They’re gonna to surround us.”

  “No, I’m stuck. I can’t feel my legs,” she said as she started to cry. “You have to go...”

  I ignored her and scooted closer to her. She swatted at me with one of her arms, and when I slid my arms around her to pull her toward my door she cried out sharply.

  “Noooooo!” she yelled, shrill and pained.

  “I’m not dying today, and neither are you!” I hissed as I pulled on her again.

  In the distance an explosion rocked the air. Gunfire rang out immediately afterward. Someone yelled as another explosion rocked the truck.

  “What the hell,” I mumbled as I continued to struggle to free Chanel.

  The maimed Hunter that was somewhere behind us yelled out in anger, or maybe in pain. Things happened so quickly. The passenger door flung open and rough hands found me. Not knowing if they were dead, alive, or had ill intentions, I fought back with all the strength I could muster.

  “Fuck,” a deep voice cursed. “Let me help you, lady! Brett, I have one of them!”

  “Austen and Keeli
e better hold off these fucks,” hollered a gruff voice.

  I took a gamble and figured human was safer than the dead that now surrounded us. We had no other way out, so I stopped fighting the man and let him pull me from the seat of the truck to the ground.

  “Chanel!” I screamed. “Chanel!”

  “We’ll get her if we can,” said the man loudly.

  Sporadic gunfire and unholy screams in the background rang out. Another explosion nearby caused my ears to ring. I looked at the man who stood next to me. He was short with cropped brown hair and a full beard. He wore a dingy t-shirt that I assumed was once white, camouflage cargo pants, and a yellow handkerchief dangled from his wide belt. Wrapped around his bicep was a bandage that desperately needed changing. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to the ground with him as shots found their marks far too close to us.

  “Stay down until I tell you to run!” he shouted. “When I do, don’t let go of my hand.”

  “I can’t leave without her,” I cried out.

  I didn’t get a chance to argue the matter. He firmly gripped my wrist with his hand and began to pull me.

  “Run!” He yelled.

  I ran, despite aching to know if Chanel had made it out or not. It was hard to keep up with the man urging me forward. The ground was uneven and I stumbled more than once. Each time, he kept a firm grip on my wrist. It was too dark to see where we were headed, and the moans of the dead were too close for me to really care.

  “Get in!” yelled a woman gruffly.

  Before I could argue, the man pulling me along lifted me off my feet and tossed me slightly upward, where more hands received me and pulled me into the bed of a pickup truck. Faces were distorted in the eerie red of brake lights. I counted five people in all, two of whom were busy acting as snipers.

  “Did Bret get the other one out?”

  “Haven’t seen him yet,” answered a boy who couldn’t have been older than his teens.

  “The Hag? Is it down?”

  “Pretty sure Keelie took it out. Didn’t you hear it screaming?”

  “Yeah, but they scream like that all the time.”

  “Get her down!” yelled the same gruff woman.

  “Get back,” urged the man who had pulled me out of our wrecked truck.

  I haphazardly made my way toward the cab of the tuck, careful to step over an assortment of tarps, weapons, and what looked like it may be a dead body stuffed into a duffel bag. Three other adults stood near the sides of the truck bed, shooting into the darkness. I ducked down.

  “Watch for him, mate,” said a thick male voice with a heavy Australian accent.

  An unholy and inhuman scream came from somewhere behind me. The smell of gunfire burned my nose.

  “I see Brett!”

  “Keelie, get in the cab!” shouted the teen.

  “Not yet!” the woman barked. “The Hag’s still out there. I don’t think the RPG hit it. We can’t risk it following us.”

  “Sven, get the girl to the Armadillo! Keelie and I’ll stay behind to wipe out the Hag.”

  The teenager, Sven, quickly went into action. Swinging his rifle to his right side, he held a hand out for me. I reached for the handgun I kept in my back waistband, only to find it missing.

  “I need a gun,” I said loudly as I took hold of his hand and jumped out of the truck bed.

  Without hesitating, he pulled a pistol from a holster on his belt and handed it to me, grip first.

  “Stay close,” he said. “Head for the other truck, see the running lights?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  . We ran toward the other vehicle. The ground beneath my feet shook as another explosion rocked in the distance, the resulting flash of light disorienting. I stumbled on the uneven ground, catching myself with my free hand and quickly up-righting myself. Several steps ahead of me, Sven stopped and turned to make sure I was still behind him. He nodded once and I caught a glimpse of something menacing in his eyes. The grin that spread slowly across his face sounded alarm bells in my head. Without hesitating, I ran toward him. He stood his ground, rifle raised. At the last moment possible, I slid toward him feet-first. His gun fired above me, the rounds making a closer call with my head than I cared for. He fired the semi-automatic weapon again and I covered my head with my arms.

  “Get up!” he yelled urgently. “There’s more coming!”

  I half scrambled to my feet and was half pulled by my shirt. I looked back only once, and saw a Roamer lying still; Sven had shot its head off. I had picked up on Sven’s basic feelings. The connection was vague and unlike any other I had experienced, but I was sure now that he too was infected.

  We ran the rest of the way to the truck the other man had called the “Armadillo.” As we reached the very rear, I could see it was a metal box on wheels. There was too such smoke in the dark night air to see just how long the structure was, but I figured it was a semi. One of the barn-style doors on the back opened outward as we approached. I could barely make out a figure. Sven pushed me toward the person, who hoisted me up into the metal trailer.

  “Get to the front. It’s safer there,” the man said.

  “Sven, you too. We’re about to roll out.”

  “Can’t, boss. Keelie and Ed are still out there. I lost track of Brett.”

  “My friend Chanel,” I gasped, my lungs irritated by the smoke and gunpowder in the air. “She was trapped in the truck.”

  “You’re damned lucky we came across you,” said Sven. “If anyone can get her out, it’s Brett.”

  “Speak of the devil!” exclaimed the man standing in the truck’s trailer.

  Running toward the truck, a middle-aged black man carried Chanel over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, blood dripping down the front of his shirt.

  “Chanel!” I cried out.

  “Later,” said Sven sternly. “Back up. We’ll get your friend loaded in.”

  I nodded curtly and backed up to give them room.

  “Tracy, grab her feet,” said Sven.

  The other man grabbed onto Chanel’s legs as Sven wrapped his arms around her trunk.

  “We gotta get outta here,” said Brett as he jumped into the trailer.

  “Who’s in the cab?” asked Tracy as he laid Chanel down on the cold metal floor.

  “Is she alive?” I asked, worried sick.

  The men looked at me almost as if they had forgotten I was there.

  “Yes. I think she’s broken a leg, or maybe her pelvis. When I pulled her from the truck she lost consciousness. It’s best for now.”

  “We need to get her back to Doc. He can help her,” I said quickly.

  Sounds of gunfire and horrific screams and wails continued around us. Sven pulled the back door to the trailer shut, bathing us in near complete darkness.

  “Brett, who’s in the cab?” asked Tracy a second time.

  “Zander, as far as I know. Keelie promised his mom she’d keep him out of harm’s way.”

  Tracy rushed to the front end of the trailer, cursing under his breath when he collided with something. He pounded his fist upon the bulkhead and within a brief moment the truck began moving. A light mounted to the trailer wall was turned on.

  I knelt down next to Chanel and found her hand. She stirred and whimpered.

  “Where are we going?” I asked loudly.

  “We’re heading toward Wenatchee. One of our scout teams went that way and hasn’t come back.”

  “Our group’s only about ten miles that way. I know they’ll help look for your people, and I have to get Chanel to Doc.”

  Sven looked at Brett, who nodded. He looked back at me and seemed contemplative.

  “They’ll welcome us?” he asked.

  “I know they will. Who knows, maybe your people are there?”

  He sighed heavily. “Let me know where to go.”

  I explained the general route and what building to look for. The truck continued forward, tossing us about as it hit the slightest rut or bump. Chanel cried out a few
times. The sound of gunfire ceased but the screams of undead...things...continued behind us for several miles.

  “What was that thing?” I asked Sven.

  “The Hag?”

  “Whatever was wailing.”

  “We call them Hags. They scream like a banshee and look like the Wicked Witch of the West. You haven’t come across them yet?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Consider yourselves lucky. They’re the worst of the dead. We’ve been fighting them off for almost a year.”

  Tracy walked back toward us. “They seem to be migrating south. Maybe looking for food or warmer ground.”

  “It was white,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Brett.

  “Bright white. Like it was wearing a bright white hat.”

  “Some of them wear skins,” said Sven, as if that explained everything.

  “Skins?” I asked, needing clarification.

  “Yeah. Some of the kids born these days are really fair. The Hags prefer them, seem to seek them out. I guess they wear what’s leftover when they’re done,” elaborated Brett.

  I felt the blood rush out of my face and my stomach formed a large knot. Now, more than ever, I just wanted to be home and with my husband.

  CHAPTER 18

  The drive back to our settlement was tedious. Chanel woke up screaming in pain and was inconsolable. I sat beside her, always holding her hand.

  “We’ll be there soon, Nell. Doc’ll fix you up.” I knew she loathed the nickname, but I hoped deep down it reminded her of home and how much she’d like to be there.

  “It hurts so bad,” she said, crying.

  “I know. We’ll be there soon and get you pain meds.”

  “Zoe, we need to know how to get to your place,” said Brett. “I’m gonna knock for Zander to pull over and we’ll get you up front so you can guide him.”

  “I need to stay with Chanel,” I said calmly.

  “No,” said my injured friend. “You’ll need to be in the cab so they see you. Otherwise they may turn them away.”

  I sighed, knowing she was right.

  “Miss Chanel, when we pull over you’ll have to be quiet. We can’t attract the dead.”

  She nodded in understanding and bit her lip.