Z-Minus (Book 5)

by Perrin Briar

  Richard embraced Rosario, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. She squirmed in his grip. Her weight gave her extra strength. She turned, forcing Richard around.

  Susan took a vial out of her pocket. She would thrust it into Rosario’s mouth so it ran down her throat. It would cure her, but would she ever recover from what she’d done to her grandson?

  “Hurry!” Richard said as Rosario opened her mouth wide to bite him.

  Rosario pushed against Richard. His back smacked against the wall. There was the soft crunch of glass. Susan recognized it immediately. The glass vial in Richard’s pocket had been broken.

  Now the two vials in Susan’s possession were the last they had. They could cure Rosario and either Susan or Richard, not both. Steve was out looking for the army base, but who knew how long that might take? But if Susan didn’t cure Rosario she would be stuck like this forever, or at least until they could get the cure to her – if they ever could. Susan was torn. Richard evidently did not share the sentiment.

  He roared, crouched down, and threw his bodyweight forward, pushing Rosario toward the bannister. His intention had been to push her over it, but she was so heavy, she smashed right through and landed head-first on the hard wood floor below.

  She lay there, unmoving, her leg performing the jitterbug. A sliver of blood seeped from one side of her head. She was dead. Really dead.

  Susan’s face contorted with the pain of it. The unnecessary death. But what other choice did they have? Suddenly a number of alternatives flooded her mind, alternatives that would no longer help Rosario. They could have put her in another room, reinforced the door and windows so she couldn’t escape, feeding her until they got the cure from the army and administered it to her. But now she was a beaten bloody mess on the floor below. Dead.

  A whimper behind Susan pulled her from the depths of her despair. She turned on her heel and pushed Amy’s door open. Susan let out a squeal.

  12:16am

  There Amy was, in her crib-bed. They’d had it specially made so she’d feel safe. Her solar system mobile had been installed. She always slept better with it. Susan was overcome with Rosario’s kindness.

  “Amy,” Susan said in a soft voice that crackled around the edges. “Mommy and Daddy are here, baby. See? We’re both here. And we’re going to take you away from here. Yes, we are. To somewhere safe.”

  Susan picked her up and held her tight.

  Richard stepped forward, a smile on his face. He lay eyes on Amy, their baby, the culmination of their love for each other… And his eyes fell, his brows drooped, and he looked to the side, disgusted, hating what he and Susan had given birth to. It matched the same expression he’d worn when he had first laid eyes on her. Complete disappointment.

  Susan stepped in front of him, blocking Amy’s view, using her back as a shield. Susan smiled at Amy, brushing her hair with her hand.

  Richard stepped aside.

  “I can’t do this,” he said. “I just can’t.”

  “Everyone she’ll ever meet will look at her the way you do,” Susan said. “Of all the people, we’re the ones who should accept her for who she is, not judge her, not be disappointed in her. But you… You can’t. You can’t let her be who she is.”

  “I can’t take care of her,” Richard said. “Not now, not before. If that makes me a bad person, I’m sorry. But you can’t protect her now either. The virus will spread. It will get here, and those monsters will kill us all. We need to be upwardly mobile. We need to be able to move at a moment’s notice.”

  Susan shook her head.

  “She’s our baby!” she said.

  Waves of powerful emotions roiled and bubbled inside Susan, knowing Richard was right - he was always logical - but it lacked the heart a mother had for her child. Susan loved Amy and could never let her go.

  “Come with me,” Richard said. “Now. Come with me.”

  “No,” Susan said. “I can’t.”

  Her voice lacked conviction.

  “You’ll die,” Richard said. “She’ll die. Come with me. Leave her here. It’ll be a greater kindness than what she’ll turn into. Come with me.”

  Tears spilled down Susan’s cheeks, forming clean tracks through the dirt. Richard held Susan in his arms, holding her tight, the way she used to like when they first started dating. He wasn’t big or strong or muscular, but she felt safe in his embrace. He rocked her back and forth, and she calmed, the tears stopping. She wiped her face dry and pushed away from Richard. It was a weak gesture.

  “Come with me,” Richard said, earnest and heartfelt. “We’ll have more kids when we find somewhere safe. Please.”

  She could see her future now, with Richard. Traveling for months, dodging the undead, fighting them when they had to, searching and scratching a living. And then, when they were far enough away, when they were totally lost and with nowhere else to go, they would stumble upon somewhere safe. A community.

  They would be valuable members. They knew enough medicine to be doctors, enough engineering to build complex devices to make life a little easier for everyone. But they wouldn’t let Amy in. Not a dependent who had nothing to offer. They would settle, and they would have children, healthy babies that clung to them, relied on them. Richard would be happy with them, because they were normal, acceptable. In the early days of their relationship that was what Susan had dreamed of, in her heart of hearts.

  But in the voice of any new children she’d have, she would hear the pain-filled cries of Amy, their firstborn, who failed to meet the standards of the New World. She could not survive. There was no hope for her. But there was for Susan, and for Richard.

  “No,” Susan said. “I can’t.”

  But her words were weak. Spoken from obligation, not love.

  “Come with me,” Richard said. “I know you still love me, and I love you. Come with me.”

  Susan shook her head. A single word, spoken in a whisper, slipped through her lips.

  “Yes,” she said.

  It shocked her to hear her own voice say it.

  Richard bent down to hear her better.

  “Yes?” he said.

  Susan nodded, and even that felt a sin.

  “We’ll pack our things,” Richard said. “Just the bare minimum.”

  Richard went to the bedroom and pulled a suitcase from under the bed. He opened the wardrobes and began tossing clothes into it.

  Amy grunted, not quite a cry, not quite a scream, but something in between. It was the best her malformed head could perform. It sounded all the world like a question to Susan, a question of why she wasn’t good enough, why she had to be left behind. A hot lump formed in the back of Susan’s throat.

  “Goodbye Amy,” Susan said, the words grating and painful in her throat, drawn out like a blade.

  “We have to go,” Richard said.

  He was standing at the door, a backpack slung across one shoulder, a suitcase in the other.

  Susan bent down and kissed Amy on her sloped forehead. She edged backward toward the doorway, so she could keep her eyes on Amy the whole time.

  Amy made her grunt-question noise again, and Susan felt her heart break. If she was going to do this, then she was going to do it with her eyes open. That was the least she owed her daughter.

  Richard brushed Susan’s hair and kissed her on the forehead. Susan led the way down the stairs. It was Richard who stood in the doorway, looking at Amy, not with the disgust he usually wore, but regret. He didn’t want to do this anymore than Susan did, but he had no choice. Neither of them did.

  They descended the stairs, edged around Rosario’s corpse, and went into the kitchen.

  “Grab all the tins,” Richard said. “We might be on the road for a while.”

  He began emptying the cupboards of tinned food, putting them in the suitcase with their clothes. Susan just stood in the middle of the floor, staring into space. Richard didn’t chastise her. He couldn’t blame her for the way she felt. She was a mother, and she’d ta
ken care of Amy for two years by herself.

  He packed quickly and carried the bags out the front door to the car. He tossed them in the trunk and turned back to get Susan.

  “Susan, come on,” Richard said. “Susan!”

  Susan started, as if she’d been in a daydream. She’d been staring at nothing, thinking about nothing. She was numbed by her own decision. She shuffled toward the car door. Richard wrapped his arm around her as she came out of the house. The wind stirred her hair, but she didn’t feel it.

  Richard guided her into the passenger seat and then closed the door. He ran around to the driver’s side and let himself in.

  “Before I forget,” Richard said. “Can I have one of your vials? Rosario won’t have much use for hers anymore.”

  Susan’s movements were slow. She reached into her pocket and took out the two vials. Richard unstoppered a vial and threw his head back. Susan just looked at hers. She tucked it away.

  “You aren’t going to drink it?” Richard said.

  “Perhaps later,” Susan said.

  “Right,” Richard said. “Let’s go.”

  He sounded like they were going on a weekend trip. He started the engine and released the handbrake. They were off.

  The driveway wound in a giant S shape, banking around the tall trees and old hedges. When Susan bought the property she had the intention of uprooting them and having the driveway rebuilt to pass through them, but once she’d moved in she felt the same as the previous owner; it felt wrong to cut through what had been there years before she’d arrived.

  What she and Richard were doing was logical. It made sense. But could she do it? Was this really what she wanted to be doing? She’d chosen Richard over Amy. Two years ago she’d made the opposite decision. Did that mean her first decision had been wrong? Even though she loved every second she had spent with Amy?

  She was panicking, hyperventilating. She couldn’t breathe. She was going to be sick. She put her head between her knees.

  “Susan?” Richard said. “Are you all right? Susan?”

  Susan said nothing, and concentrated on breathing. She no longer felt sick, but the rush of blood made her head swim. A forgotten bubble of wisdom drifted to the surface.

  The darkest of days come from the brightest of moments.

  That was certainly true of today. It’d begun like any other day, calm and peaceful. They’d even gotten the funding they needed. It was one of the brightest moments in Susan’s career. Who could have predicted the day’s events?

  And then Susan frowned. If it was true that the darkest of days came from the brightest of moments then wasn’t the reverse true too? That the brightest of days come from the darkest of moments?

  Susan didn’t doubt that what she was going through now was the darkest moment she had ever experienced. The future could be bright, even with the apocalypse. But what if this wasn’t the end? How would Susan feel then, if she left Amy behind, like the other useless stuff in the house they were evacuating? Could she ever feel like the kind of mother who could care for her child? No. Once a terrible mother, always a terrible mother.

  “Stop,” Susan said, her voice soft.

  Richard hadn’t heard her, and was still driving down the driveway.

  “Stop,” Susan said, louder this time.

  “What?” Richard said.

  “Stop!” Susan said.

  “No,” Richard said.

  “I said stop!” Susan said.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Richard said.

  Susan thrust her foot into the driver’s side foot well and stamped on the brake. The car hopped like a jackrabbit.

  “Susan!” Richard said. “Stop it!”

  Susan’s legs weren’t long enough and she couldn’t sustain the brake pedal.

  “Susan!” Richard said.

  Susan looked down and seized the handbrake. Richard put his hand on top of hers, crushing it, keeping the handbrake off.

  “Susan, look at me,” Richard said. “Look at me! Let her go. You have to let her go.”

  “No,” Susan said. “You have to let her go. You could never accept her. But I’m her mother. I love her. She needs me.”

  “You need to survive,” Richard said.

  Susan grabbed her door handle.

  “Stop or I’ll jump out while we’re still moving,” she said.

  Richard met her hard-as-steel glare. He searched her eyes. She was serious. He hit the brakes. Susan slid forward in her seat. She grabbed the door handle and yanked on it.

  “Susan,” Richard said, his tone defeated.

  Susan got out.

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” Richard said.

  “No, Richard,” Susan said. “Don’t you do this to yourself.”

  He couldn’t meet her eyes. Susan slammed the car door and marched back up the driveway toward the house. The car sat there. Then it moved forward. It stopped again, the engine turning over.

  When Susan got to the house, she turned to look back. Richard was still parked there. She was a jumble of emotions. If he returned now, would she take him back? Yes, she thought. She would. Did that make her weak?

  No. Amy would have a better chance of survival with two parents to take care of her instead of one.

  But she needn’t have worried. The car’s brake lights went off, and the car continued down the driveway. It got to the end and turned. Moonlight bounced off its windows. The engine’s roar became faint, until it was no more.

  Susan felt numb. This was the second time Richard had left her. It stung just as much as the first time, though at least this time she was expecting it.

  The wind picked up and blew across the vast flat expanse of the countryside. She was alone, and to be alone now was very, very dangerous. But she wouldn’t be totally alone. She had Amy.

  12:32am

  Susan edged backward, into the shade cast by the porch. Her foot bumped into something. She looked down to find a small, neatly wrapped package.

  It looked odd there, sat on the front porch. Normal, like everything was working as it should, in a world where the undead weren’t walking the streets. She bent down and picked it up.

  The wrapping was plain brown paper, like a drunk would use to hide his weakness. A piece of scrap paper, lined, had been torn from a notebook. In an unpracticed hand was written:

  Tried to deliver to you in person, but you weren’t here. Inside is something your father left you before he passed away.

  It was signed with an illegible signature.

  A gift from Father? Was it possible he really was dead? It seemed like years since she’d heard the news of her father. If he had died, at least he’d be spared the knowledge of what the world had become.

  Upstairs, Amy cried. Susan turned and ran up the stairs. Amy was upset, no doubt sensing what had almost happened to her.

  “It’s all right, baby,” Susan said. “I’m here. I’m here.”

  She rushed to Amy’s bedside and picked her up. She rocked her gently to and fro, making soothing shushing sounds.

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” Susan said. “You’ll see. We’re going to be fine.”

  Amy made soft sucking noises. She was hungry. Her eyes were fixed on something.

  Susan realized she was still holding the package.

  “You want this?” Susan said.

  Amy took the box and began to tear at the paper.

  “Looks like it’s just going to be you and me here from now on,” Susan said.

  She was surprised that she didn’t feel particularly sad at the thought. Single mums made it all the time. She’d been one before today. What was the big deal? She had plenty of money, if she needed it. It was a lot more than most people had.

  She caught herself, remembering the current state of the world. When you had money, it was always in the back of your mind. It was a security blanket, a comforter that let you know you would never starve or be homeless. But now, money meant nothing.

  She would need to be
self-reliant. She would need to grow her own food and cook everything from scratch. She would need to set up defenses and keep a close eye on the news to see what was happening in the world, to prepare for the worst in case it never got better again.

  She hugged Amy close. She’d never felt so alone before. She wished Richard was there. No. That was weakness talking. She didn’t need him. She could handle this on her own. But she wished she didn’t have to.

  “We’ll be all right, won’t we honey?” Susan said.

  She kissed Amy on the top of the head. Amy had gotten through the paper and was now worrying at the plain cardboard box inside.

  “Shall I open it?” Susan said.

  Amy didn’t say anything, but she relented. Amy was gorgeous. How could she have ever considered leaving her behind? Tears welled in Susan’s eyes, and her nose became congested. She wiped her eyes with her T-shirt.

  Amy tapped the box. She wanted it opened.

  “All right, all right,” Susan said. “I’ll open it.”

  It was stuffed with scrunched-up paper. Susan shook the box. Something rattled inside. Her fingers came to something hard. She picked the object up. Susan snorted, and then laughed out loud. She couldn’t contain herself. Of all the things to send. At least it had broken her sad spell.

  Amy reached for the bubblehead. It was of a dolphin-like creature. Each time her father made an important discovery, he had a bubblehead made. He loved his bubbleheads and travelled with them wherever he went. He would never have willingly parted with them. Did this mean her father truly was dead? Did it even matter anymore?

  “Do you like it?” Susan said. “You’ve got about the same quality of taste as your grandfather. Here, don’t chew on it. You don’t know what kind of germs are on it.”

  She handed it to Amy, who giggled at the little creature’s head as it bobbed up and down. It was a hideous little thing, and contained a secret no one would come to understand until much later.

  And by then, it would be much too late.

  Enjoy Z-Minus 5?

  You’ll love Z-Minus 6!