Dropping his arm, Alan slowly turned to face the woman he had once loved. She was wearing her usual uniform of stained sweat pants, a faded t-shirt, battered loafers and a hoodie. He hadn’t realized until today how much he avoided looking at her directly, but he forced himself to study her face. Her blue eyes seemed too wide and gleeful above her pale, tight lips. Instead of the long tawny tresses that had fluttered around her shoulders during their courtship, her hair was cut very short. Nothing about her seemed feminine anymore. Nor was she particularly manly. In that moment, she reminded him of the mythological harpy. She was always so ready to pluck out his heart.
“He was just comforting a friend,” Rob dared to say.
“Really? Is that what we call slut whores now?” Debbie asked sharply. “Friends?”
“Could you not speak like that in front of the children?” Alan asked in a soft voice, trying to calm her.
The boys were staring in their direction, both of them wide-eyed with their mouths slightly hanging open.
“Why? So they won’t know what an asshole their father is? So they won’t know he’s going around and fucking his secretary? So they won’t know that their father is a fucking douchebag who cheats on his wife?”
“How can you be so mean?” Julie exclaimed. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, her eyes wide. “How?”
Debbie smirked at Julie. “Mean? You call this mean after what you’ve done?”
“Enough of this,” Alan said shortly. He was barely keeping his temper.
One of the main reasons he had been divorcing his wife was because on more than one occasion, she had driven him so far into a rage he had wanted to hurt her. It had become more difficult over time to endure her verbal abuse, but her physical attacks were the last straw. When she had knocked him out with a frying pan after accusing him of cheating on her with Julie, that was the last straw. He had woken up to the children crying over him, thinking he was dead as Debbie nonchalantly made dinner.
“We’re getting out of here, Debbie. We are sorting out the details now, but we’re going to get out of here and find somewhere safe with supplies for the kids. Can you help us?” Alan looked at the disheveled woman beside him, willing her to be cooperative.
Her hands tucked into her hoodie, Debbie shrugged. “I need a nap.”
“Fine,” Alan sighed.
“Glad to get your permission,” Debbie snarled, then strode into the office. She picked up her baby girl, placed her on the floor with a pillow, and spread out on the sofa.
“I need to feed the baby soon,” Julie whispered.
“She hasn’t caught on?” Rob asked, raising his eyebrows.
“No,” Alan answered. “We’ve been out of formula for three days and she hasn’t said a word about the baby needing to be fed. She has no clue Julie’s been breastfeeding Alice.” Alan’s mouth drew into a hard line. Debbie had stopped breastfeeding Alice within a month of her birth. She complained that it was too much work. It was good fortune that Julie was breastfeeding and willing to feed the six-month-old baby. It touched Alan’s heart every time he saw Julie holding Alice. He knew how hard it must be when she didn’t know the fate of her own child.
“How can a mama not know that? What is wrong with her?” Rob shook his head.
Alan shrugged. “No clue. She wouldn’t go to the doctor.” He rubbed the scruff on his chin with agitation and glanced over at his boys. They had returned to playing with muted enthusiasm.
“I’ll see what I can do about the rope or a ladder to get down to the back of a truck,” Rob said finally. “We have to get out of here before we’re totally out of food.”
“Strange saying that in an orange juice factory,” Julie sighed. She rubbed her nose and looked into the office warily. “What if she tries to shove me off the truck or something?”
“I don’t think she’d go that far,” Alan assured Julie. “She’s bitter, but she’s not homicidal.”
Rob sighed. “You better hope not. We got enough trouble with those zombies out there. I’ll be back.” The big guy took off across the concrete floor, his head down.
They were all weary. The zombies outside, coupled with Debbie’s rants, had them all on edge. Julie watched Rob walk away. Her big eyes were rimmed with tears again.
Laying her hand gently on Alan’s arm, she whispered, “We could leave her...”
“No. No. She may be...sick. But we can’t do that. We can’t.” Alan shook his head adamantly. “I can’t do that to her or the kids.”
Shoving her thick brown hair back from her face, Julie took a deep breath. She looked warily toward the open office door. “As soon as she’s asleep, I’ll go get Alice so I can feed her.” Her fingers played with the buttons of her blouse and her faraway expression said it all. Julie was thinking of her own child that was somewhere out there in the dead lands.
Alan seriously doubted if many people were still alive, but he didn’t want to upset Julie by saying so. After giving her a gentle hug, he walked back to where his boys were playing. Squatting down, he kissed their foreheads.
“You can be this truck,” Parker informed him, handing him a model.
“Okay! Let’s smash those zombies,” Alan said, the tightness in his chest alleviating as he felt the love and trust of his children wash over him.
Around twenty minutes later, he saw Julie slip into the office and gently pick up the sleeping baby. Looking away to give her privacy, he continued to play with the twins. They were lying on their stomachs, propped on one elbow as the model trucks plowed through the binder clip zombies over and over again.
Julie’s terrified scream rang through the building, making the kids gasp as Alan leaped to his feet. Looking into the office, he saw Julie clutching Alice to her breasts with one arm as she shoved his office chair at Debbie with the other. Debbie was lashing out, trying to grab Alice. The baby was screaming, her face red as she cried.
“Debbie, leave her alone! She’s trying to help Alice!” Alan rushed into the office grabbed Debbie’s arm and yanked her about.
Debbie’s eyes were devoid of life. Her teeth snapped as she lunged toward him. Alan cried out in shock, but managed to get his elbow up, slam it into her neck, and knock her away. He stumbled back a few feet mortified at what he was seeing, his mind a mix of emotions, primarily confusion.
How had this happened?
“Boys, run!” Alan ordered.
“Watch out!” Julie screamed.
The patter of their sneakers against the concrete floor was a small comfort as Debbie lunged at him again. He caught her arms and shoved her. She hit the doorjamb and fell into the office on her hands and knees. Alice’s cries were desperate and Julie tried to calm her as she sought refuge behind Alan’s big desk. He darted forward and kicked Debbie, knocking her to the floor.
The zombie got her hands under her body and scrambled toward the desk with terrifying speed. Julie cried out in terror, darting into the far corner, her body turned to protect Alice. Alan looked around frantically for a weapon and grabbed his office chair. Lifting it up, he brought it down hard on Debbie, pinning her under it. The zombie’s body thrashed about, trying to get up. Leaning all his weight onto the chair, Alan pinned the snarling creature.
“Get out, Julie! Get out!”
Skirting the desk, Julie ran out of the room, clutching Alice to her chest. Alan struggled to keep Debbie restrained, but she was relentless in her attempt to escape. Unexpectedly, she managed to get a hand under her chest and shoved upwards with a mighty push. Alan lost his grip on the chair and it crashed over onto its side. He ran out of the office, slamming the door behind him. With shaking fingers, he drew out his keys and locked it.
The sound of running feet and the jangle of keys startled him. He whirled about to see Rob darting around the silent conveyor belts toward him.
“What’s going on?”
Alan gestured to Debbie as she beat on the thick glass set in the door. Her mouth was pulled back in a grimace as her teeth snap
ped together. As he stared at her hands, he realized what had happened with terrible clarity. He felt his chest tighten with despair and anger.
“She let one of them bite her,” he gasped.
“What?” Rob studied Debbie in shock. “What the hell? She’s a zombie?”
“Look at the tip of her middle finger! That’s a bite! When she was over in that damn corner, I bet she let one of them bite her!”
“Why would she do that?” Julie demanded. “Why? That doesn’t make any sense!”
Alan felt tears of anger burning in his eyes. “Because she hates me that much. She wanted to turn so she could….Oh, God! She was willing to kill the boys!”
“Where are they?” Julie looked around nervously. “Hunter! Parker!”
The twins darted out from behind some machinery and latched onto Julie. Alice continued to cry, her tiny face contorted in anger and terror. Julie tried to shush her, her hands still trembling.
“I say it’s time to go,” Rob said. “She’ll break out of there soon.”
“Yeah,” Alan agreed. “Yeah. Boys, we need to go.”
Parker and Hunter, too wise for their mere seven years, picked up their toys and walked to his side.
“Do we have to leave Mama?” Hunter asked, looking uncertain.
“She’s a monster now,” Parker decided, staring at his dead mother.
“She always was,” Rob muttered.
“Yeah, boys. We need to go. Your mother…well, she’s one of those things now. We gotta go without her.” Alan rubbed their shoulders with his trembling hands.
“Okay,” the boys answered together. They both were pensive, but seemed to understand.
“Come on, boys. Time to go!” Rob said, guiding the children away.
“Let’s go,” Alan said, reaching out to guide Julie toward the stairs that led up to the roof.
Alice’s cries had settled into a hiccupping sob. The baby snuggled under Julie’s chin, gripping the collar of her blouse with a tiny hand. Julie peered up at Alan, her eyes full of fear and resignation. “Where are we going?”
As they walked swiftly after Rob and the boys, Alan glanced back at his dead wife. She was slamming her head into the glass of the door, desperately trying to get out.
“The Madison Mall,” he said at last. “We’ll be safe there.”
They left the floor of the orange juice factory, climbing toward the roof, leaving behind the undead version of his former wife, snarling, hissing, and slamming her hands against the door. Sadly, he realized, she wasn’t much different in death than she had been in life.
Stepping out onto the roof, he closed the door behind him.
Ken and Lenore’s Story
Ken and Lenore have always been fan favorites since they appeared on the online serial. They enter the story in FIGHTING TO SURVIVE and have important roles in SIEGE. Their friendship was always one of my favorite elements of the story.
I started their first day story online, but I could never figure out the end of their tale. Because I’m an organic writer, I trust the stories to tell themselves through the characters. This time, I was completely blocked. The story remained unfinished for two years.
It wasn’t until I was done with the SIEGE revisions for the Tor edition that I was able to write on this story again. By the time I finished, I realized why I had to wait to uncover the ending. This story and Siege are perfect companion pieces. Together they bring the story of Ken and Lenore full circle and are a wonderful testament to their loving friendship.
Friendship in the Time of Zombies
1.
Lenore
The alarm clock’s annoying scream woke Lenore from her deep slumber and she growled with irritation. Slapping her hand down on the top of the already-battered electric alarm clock, she stared at the blinking red letters grimly.
Seven o’clock.
She hated seven o’clock before the big spring forward time change. It was still dark outside and it didn’t seem right to be getting out of bed before the sun rose. Of course, in just another week that would change and she’d be getting up to bright sunlight and singing birds. But for now, like she had all through the fall and winter, she sat up in bed to be greeted by a cold room and silence.
Feeling grumpy, she threw off her covers and slid to her feet. The furniture in her room was antique and a bit battered. It was what they could save after Hurricane Rita had flattened their old home in Jefferson County. Two trees had taken down their massive Victorian during the storm and not much had been left to salvage.
“Didn’t wanna pay to get the plumbing fixed anyway,” her grandmother had sniffed when they had come from the rescue shelter and seen what had happened to the old home.
Lenore stared into the mirror over her vanity and frowned. She was a big girl with dark skin and eyes. Her hair was short, to her chin, and straightened. Fussing with her bangs, she sighed. She had been trying to emulate Halle Berry. A bad move. A girl at the beauty school had offered to do her hair and had done a good job frying it. Though Lenore had a firm rule not to let a white woman do her hair, they had been in a class on how to do hairstyles for African-Americans and she had thought it would be okay. Her over-processed hair was breaking off at the tips as the result. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with her hair next. She’d have to study the new hairstyle magazines at the beauty parlor. It would have to be a radical move. She’d have to cut it almost to the scalp and restart.
With a frown and a grunt, she padded into the kitchen that was directly across from her bedroom. Already an enormous feast was on the table. Her grandmother, Ethel Mae, was used to cooking for a large group of people and had yet to adjust to the fact it was just the two of them now. After the hurricane had come on shore, flattened Sabine Pass, and torn apart the towns in Jefferson County, Lenore’s grandmother had decided she was done and moved them out West. That meant leaving most of their huge family behind. Lenore’s aunts, uncles and cousins had always been at her grandmother’s huge Victorian even though they technically didn’t live there. It was a big adjustment for both of them now that they lived far away from the rest of the family.
Staring at the massive display of food, Lenore wondered if her grandmother expected her to eat it all. She stood in the kitchen’s small dining area and peeked through the archway into the living room located in the front of the house. Her grandmother was watching the morning news. As usual, she was dressed in a flowered dress, fluffy slippers, and had her white hair in a neat bun.
“You better get to eating. You’re up late again,” her grandmother called out.
Lenore scowled and slid into a chair. Her grandmother considered anytime after 5:30 AM to be getting up late. Serving herself some grits, bacon and fried eggs, she yawned loudly. She grabbed a fresh biscuit from the pile in an old basket on the table and bit into it. The wonderful taste and warmth made her feel a little more awake.
“Got a bunch of people doing some really crazy stuff down Houston way. Hope your Uncle Bo is on the road and not around there. I hate it when Negroes all go crazy. Makes the rest of us look bad.”
“Grandma, we’re black or African-American. Stop calling us Negroes,” Lenore corrected her grumpily. It was an old argument and it made her surly.
“I’m a Negro. I’m not no African-American. I am not from Africa. I was born and raised in Port Arthur, Texas and I am an American citizen of these United States. I am no black person neither. I have brown skin...”
Her grandmother continued on and Lenore shoved a huge mouthful of grits in her mouth to keep from sassing back. She tapped her fork lightly against the edge of the plate and waited for her grandmother to be done.
“Oh, Lord Jesus, they’re eating each other!”
Lenore frowned. “Who is?”
“Them crazy Negroes in Houston!”
“Black people-”
“Stop correcting me!”
Lenore heaved herself up out of the chair, pulled her Tweety Bird T-shirt down over her stoma
ch, and plodded over into the living room. “Nobody is out eating nobody.”
Her grandmother twisted around in her lazy boy and glared at her. “Do not tell me I’m lying, young woman. I’ll slap you good.”
Lenore almost rolled her eyes then saw the footage being fed live from Houston. At first it looked like a riot or a bunch of black people on a looting spree (which always made her cringe), but then she realized most of the people rampaging were covered in blood and had terrible wounds. The news camera was aiming down the street as the rioters surged toward them. Innocent bystanders were being dragged down onto the street and it sure did look like the crazy looters were biting them.
“Gotta be gangbangers on some bad crack or something,” Lenore said.
“Bunch of crazy sons of bitches,” her grandmother decided and thumped her armrest. “Now they’re gonna get all shot up and it’s gonna look bad. We’ll end up with that crazy Al Shaprton pretending he’s Martin Luther King. I could slap that boy.”
Lenore sighed softly and shook her head. “You know how it is, Grandma.”
Her grandmother scowled deeply and glared at the TV. “Their mamas should go down there and whoop on them for doing such crazy stuff on the TV. Not right. Not right.”
Lenore didn’t want to see anymore of the mayhem from Houston. She was angry enough with the media for their complete dismissal of Hurricane Rita’s devastation in East Texas. When it had not hit Houston and Galveston, the media acted like it was a close call and moved on to the next news story. It was not another Katrina, so why should they care? Of course, to the people living in the small cities and towns of Jefferson County, it had been just as bad as Hurricane Katrina. In one fell swoop, the storm not only destroyed homes, but also lives and businesses. Lenore’s family was still trying to recover and find new jobs. A lot of employers had just packed up and moved to other areas in Texas.
Lenore did not trust the news media and never would. If you paid attention to the news you’d believe every Hispanic in America was an illegal immigrant, every black man was in a gang, and all white men were serial killers or pedophiles. How women were portrayed wasn’t much better. It was just better to live her life and not bother with the stupidity of people.
3.2 As the World Dies Untold Tales Vol. 2 Page 3
