Riley awoke screaming, kicking her arms and legs wildly. A hand was resting on her chest.
“Shush, child,” a soft male voice told her.
Confused, she opened her eyes and tried sitting up. She took a deep breath, and began coughing uncontrollably, each hack burning her raw and swollen throat.
“Lay still,” the voice said again. She was able to make out a man and a woman crouching on either side of her. A cool cloth pressed against her forehead, sending chills throughout her body. Her teeth began to chatter, but she quickly fell back into blackness.
A week since falling unconscious, she was awake. Opening her eyes, she saw that she was on a soft bed with fluffy blankets and cottony soft pillows. The last thing she remembered was walking into a dilapidated house and passing out. She was definitely somewhere else.
Sitting up, she looked around. She felt better, much better. Her throat no longer hurt and her head felt clear. She was in a bedroom. The walls were painted a bright white and were spotless. Framed pictures of horses and flowers hung from the walls. There was a dresser with a glass of clear liquid—probably water, a bowl and a small mauve-colored washcloth. A long mirror hung on the back of a closet door. She took a deep breath in through her nostrils. The air was fresh, not musty or mildewy like so many of the houses she’d been in. Grabbing a handful of comforter, she brought it to her face. The heavy blanket smelled clean, like the air. Had she gone to heaven?
Her stomach began rumbling, the odor of cooked eggs and potatoes entering her nose. She could see the images in her mind as if she were looking at them. Her mouth was watering, causing her to have to swallow—the salivary ducts working overtime.
Lifting the covers off and flinging them to the side, Riley slipped out of bed. The wood floor was cool; her body toasty from the layers of blankets. She was wearing pajamas—not her own. Running a hand over her stomach, the fabric felt soft and washed. Someone had been taking care of her. She vaguely remembered a man and a woman back at the house. They must have taken her with them. Survival instinct kicking in, she began looking for a weapon. She heard footsteps. Someone was approaching.
She felt naked, scared. Looking for a place to hide, she froze, her mind unable to decipher where to go. A figure came into view from the hallway and she began to back away, feeling like cornered prey. The figure was a man.
“You’re up,” he said enthusiastically. The man was tall, built and had thick wavy black hair. “Don’t be frightened.” He held his hands out and in front of him, a physical act of reassurance. “You’re safe here.”
Riley didn’t speak. Her mind was too busy racing with thoughts. Who was this man? Where was the woman? How did she get here?
“We’ve got food downstairs. Eggs, milk and fruit,” he said.
Her stomach rumbled again. Food! She really wanted to eat and the smell was driving her crazy. The need to trust this man seemed overwhelming. Nothing else seemed to matter but food. She heard more footsteps approaching. It was the female. She had long, blonde hair, alabaster skin and a warm smile. Riley liked her immediately.
“Would it be okay if we talked, sweetie?” the woman asked. Riley nodded. “My name’s Joanne and this is my husband, George.”
“Hello,” George said, waving his hand through the air.
“I’m Riley,” she said, flatly. “Riley Winchester.”
Riley sat on the bed, her feet dangling off the side. The husband and wife talked to her, explaining who they were and how they found her.
Riley had had a fever of one-hundred and four degrees. Joanne, George and their nine-year old boy, Eric, had been out on a scavenging mission up north, a good two hours from home, when they entered the house and found her. They told her at first they thought she was dead, but found a pulse. The scavenging mission was cut short as they sped home, Riley cradled in dry blankets and Joanne’s arms, where she was nursed back to health.
George and Joanne headed down to breakfast when they were finished talking with her. “Come down when you’re ready, sweetie. No rush,” Joanne told her.
Left alone in the room, Riley sat on the bed, letting her mind absorb a little of what she was told. The other memories, the three that she thought about daily—her father, having to leave the cabin, and Jack’s death, were kept locked away. She didn’t want to think about them for a while. They had haunted her relentlessly during her time on the road, especially when she had the fever. But it appeared she was in a better place now and she wanted to make the best of it. She felt as if this could be the beginning of something good. A fresh new start possibly. One day at a time would be her new credo, at least for now. These new people seemed nice, genuine, and they had a kid. She’d heard him call to his parents while they were speaking with her. Riley was tired from all that she’d been through and just wanted to be able to relax, feel safe.
She hopped off the bed, turned to look at the lovely room and smiled before heading down to join the others for breakfast.
Chapter Seven
Love and Trust
Over the next couple of months, Riley grew more and more accustomed to life with the Milners. Trust had always been an issue for her, but the Milners proved to be good people and she was able to relax physically as well as mentally. Allowing herself to open up was a novel and difficult venture.
She’d spent numerous nights alone in her new room, weeping quietly, making sure no one ever heard her. It was a pride thing, but also a self-taught defense mechanism. She needed to remain hardened, emotionally solid, never allowing prolonged bouts of sadness to seep into her bones like a poison. In order to survive, she’d needed to detach herself from her feelings and keep her killer instinct sharp.
The Milners proved different than the rest of the world. They were a tough family—strong physically and spiritually with the need to not only survive, but to live. They’d kept their humanity and love for each other alive even in a world that had fallen apart. Riley wanted to be a part of that love, that bond, finding it difficult to truly believe in, until one day when she let it all out, crying hysterically onto Joanne’s shoulder. The pent-up emotions, multiple layers of sadness, dread and guilt were shed from her soul like an old skin. Through conversation and with some time she’d learned that opening one’s self up to others wasn’t a weakness, but a strength that would keep her balanced, keep her human.
For years, even when her father was alive, she had given up hope that she’d ever find people that could live normal lives. People that were capable of bringing joy and happiness to others around them. The world, as she had known it to become, was a wasteland of self-preserving mutants. Jack had rekindled her feelings of hope in people, that not all of them were wicked. But Jack’s acts of kindness had ultimately led to his death. Why weren’t the good people rewarded?
Now, living amongst the Milners, Riley had learned to trust again, to love again. George and Joanne had become her adopted parents. They showed nothing but compassion and love, always looking out for her and Eric’s well-being.
The family life that she had only heard or read about, the stuff of fiction, was now a real part of the world in which she lived. Every day she was able to wake with a smile, knowing how lucky she truly was and that her father and Jack, with their sacrifices, allowed her to be where she was today.
A year had passed since the day she arrived at the Milners house. They celebrated her fourteenth birthday, giving her a cake made from goat milk, stale but viable Twinkies, cinnamon and honey. It was something at one time she might have considered a child’s concoction, but now a delicious treat. She was grateful for what it represented and where it had come from.
The house was a log cabin built by George Milner before the Zombie Apocalypse. It was a large cabin with two floors and a basement. A wood stove sat at either end of the abode, keeping the house warm throughout the wintry months.
They had chickens in a coop and goats which they used for milk. The animals were easy to keep as they fed naturally off the land.
A nearby river supplied loads of fresh fish as well as a few nearby lakes. The Hudson River wasn’t too far off, easily gotten to by car, but the Milners almost never traveled toward the city of Poughkeepsie—known for its gangs, zombies and crazy people. When they traveled for a scouting supply mission, it was usually north into unpopulated regions.
The log cabin was set back a quarter-mile from the road and well hidden, especially during the summer months, by the heavily wooded forest. The wood stove burned cinders and twigs during the daylight hours, keeping the heavy burning at night to avoid being seen from afar. George had told Riley that no breathing, talking human had ever come around. On occasion a member of the undead would wander into the area—one making it all the way to the house’s front steps—but George or his wife would take care of the things, usually with a single shot to the head to destroy the eye/brain connection. The log cabin was a safe haven from the wilds of the world. It had taken Riley a couple months before she was able to relax and let her guard down somewhat, but never completely.
She loved tending to the livestock, getting eggs from the chickens and petting the goats. She spent much of her free time—chores always needing to be done first—reading books that George and Joanne had acquired over the years.
She worked with George, an ex-marine. He showed her numerous survival tricks, many of which she already knew, but hand to hand combat was George’s specialty. She was young and small, but as long as she practiced and stayed diligent the techniques would stay with her.
George had also been a gun collector and had over thirty rifles and handguns. Ten were from his own collection, but from the numerous scavenging missions he was able to pick up many more. He had ammo for most, but not all; some were simply for show.
Even though life around the house was peaceful, George always maintained certain security measures. Riley was told about the gangs that lived in the cities and how they controlled much of the area near them. George kept many of the guns in hidden places around the house and property—tool chests, supply trunks, by the woodpiles and in trees. They were all kept oiled and cleaned regularly.
An underground bunker, supplied with weapons, food, lanterns, a kerosene heater and other supplies, was about three hundred feet from the house’s property line—hidden in the woods. If the house was ever under siege, the family was told to head there and hide.
Spending time with Eric was wonderful, something she and the boy both needed to help their spirits grow. They practiced self-defense, went fishing, played board and card games. Eric loved playing hide and seek and it was something the whole family could enjoy. Games of wiffle ball were played, as well as badminton, Riley usually letting Eric win. But the best thing of all were the silly jokes they told and the laughing they did, something all children were supposed to be able to do.
Being the elder and the road-hardened one, Riley took on the role of teacher whenever they worked on something. Teaching had brought her own skills on the various subjects to a new level, even shooting. She was able to see things from a different perspective and in return her own skills at fishing, fighting and even shooting had improved.
All in all, life had become as normal as it could for Riley, something she wished her father could have been a part of.
It was a beautiful, sunny summer day when she and Eric had gone fishing at the nearby lake. The fish were biting as if the lake had nothing more for them to eat. Riley caught five while Eric had a whopping eight fish in his bucket. They would eat well for a couple days and have to smoke the fish in order for them to keep.
Having just arrived back at the house, Eric hurried inside to begin gutting and cleaning the fish for dinner. Riley, having washed up at the lake, went up to her room to change into a clean set of clothes. When she was finished, she came downstairs and went out to the deck. Joanne had told her to tell George to hurry up, that dinner would be ready in about an hour, when she saw a man approaching. He was walking down the long driveway. George had seen him too and had stopped chopping wood, but held onto the axe.
Riley turned and called into the house. “Joanne,” she yelled. “Come quick.”
Joanne arrived within seconds. She was wearing an apron caked with fish guts and brought with her the fresh aroma of fish and onion. Riley wasn’t sure if she wanted to gag or eat at the conflicting odor.
Joanne brushed past Riley, immediately seeing the man. Riley turned. The man was now almost to George. They were conversing.
The stranger had wild orange hair making his head appear as if it were on fire. He was shirtless, wearing a cut-off jean jacket vest and blue jeans with black leather boots. He appeared to be injured; gashes lined his arms and neck. George had brought the axe up, resting it on his shoulder. If he needed to, he could swing it down fast. For what most would think is a casual resting position, Riley understood that everything George did had a reason.
“Get inside,” Joanne told Riley. “Stay with Eric.”
The woman ran inside, quickly returning with a rifle. She rested her arms on the deck’s railing and took aim. “Go,” she told Riley again.
Riley ran upstairs, Eric following. She went to her bedroom window and looked out. The stranger had his arms held high and was spinning around. George was still standing in the same position. Then the man began walking toward the house, George following.
“Who’s the man?” Eric asked.
“No idea,” Riley answered.
For the first time in a while, she was nervous. Why did this man have to come here? They’d been doing so well by themselves. She’d begun to think they would never be discovered by another human being. She needed to find out who this man was. What did he want? George and Joanne were bright, good people. They’d survived a long time. She would have to trust that they knew how to handle the situation. Even after spending so much time with the Milners, she still didn’t like the idea of letting others look out for her. She loved the thought of them being like a mother and father and Eric as a brother—which they all had become—but ultimately in this world she had to rely on herself. But she would trust in her new family. Trust that they would handle it and if they needed her she would be ready.
Eric stood by the door, listening to the voices downstairs. “It’s hard to hear what they’re saying.”
“Don’t worry about it. If that man is up to anything, George and Joanne will know and take care of it. Take care of us.” She wasn’t sure if she believed in her own words, but for now she had to.
Not before long, Riley and Eric had taken up a game of chess, Riley hoping to take Eric’s mind off the situation. A few minutes in, and Joanne entered the bedroom, still holding the rifle.
“Is it safe?” Eric asked.
Joanne sat on Riley’s bed, resting the gun against the dresser. “The man said his car broke down a few miles from here. He’s hungry and in need of aid.”
“Do you believe him?” Riley asked, sensing uneasiness in Joanne’s voice.
Joanne sighed, shoulders sagging a little. “He seems sincere…” She shook her head. “I just don’t know.”
That night, the stranger sat at the dinner table. His name was Renny Filder. His wounds were bandaged and he was allowed to wash in the basin in the backyard—a tub filled with rainwater used for bathing.
Dinner went well; the man—surprisingly—was a good conversationalist. He had been a corrections officer at Sing Sing Correctional Facility in Tarrytown, New York. He lost his wife and daughter to zombies and joined up with a group of people. They scavenged, moving around like nomads, surviving day to day like so many others.
He had a sister in Canada just outside of Toronto and with nothing else going on, he decided to head there and see if she was still alive. On his way north, he ran into some bad people. They had weapons—guns, bows and arrows—and vehicles that were armor plated. They chased after him, but he’d managed to lose them. He saw what appeared to be an old dirt road leading from the highway, but blocked off by a chain-link fence. Desperate and
realizing it was his only chance, Renny hit the gas, breaking through the rusty chain-link fence, and traveled along a dirt path, his car bottoming out every second, until he came out onto a paved road. He sped along, turning onto another road, then another and another until he lost his pursuers.
“But then my engine started smoking and the car just wouldn’t go.” Renny shook his head. “I was glad to have escaped those people, but I was stuck out in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t sure I’d be safe for long so I got out and began jogging down the road looking for a place to hide. And thank the good Lord, I found you guys.”
“I suppose your story is similar to whoever’s left in the world,” George said. He motioned to Joanne. “My wife’s got two sisters, one in Texas and one in Florida, but there’s just no way for us to get there safely, especially with the kids.”
“And you?” Renny asked, taking a sip of tea.
“I’ve got a brother…had a brother. He lived not far from here. He’s long dead. Shot by looters.” George’s cheek muscles flexed. Joanne reached out, patting his hand.
“Sorry about that,” Renny said.
“I just remind myself that the world’s a different place now. People in search of loved ones, not knowing if they’re alive, dead, or undead…” He paused, looking to his wife. “Well, anyway. It must’ve been tough for so many of the survivors.”
“More tea, Renny?” Joanne asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
Riley sat quietly during the meal. She didn’t like the stranger. She didn’t want to judge the man by his appearance, she could only imagine how she must’ve appeared at times, but this man seemed to be performing, as if auditioning for a role in a movie.
Amongst the Dead Page 6
