by Alex Apostol
Dead Soil
a zombie novel
For my dad
May we always survive the zombie apocalypse
Prologue
I looked down at the journal in my hands and gave it a squeeze. A smile spread across my weary face. We might not have the key to ending this plague. There’s no guarantee we will even make it to Chicago. Some of us could die trying to get there. We could all die. But we’re going to try. We have to.
Part One
“The nation that destroys its soil destroys itself.”
—Franklin D. Roosevelt
I.
The shooting range where Liam Scott took his fiancée was nothing more than targets set up on a local farmer’s home acreage. Tight knit piles of hay sat ten feet high in neat rows. Crudely cut wood with red and white bullseyes were attached to the middle and swayed slightly in the light summer breeze.
There was no one else there to watch as Christine Moore attempted to practice archery for the first time. It was peaceful to be somewhere so remote after five days in the bustle of the Chicago Loop, where the firm she worked at for the last four years was located. Every day she found a reason to be thankful she’d decided to stay in northwest Indiana instead, even if she had to commute an hour and fifteen minutes to work.
Christine closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath of thick, hot air while Liam set up their spot in front of an end target. The scents of freshly cut grass, stale hay, and the water of Lake Michigan wafted up her nostrils. They reminded Christine of her childhood and where she grew up, along the scenic route of highway twelve, which wasn’t far from where she stood.
“Arrows used to be made out wood, of course, but now they make them out of aluminum,” Liam Scott said in his cool British accent as he dove right into his role of teacher for the day. “Now the bow is made up of this piece here.” He pointed to the curved solid limb. “And the bow string, here.”
Christine cocked her head to the side, her big blue eyes glazed over. One minute in and she was bored with the lesson. “I didn’t come here to learn the anatomy of a bow. We could’ve done that at home. I came to shoot.”
“How are you supposed to release the arrow if you don’t even know how the bow works?” Liam’s voice was loving with just a hint of condensation.
“It’s not rocket science, sweetie,” Christine replied back in the same tone. “You pull back and you let go.”
“That’s Doctor Sweetie to you.” Liam gave a coy smile.
Christine let out a huff of laughter. “Doctor of plants. And that doesn’t mean you know everything either. I know what I’m doing.”
“By all means.” Liam Scott grinned and held the bow out to his fiancée.
Christine snatched it from his hands with a confident smile, her chin raised slightly toward the unyielding sun. With her feet planted firmly on the ground, perpendicular to the target, she readied the arrow. She drew back and heard a soft snort from behind her. Ignoring Liam as best she could, she concentrated on her hold. It required more effort than she thought it would. It took all her strength to keep her arms from shaking under the pressure.
Even with the trembling, there was still no doubt in her mind that she would be able to hit the target. She envisioned the arrow piercing the solid red middle of the bullseye. She didn’t want Liam to know how much she struggled to hold the arrow steady.
Christine Moore loved Liam Scott unconditionally, but sometimes he treated her like a fragile doll. If he didn’t think she could learn to shoot, then why did he bring her there in the first place? She wanted to show him she was just as capable as he was, that he didn’t have to protect her all the time. They could protect each other. She shook her head and her long, blonde ponytail swung at her back. It wasn’t medieval times. What would they ever use a bow and arrow for aside from practice shooting? What were they practicing for?
Liam Scott stood a ways behind his fiancée with his thin arms folded over his chest. The summer breeze blew his ginger hair freely as the sun beat down on his neck. He could feel his fair skin prickle with the beginnings of a burn.
He watched Christine stare at the target with more dedicated concentration than he’d seen her give anything else in the five years he’d known her, and that included the time he snuck into court and watched her take down the CEO of a fortune five hundred company for embezzlement. A crooked smile spread across his face. It didn’t matter if she hit the target or not. They were sharing an honored Scott tradition together and she was actually taking it seriously, even if it was only to prove him wrong.
The longer Christine tried to hold the arrow steady, Liam’s mind wandered to his father. He was the one who had started the birthday target practices back when they lived in Liverpool. Even his mother joined them on her birthday. They did it every year until his parents’ fatal car accident when Liam was only nine. None of his foster parents had bothered to take him on any of his following birthdays. It warmed his heart to carry the tradition on with the woman who was going to be his wife and the mother of his children.
Christine Moore made one last attempt to pull the arrow further back to ensure it would make it all the way to its target. With a soft exhale, her fingers released the arrow. It seemed to move in slow motion as it cut through the heavy air and landed in the mess of hay beneath the target board.
She immediately turned to look at Liam. Her face was flushed with embarrassment. She silently waited for him to rub her defeat in her face.
“When I first tried I came this close to shooting the man at the target next to us in the foot,” he said as he held his thumb and index finger as closely together as possible without touching.
Christine walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck with the bow still clutched in her hand.
He laughed into her soft, wavy hair. “Mind you, I was only five at the time.”
She pulled away and slapped him on the chest. They both gave in to laughter.
“Want me to show you the proper way now?” he asked, but not in a condescending way that said he knew better than her.
It was genuine and Christine knew she could say no to if she wanted to without any hard feelings between them. That was just how Liam was and, after all, it was her birthday.
She smiled up at him, her neck bent all the way back to stare into his light green eyes. “Thank you for making me a part of your family today.”
Liam Scott smiled back down at her. He took the bow from her hand, picked up an arrow, and drew it back with ease. With the quick release of his fingers, he let it go. The arrow shot straight into the bullseye.
II.
Allison Murphy gallivanted around Christine and Liam’s apartment for hours as she hung streamers and balloons from wherever she could reach. Confetti littered the floor in metallic clumps. She wasn’t worried about the cleanup the next day, only about making the surprise party amazing for her dearest friend and colleague.
She jumped when someone knocked at the door. The guests had started to arrive and she still hadn’t found the wine and Champaign glasses to set up on the buffet table. Quickly, she raced to the kitchen and wrenched open all the cabinets. She should have brought her own glasses. Tupperware and white paper napkins scattered the floor as she swiped them out of the way. In the far back next to the slow cooker there was a box of assorted plastic party glasses. It would have to do.
There was another series of knocks, more impatient and aggressive. “Just a minute!” she yelled. She turned on her heels as she squat on the floor with clear Tupperware gathered in her arms. She shoved them back in the cabinet and shut the door before they could come tumbling back out onto the floor.
Within a half hour the small one bedroom apartment
was packed.
“Shh!” Allison Murphy hushed the twenty or so people as she peeked through the blinds at the parking lot below. “They’re coming! Hide!”
“Hide where?” Sylvia Goldstein asked in her thick New York accent. “This place is like a sardine can.”
Allison rolled her eyes and knelt down beside the couch, still in clear view of the doorway. Her ankles wobbled on her thin high heels. Hushed giggles filled the darkness as Christine Moore’s voice echoed through the open hallway outside.
“We’re home!” Liam yelled.
Christine looked at him like he was off his rocker. There was tenderness hidden behind her scrunched eyes. She knew what was waiting for her on the other side of the door. They walked into the apartment holding hands. Christine flipped the light switch on in the entryway.
“Surprise!” everyone shouted as they jumped up from their hiding spots.
Christine screamed and smacked her hands over her mouth as her blue eyes bulged. The apartment looked like a wishy washy teenage girl’s sweet sixteen party with pink streamers, balloons, vinyl tablecloths, and paper plates covering every surface. Multicolored confetti littered the floor and permeated the carpet. It wasn’t Christine’s taste in the least. She’d never been the girly girl type. But she genuinely smiled when she saw it, because she knew it was absolutely Allison Murphy.
“Happy birthday, love,” Liam said and kissed her forehead.
Christine looked at all her friends with a gaping smile. There were a few people mixed in she’d seen around before, but didn’t know personally, a couple she didn’t know at all, and then there were her parents. Even though they were involved in her life she was still surprised to see them there. Parties weren’t really their thing. Parties weren’t really Christine’s thing either, but Liam seemed so excited to throw one for her that she kept her mouth shut about it.
Lidia Moore walked over to her daughter and cupped her face in her hands and kissed her on the cheek. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-eight already,” she said with misty eyes. “It’s like I blinked and you were all grown up.”
Christine’s mouth pulled into a smile only a daughter could give her mother when she thought she was being overly sentimental. “Mom…”
“I’m sorry. You’re right,” Lidia Moore said as she sniffed back her tears and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s a party. Your father’s here too,” she added as if he hadn’t been standing right beside to her the entire time.
Thomas Moore leaned in and gave Christine a tight, one-armed hug as she wrapped both her arms around his waist. He smelled faintly of cigar smoke and potting soil. He’d no doubt spent the day working in the backyard garden, a hobby he’d taken to after retirement from the iron-workers union.
“I’m really glad you both came,” Christine said.
Lidia Moore leaned in close to her daughter’s ear as her eyes lingered on Liam. “He’s a good man,” she whispered. “Take care of him.”
Christine nodded her head and smiled at her fiancé, who was talking to some of the other guests. “I will,” she said to her mother. “I’m going to go say hi to everyone—”
Her mother nodded zealously before she finished speaking. “Go, go, mingle. It’s your party. We’ll be here.”
Christine walked over to Liam and looped her arm through his. They were still in their jeans and t-shirts from the range. She felt his warm, burnt skin on her bare arm and felt relaxed.
“Happy birthda-a-a-ay, girl!” Carolyn Bock, the younger woman from upstairs, said with a crooked smile and an almost empty Champaign glass in her hand.
Christine had only met Carolyn once before when Liam suggested they get together because they were both relatively close in age, ignoring the fact that they had absolutely nothing in common except the color of their hair. Carolyn Bock was a twenty-six year old HR office girl at the local steel mill. She was surrounded by good old country boys and loved every minute of it. Christine was a corporate lawyer at a firm in downtown Chicago. She wore a nice suit, carried a briefcase, and didn’t say things like “ya’ll” or “bitchin’”.
“Thanks. Glad you could make it,” Christine said as her eyes drifted to the mousy-looking woman standing next to Carolyn.
“This is Debbie Henson. She lives next door to me. I hope it’s OK I brought her along. I thought she could use a wild night out,” Carolyn said as she nudged the meek woman with scraggly red hair.
Debbie looked around nervously. She let out a hoarse laugh and then cleared her throat. “Nice to meet you. Happy birthday,” she said just above a whisper. Her eyes shifted around the apartment as if she expected the boogeyman to pop out and snatch her away.
Christine only knew Debbie by her last name. She’d heard stories about the fights she and her husband had late at night. She noticed the small, scabbed over split in Debbie’s lip and wondered if that was his doing.
“Thank you, both,” Christine said politely. “Enjoy!”
Carolyn raised her glass and threw back what little alcohol was left in it, draining it down to the very bottom.
“The look on your face!” Allison Murphy yelled as she wrapped Christine in a tight hug. “It was priceless. We got her!” She shoved Liam playfully on the shoulder.
He gave a quick laugh. “Yes, we did. She didn’t have the slightest clue.”
Christine smiled and looked away as she sipped from her glass. She’d seen an email from Liam on Allison’s computer a week ago that discussed the plans for her surprise party. She was glad her practiced shocked face had fooled them both. She’d hate to disappoint her fiancé.
Liam spotted Zack Kran, his friend and neighbor, from across the room and gestured his head several times toward Allison.
The girls looked at each other through squinted eyes and Christine shrugged her shoulders.
Zack, a thin man with a groomed beard and tight button-down shirt, caught sight of Liam and gave him two thumbs up before he meandered over. “Oh, hey!” he said. “Happy birthday, Chris. Almost thirty!”
“Don’t remind me,” she huffed.
“Hey, I take offense to that. Thirty’s not so bad,” Zack said with a hearty chuckle.
Liam jumped in before either of the women could roll their eyes. “Zack this is Allison. Allison…this is Zack.”
The two shook hands awkwardly as Allison looked to her friend with pleading eyes.
Christine pinched the arm of Liam’s shirt and pulled him aside. “What are you doing?” she asked as she tried not to laugh. “You know Allison’s married, right?”
“No! Isn’t that something you should tell your fiancé about your best friend?”
Christine looked at him hard. “She is not my best friend. She’s just…my only ally at work.”
Allison looked over her shoulder at Christine while Zack laughed at his own joke, her brown eyes wide with animosity. Christine couldn’t help giving Allison a thumbs up in mockery. Allison slipped her middle finger up discreetly when Zack wasn’t looking. Christine laughed. Then, her face fell. Allison was undeniably her best friend.
“Oh, shit. When did that happen?”
“It’s only natural,” Liam answered in his best therapist voice, which he always used when proving a point. “She was your mother hen when you first arrived at the firm and since then you two have grown accustomed to relying on each other for comfort and familiarity in a place you both despise.”
“Yeah? Well your best friend rides a skateboard to the comic book store every day and has a beard like Grizzly Adams,” Christine retorted.
“Zack owns the store. It’s not like he simply hangs out there daily.”
They both broke out into laughter simultaneously. Having Allison as a best friend wasn’t the worst thing in the world Christine decided. Her short, brown bob always lay perfectly above her shoulders, never a hair out of place. She wore the most expensive high heels Christine had ever seen and never stumbled as she walked flawlessly in them. Her beautiful suits hugged her tight and made it lo
ok like she had curves on her thin, straight body. Not only was she Christine’s friend…she looked up to her. The last person she’d ever looked up to was her sister and she hadn’t seen her since she took off when she was eighteen and Christine was still in the tenth grade.
Christine’s mood sobered in the flicker of a heartbeat. “Hey, did you happen to invite my sister?”
Liam’s face fell. “I passed the invitation along for her to your parents, but they said she never responded. Last they heard from her, she was in California selling hats on the boardwalk or something. I’m not sure,” he said softly.
Christine stared for a moment at the carpet and blinked to clear her eyes. She looked at the small black butterfly tattooed on the underside of her right forearm. The ink of the crooked wings was faded from years of neglect. She touched a finger to it and then looked away. “It’s fine,” she assured Liam with a contrived smile. “It’s fine. I should know better by now.”
“She left a long time ago,” he said as he put a hand on her shoulder. Liam saw her eyes flicker to her arm again. “How about a drink?” He reached over to the buffet table and grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass. He filled it to the brim.
“Thanks,” she said, “I just need to go to the bathroom.”
He nodded his head slowly.
Christine shut the door behind her and set the glass of wine on the bathroom counter. As she stared at herself in the mirror, she thought about how different she and her sister had looked from each other as children and what she must look like now. Was she taller, thinner, heavier, tanner? Had her butterfly tattoo faded as much as Christine’s had? She shook her head and blinked a few times. None of it mattered. She was probably never going to see her sister again.
