“C’mon, Jake, stay with me. I need you to stay with me. We’re almost there and then I’ll fix you up. You’ll be as good as new, I promise.”
“I’m trying,” Jake moaned. “Just cut the whole hand off before it spreads and I might make it,” Jake said.
“You will make it. You’re not getting out of our deal that easily.” Angela forced a smile.
Jake smiled. “That’s why I want to make it. I got needs, too, you know.” Jake closed his eyes against the pain and let out an agonized moan.
“We’re almost there. Just hang on.” Angela pressed the van on faster as the marina came into view. Glancing at the gas gauge, she saw that it wasn’t a moment too soon. If they had taken a longer route, they would have been stranded without much hope of survival.
The two creatures they had killed in the parking lot still lay where they had fallen, but the others had moved on, having no fresh meat to go after.
Angela took the duffle bag, shouldered it, and pulled out a gun. With her other hand, she led Jake back to the boat. She watched behind them for creatures, but they lucked out and made it back without incident.
Jake explained to Angela how to get them out away from land so that they wouldn’t have to worry about the creatures for a while.
Once they were safely away from land, Angela got Jake comfortable and gave him a good dose of the pain medication she found in the pharmacy. While they waited for it to take effect, she got ready to do the toughest thing she’d ever had to do so far. As Jake fell into a drug induced haze, he didn’t see the razor-sharp meat cleaver and the mini propane torch that Angela took out of her duffel bag. She placed a thick blanket underneath his hand and arm to catch the blood.
She just sat and watched him until she was sure that he would be feeling as little pain as possible. For herself, Angela swallowed a couple of shots of vodka. When they were both ready, Angela took a few deep breaths and raised the cleaver. Telling herself that it needed to be done, she brought the cleaver down as hard and as fast as she could. The hand parted clean at the wrist pulling a slurred groan from Jake. As he began to yell in his druginduced state, Angela lit the propane torch and applied the flame to his wrist, cauterizing the wound as quickly as she could. Jake didn’t lose that much blood, and the only problem had been keeping him still while she did what she had to do.
A few hours later, Jake had finally calmed down and was sleeping after having been given more pain-killers. Angela went up to the deck and had a couple more shots. She thought back to when she had come to Jake. She’d been hysterical when he brought her aboard, and here she had just cut off a man’s hand because there was no other choice. Angela had definitely come a long way.
Jake slept on and off for a couple of days while Angela gave him food, drink, and pain killers when needed. Over those few days, she shaved him and cut his hair short. That was the way he had wanted it. One night, he even had the strength to hold to the deal they had made. That night had been slow and wonderful. There were no creatures on their minds, no severed hands, no guns, just the two of them. Just two people who found each other in the most unusual of situations and didn’t have to answer to anyone but each other.
Day 112 late afternoon
Angela drove the boat closer to land, but still kept her distance, keeping a careful eye out for any creatures. She looked over at the marina and saw something that made her smile. Steering the boat towards the marina, she called down to Jake.
“What is it?” Jake came up from the lower deck, the bandage still where his left hand used to be. They had caught the infection in time, saving Jake’s life and probably Angela’s life indirectly as well.
“Right over there.” Angela pointed towards the marina at another boat. It was more like a yacht. There was no way that he would’ve been able to afford that before the creatures destroyed society. Now was all about survival, but when you could, why not indulge in a little luxury? In this new world, you had to take it where you could get it.
“Well, let’s see what’s inside, move in and then we can get some more supplies.”
Angela docked as close as possible to the yacht. They boarded it cautiously, making sure that there were no surprises waiting to chew on the living. After checking it out, Jake and Angela moved their stuff on board the yacht. To their delight, there was a lot of food that was still edible, and they had a full tank of gas. They could even cut the engines and sail from time to time to save gas. Jake and Angela decided that they would be okay with their supplies for a few more days and pulled away from the dock in their new yacht, heading north along the eastern coast.
Day 114 dawn
Jake lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The darkness was slowly moving away to be replaced by the coming dawn. Angela had been awake for the last two hours and had gone onto the deck. She came down and applied a cold, wet rag to his forehead to try and bring his fever down.
The fever had come on during the night and neither of them had spoken much since. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they hadn’t been able to stop the infection.
Jake closed his eyes as Angela sat on the bed next to him. “You know what you’ve gotta do.”
Angela just stared at him as a tear rolled down her cheek.
“Angela, I don’t wanna hurt you, please.” He squeezed her hand.
“I know, I know. I just don’t wanna lose you!” Angela got up and slowly reached for the gun that lay on the table beside their bed.
Jake sat up as Angela walked towards him. “I don’t want to lose you either, but there’s no other choice.” He wiped the fever sweat from his forehead and smiled at her. “I don’t wanna come back. You know what’ll happen if I do.”
Angela put the gun down on the bed and sat with him again. They hugged for what seemed like forever. She wanted to hold him until he was alright, no matter how long it took. “Jake, what am I gonna do without you?”
Jake didn’t move or speak. Jake’s grip began to loosen and Angela leaned back. He fell back and lay still with his eyes closed. Jake was gone and fresh tears came from Angela’s eyes as she reached for the gun. She brought the gun up and stopped. Jake had saved her life and now she had to kill him to save him.
“I love you, Jake.” Angela leaned in for one last kiss. His lips had gone cold already, but still she kissed him. Her eyes closed, she pictured him still alive.
Sudden pain pulled her head away from his. His hand had come up behind and pulled her by the hair, exposing her neck to him. His eyes were that of an animal that was going to strike its prey. Angela brought up the gun, but it was knocked away by Jake’s stump. The gun flew across the room and Angela screamed. As the sound came from her throat, Jake stopped it by driving his mouth into Angela’s neck and bitting. Blood came pumping out of her throat and he let go of her hair.
Angela fell to the floor holding her throat. Jake got up and stood over her. She lay there with her life leaking out onto the floor. Jake got down shakily and grabbed Angela by the shoulders.
The last thing that Angela saw was Jake’s lifeless eyes as he began feasting on her flesh.
He’s Not Heavy
By Rebecca Snow
The tip of my finger was gone. The pain didn’t burn enough to persuade me to scream. I had to keep quiet, at least for a while. If anyone else found out I’d been infected, the guard would apprehend me before I could take another step.
I had been stretching my middle finger through a link in the fence; the body lying on the ground on the other side hadn’t been dispatched. The dead, glazed eyes flicked in my direction. In a split second, a ragged hand pulled my extended finger toward its mouth and chomped just below the first knuckle. Since the bite was on an extremity, the rate of infection gave me time to accomplish my task.
I’d seen all the stages of zombie incubation. Before the decree was passed to destroy all infected humans, I’d been a dispatcher. That was the term used for those hired to make sure the newly dead didn’t walk. I’d been paid for it. I�
�d enjoyed it. People drew together and told their secrets as they died. I’d seen the infection spread through healthy people and stood watch over others as they died. We used to let human life run its course. People died in the most natural way possible under the circumstances. To many of us, killing someone with a heartbeat was still murder. But that’s not the way it is anymore.
Snapping the blue rubber band on my wrist a final time, I slid the band off and wrapped it around the base of my finger. The dripping blood stained the rubber purplish brown. I didn’t think I’d live long enough to lose more of the finger by cutting off the circulation. Reaching into my pocket with my uninjured hand, I removed a yellowed handkerchief and used my good hand and my teeth to tie it around the clotting wound. On the other side of the barrier, the zombie pressed into the links, trying to ooze through the holes to have another bite. I shook my head, lamenting my fate, and stabbed the creature in the eye with a screwdriver. After wiggling the tool around in its skull, I watched the body slump to the ground in a pile of rags and rotting flesh.
I turned my head to see if my injury had been witnessed. As far as I could tell, the street was empty. No curtains swayed. The air was still. According to the new rules, I should have gone and turned myself in to the nearest guard. That wasn’t going to happen. I was going to finish what they’d started. People needed to eat, zombies didn’t. With a last look, I continued to follow the fence line. Looking at the sun, I thought I had enough time.
As I walked, I listened to the gravel crunch beneath my feet. The streaks of white in the sky disappeared under the weight of my stare. I knew there was a scientific term to explain the phenomenon, but it still made me feel a little powerful. A grasshopper jumped out of the way as I took a step too close. The paper bag under my arm crackled as I walked.
I could almost feel the viral blood pulsing through my veins. The heat was creeping through my hand. It seemed to settle in my wrist like a crowd trying to squeeze through a doorway together. In a futile attempt to extend my human existence for a few moments, I shook my hand to keep the blood from spreading. There were stories about people avoiding the infection by amputating limbs. Most of the time, they died from gangrene instead. I thought I’d rather dispatch myself.
“Stop!” The command came from behind me.
I froze.
“Why are you bandaged?” the gruff male voice asked.
“I was cutting a rope and sliced the tip of my finger,” I said, still frozen. “Would you like to see?”
“No, sir, but you should be more careful, sir.”
I turned to face the man as I shifted the bag from my arm to my good hand. What I saw was a kid with a sneer on his face. I guessed the ‘sir’ was used to calm criminals. After seeing the look on his face, the sentiment lost all its effect. The name scrawled in Sharpie over his breast pocket was “Smith.”
“Am I free to go, Officer Smith?” I asked. I wasn’t giving this guy any reason to shoot me in the back.
He walked in a wide circle around me as he squinted at me under bushy eyebrows. He looked as though he were trying to find some way to detain me further. I jumped when he poked my arm with the barrel of his rifle.
“Move along. I guess you’re safe,” Smith sighed, and added, “I’ve got to get home to dinner.”
“Thank you for keeping the streets safe, sir.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Since he let me go, I assumed it worked.
I took four steps away from him before turning my back and continuing toward my destination. Once I rounded the corner, I found an alley and ducked into it. I fell to my knees and threw up the seven pieces of candy corn and spoonful of baked beans I’d had for lunch. The rationing had gotten thinner this week.
Looking at my bandaged hand, I didn’t think it would matter to me if I never ate again. The transformation had begun. It always started with the impossibility of keeping human food digested. If I’d been bitten any earlier, the soldier would have known I wasn’t healthy. I would have been sent to the death chamber. I was sure more people had been sent to the chamber for having the flu in the past few weeks than for being infected. The rule used to be if you showed three of the signs, you were quarantined. If you developed two more in captivity, you were put in a holding cell and your family was called. You were allowed two visitors and a marksman as you breathed your last. That was when people came out of quarantine. That was when families were sometimes reunited. Then, rations started getting low, or so we thought. Instead of the box of canned goods delivered to the door every month, families of four had to make do with one-quarter of a box—sometimes just six cans of food per month.
One night, I’d finished work. It had been a rough night. I’d had to dispatch two teenagers. They had gone out for a midnight tryst and ended up infected. We held them in adjoining cells. The boy’s sister and father were with him; the girl had her mother and grandmother. The kids held hands the whole way through. Even as rotters, their grip didn’t loosen.
We didn’t leave the succumbed walking for long, but we’d get to see them for a moment while the families were taken from the room. No one sane wanted to see loved ones dispatched. After the soundproof doors were latched, two bullets ripped into skulls. Yeah. That’s how it used to be.
When I got home that night, there was a flier with a picture of the elected having some sort of party. Food was everywhere, heaps of it. The picture was dated a week before. I’d been eating the same can of corn since that time. Lucky for me, a meal was included in my job, so the weeklong can of corn wasn’t much of an issue unless I was expecting company. Handing a spoon to a potential mate and huddling over a single can of sustenance might seem romantic, but believe me, it isn’t.
Looking at the picture, I felt what little dinner I had left in my stomach gurgle up and threaten expulsion. Wouldn’t be bad, I could make two meals out of one. But I swallowed, keeping my nourishment where it belonged. I knew the photograph could have been faked, but it was a damn good fake if it had been. After a closer inspection, I noticed “Bartleby’s Ledge, 12:07 am, June 5th” scribbled across the bottom of the page.
At the time, I thought my job was secure. Still, I was curious about the photo. Maybe it was some sort of joke or someone had jumped to conclusions. Perhaps it was a trap to ensnare the retaliators that had been unhappy with the last election. Whatever it turned out to be, I wanted to know. The Ledge wasn’t far. I could make it in the three hour time limit. I scarfed down the rest of the niblets and dressed in the darkest gear I had. No need to make myself obvious. I grabbed my machete and stepped into the night.
Staying to the shadows, I made it to The Ledge and secluded myself in the bushes. No one else was there, so I made some noise getting comfortable until the first attendees shuffled up the path. Peeking from my secret spot, I saw others dressed in black and glancing behind them as if vampires were in pursuit. Some citizens gripped the hands of their children; others held weapons of all shapes and sizes. No one wandered without a means of protection. I heard no discernable speech, but a muffling of whispers blanketed the gathering.
The fluttering voices ceased as a figure wound through the living bodies to the middle of The Ledge. He stood perhaps ten feet from the bush I had secured.
“Good evening, or should I say good morning?” he said. There was an audible smile in his voice. “My name is Joseph. Thank you all for being concerned or curious enough to join me here. As you saw in the picture, it seems our elected officials have taken liberties with the power we have entrusted in them. We are starving as they feast, we are fighting as they frolic.”
A chorus of grunts, exhalations, and snorts rippled through The Ledge.
“Do you have more proof?” a woman said from a few feet away from where I sat.
“How do we know the picture isn’t fake?” a man asked.
I could see a small sprinkling of nodding heads around me.
“I promise you, the picture you saw is real. I have more pictures.” The man pulled a stack
of photos from a coat pocket, split it into three piles, and passed them into the crowd.
I rolled from behind the bush and shuffled into the closest cluster of onlookers. When the pictures wove their way to us, my mouth hinged open. The photos depicted freezers full of actual meat, stockpiles of canned goods, and rows of condiments. I hadn’t tasted ketchup in over a year. There were even vegetables—large, healthy vegetables. They looked nothing like the warped tomatoes grown in the burned rooftop soil most people tried to garden.
“Again, how do we know these are real?” another woman queried. “They could be renderings, maybe paintings, or even empty bottles made to look full. It’s really no problem to open a can, clean it off, and flip the label.”
“I have a way to prove this to you. Four of you can accompany me to the next assembly. My brother will get us tickets. When the witnesses see it for themselves, they can report back, and you will believe,” Joseph said.
His voice lacked the inflection of a normal human, but his eyes sparked. I guessed it was because he had to look unabashed with the waste of the officials to keep from being discovered.
“I’ll need a few volunteers,” he added.
I stepped forward alongside the woman who first questioned the photos. She smiled at me before looking back at Joseph. A large man muscled his way up from the back of the crowd and stood next to us. He reached out to shake Joseph’s hand.
“We’ve still got room for one more witness,” Joseph said when no one else stepped toward him.
After a few moments, a slight teenage girl sidled up to us.
“Can I come?” she said, looking up at Joseph with lashes no one could refuse.
Joseph shook his head in decline.
“But I don’t have anyone. My mother, father, and four brothers got killed during the outbreak.” The girl sniffed and looked at her shoes. “I’ve been surviving on my own for six years.”
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