Zombie Overload (Book 4): Determined To Live

by C. M. Wright

  No! Not that!

  Man, you people really need help!

  He speaks.

  "Ah, Canada. I knew you loved me," he moans out, his lips trailing kisses down the side of my face.

  My eyes fly open and my body tenses up. I drop my arms and straighten my body away from his, horrified at what I've done.

  "Jake, I'm sorry, but I'm so tired and I'm not feeling very good. I think I need to get some sleep. I'm sorry," I have a feeling telling him the truth - that I don't love him and never will, and when I'm not being a moron, he disgusts me - probably won't fly with him. I can't even imagine the beatings I'd get then. Hell, he'd probably kill me.

  He actually remains gentle and caring as he helps me wash the conditioner out, the whole time apologizing for not thinking of me and putting my needs first. When we're done getting clean, with no further "incident," he helps me out of the shower, takes the plastic off my cast, and dries me off.

  Then he carries me back into the larger room with my towel wrapped around me. He pulls out one of his black t-shirts and hands it to me, asking me if I need help. I shake my head and pull the shirt on quickly. It stops mid-thigh on me, so I feel like I'm wearing one of my short nightgowns from back home. Then he assists me into another pair of black fatigues.

  Once he's finished, he helps me back to my cot and tucks me in, rubs my hair, and kisses the tip of my nose as if I were a little kid. I almost expect him to sing me a lullaby or read me a bedtime story. But instead, he goes over to his cot, makes it, and pulls it right up against mine. Then he goes across the room, locks the door, and turns off the light.

  I hear his cot squeak and protest as his weight collapses on it. I hear the movement he makes as he settles in, and then all is quiet. Just as I'm thinking it's safe and nothing else will happen, I feel the heavy weight of his thick-muscled arm lay across my stomach. I quit breathing, waiting for whatever he has planned next. But after several moments of stillness, and deep steady breathing from his direction, I relax and allow the nagging thoughts I've had to push aside for a better time, to come through.

  What the hell is wrong with him? Why has he changed so much? Is it whatever is in the vials? Is it medication for a mental illness? And what the hell is up with those pictures of his parents?

  So many questions and no answers.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I slowly wake to soft morning sunshine lightly kissing my cheek. Raising up on my arms, I look around the room. The cot that was next to me when I went to sleep is folded and against the wall. The bedding is also neatly folded and stacked on a chair. I don't see or hear Jake anywhere.

  Sitting up, I cringe as the cot makes all kinds of noise, especially when I swing my legs over the side. I am certain attempting to get away is hopeless - being one-footed and all - but to not even try is stupid.

  I drop to the floor and crawl to the door where I raise up, twist the unlocked doorknob, and back out of the way as it opens. Then I crawl forward and peek down both ways of the hall, seeing no one. So I cross the hall and look through the iron bars to the open garage floor below.

  Still no Jake.

  Did he go inside the armory without me?

  Wouldn't bother me a bit, but I have a feeling I couldn't be so lucky.

  I can't begin to think why that is.

  I reach the top of the stairs and don't even take the time to worry about the intense butt-bumping bruises these metal stairs are going to leave me. I make it to the bottom rather quickly and take a brief few seconds to rub my aching butt before continuing on my knees toward the nearest Hummer. I reach it and open the drivers side door. Pulling myself up, I have to turn to get in butt-first...and come face-to-chest with Jake.

  Well, of course. Like no one saw that coming!

  "Going somewhere?" he asks as he smirks at me, his fists on each hip.

  "Jake! I thought you'd left me. I couldn't find you anywhere," I explain, hoping to avoid another beating.

  As his hand springs toward me, I jerk away, expecting pain. But he just places his hand on my shoulder and his face changes to one of concern.

  "I wouldn't leave you, Canada. You don't ever have to worry about that." - Oh frikken joy! - "I just went outside to check the main fence. We don't want those undead beasts to be able to get in, now do we?"

  I have a very strong feeling it's not the zombies he's concerned with at all, but my family. All I can do is nod as I try to swallow the huge lump in my throat. He goes to the back of the Hummer and opens the hatch. I watch him distractedly, until he starts swearing and throwing things around in anger. That snaps me back to attention, and when he starts toward me like a pissed-off bull, my eyes widen in fear.

  "Where the hell is my bag! I have important stuff in there, stuff I need. Stuff that I have to have! What the hell did you do with it?" he roars, his face almost touching mine. His angry snorts of breath wash over my terror-stricken face.

  I desperately think of something to say that won't get me killed. Unable to believe he will buy it, I lie anyway, "I have no idea, Jake! I haven't seen it."

  I hold my breath, my body trembling with fear. What is he most upset about losing? The pictures or the vials? I wish I could ask him about those, but now, I most certainly can not mention them.

  His eyes narrow as his face gets even closer to mine. But just when I'm positive things are going to get painful for me, his body relaxes and he straightens.

  "Sorry. I guess I misplaced it. Though I can't imagine where."

  I watch his face as he tries to figure out where he could have possibly left it. Knowing he'll soon figure out that he had left it right where he'd expected to find it, I attempt to distract him.

  "Jake, shouldn't we plan how we're going to get inside the armory and make it through the zombies, if there are any? And how I'm going to do this with only one good foot?"

  He looks in disbelief at my cast, as if he's just now realizing the problem with his plan of a reunited zombie-killing duo. "Shit! Let me think."

  While he thinks of a plan, I do the same - but I think of a way to get away from Jake. He wants in the armory, and I want to get the hell out of here!

  "Look, Jake., I should stay here. If I go in, I could get us both killed. You can't be dealing with me, and try to fight zombies at the same time. It just won't work." I hide any disgust I might be showing and lean against him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I don't want anything to happen to you, Baby. You're all I've got now. I love you, Jake." Then I press my lips against his.

  My gag reflexes kick in and I duck my head, faking a cough to cover it up. He lifts my face roughly and slaps his hand against my forehead.

  "Don't get sick, Canada! Please, don't get sick." He jerks me against him and I feel his body tremble.

  "Jake! Jake, I'm fine. It was probably some dust or something. I'm fine! Really."

  Damn it! Did I just screw everything up?

  I pray he doesn't decide to forget the armory and stay up my ass.

  "Well, just to be safe you're going to stay here while I go take care of the armory. Don't even think about arguing with me either." - Hey, dumbass! I think I suggested that a few minutes ago. - "Let's get you upstairs and settled, so I can get that shit done and get back here."

  Take your time. Please!

  He picks me up and back up the damn stairs we go. I could have argued to stay downstairs, but I didn't need him getting suspicious. He carries me back to the room we had slept in and sets me in a chair. I watch as he goes over to a locker in the corner of the room. After rummaging through it and cussing a few times, my mouth drops when he pulls out a length of rope and gives a satisfied sigh.

  Jake stalks toward me then ties me to the chair, the rope wrapped around and through and all kinds of ways on my wrists, and then the same with my right ankle and left cast. I glare at Jake's back as he walks to the door, but transform my expression to one of concern when I call out for him to be careful.

  He turns back to me, his hand on the door knob,
and says, "I will. I love you, Honey."

  I force a smile in his direction and when he continues to stand there, staring at me expectantly, I jump with the realization that I'm supposed to say something.

  "I love you too, Jake," I tell him and inwardly cringe at the robotic-like tone. But he doesn't seem to notice because he grins at me, salutes, and closes the door.

  I wait as long as I can - which seems like too long but is probably only a few minutes. I frantically search for a way out of this damn rope. Seeing a toolbox sitting inside the locker, I wonder if there's something inside that might help. But how the hell do I get over there? An idea comes to me - and though I'm aware of the possibility of totally screwing up - it's well worth a shot.

  Planting my good foot and my cast firmly on the floor - and putting most of my weight on my good foot - I stand as much as I can, which is really just a hunched-over effect with a chair strapped to my butt. Carefully I turn so that the back of the chair is facing the locker - and do my best to ignore the excruciating pain from the brief moments of having to rely on only my broken ankle in order to move my good foot. I slowly sit back down and have a few seconds of sheer terror when the chair wants to tip. But it settles down and I use my foot and cast to push myself toward the locker. A couple times the chair's legs catch in an uneven crack and I almost fall over backward when I give a good push against the floor.

  I'm concentrating so hard on moving and not falling, that when the metal of the chair and the locker meet and loudly slam into each other, I almost have a damn heart attack. Getting up and turning the chair again, I face the locker and pray there's enough slack in the rope that I can reach the toolbox. Blowing out a big sigh of relief when my hands connect with the cold metal of the box, I frantically open it and look inside. A bunch of screwdrivers, a hammer, some wrenches, and an assortment of nails and screws of every type and size...but nothing to get these damn ropes cut off!

  Frustrated, I cry out and stomp my good foot on the floor. Seething with rage, knowing how close I am to escaping - but apparently, I'm going nowhere. I sit - accepting I've been defeated - and just stare at the toolbox. But then something black lying against the back wall of the box catches my attention. Leaning down, I reach for it, but the ropes snap to their limit. Just a few more inches! I lean forward as much as I can, but when the chair begins to tip, I quickly straighten back up.

  Tears well up in my eyes as I stare at the damn box cutter - so close, yet so far away. I take my good foot and kick at the toolbox, not expecting to be able to reach it. But I connect and my frustration quickly turns to new determination. I stick my foot inside the metal toolbox and try to move it toward me but the edge of the opening tears into my foot. Changing to my cast-covered foot, I pull the box easily until I can reach the box cutter. Snatching it out of the toolbox, I slide the blade up and almost cry when I see the sharp shiny metal. Realizing my hands are a lost cause as they're tied too closely together, I bend down and cut away at the rope around my ankles...or cast as the case may be.

  Once they're released, I cut the rope hanging from my wrists to the chair, then lower myself to the ground. I crawl on my arms and knees as fast as I can to the door, where I raise my bound hands to the knob. As I scramble to the stairs, I take constant peeks over the edge of the balcony to the lower floor.

  At the stairs things get a little scary, but once I get turned around and start down, I realize I don't really need my hands. Of course, my ass is going to be a bit sore as I'm unable to ease myself down the next step, but if this works and I can get the hell out of here, then bring on the pain!

  I reach the bottom and quickly get back into my awkward crawl and race to the truck. But then I keep going, deciding on a newer, stronger truck. I reach the very next truck and manage to stand, open the door, and get inside.

  You have no idea how frikken happy I am to see the keys in the ignition!

  Or maybe you do.

  I realize this is it. This will either get me out of here and away from Jake or...it will cause Jake to kill me. Straightening and setting my mind to nothing but escape, I ignore the voice telling me that this is a bad idea. A very bad idea. But I'd rather die than not try at all.

  Twisting the key, the motor roars to life. I reverse, then turn and face the big-ass garage door.

  Ah, shit!

  Forgot about that.

  Whatever you're gonna do, do it now! He's not going to be gone forever. He could already be on his way back!

  Terror has me getting back out of the truck. I leave the Hummer's door open wide and crawl to the big garage door. I reach up for the handle and just as my hand touches the hard cold metal, the door starts to open.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I see a man's legs and I scream. He screams too. I crawl away from him as fast as I can, until his voice finally cuts through my fear.

  It's not Jake!

  I turn my head back - ready to take off - and look at the man who is walking slowly toward me. Terror shows on his own face, his arms stretched out toward me as he begs me to stop.

  "Please, I won't hurt you. We have to get out of here. There's a man inside shooting everyone. We have to hurry."

  I nod furiously as I turn and crawl back toward him as fast as I can. He helps me up and holds my arm as I hop as fast as I can to the truck. When he pulls me to the right at the same time I pull to the left, we stumble.

  "Screw you, buddy! I'm driving," I inform him, daring him to argue with me.

  But he just nods and helps me to the drivers seat. When I'm inside, he runs to the other side and jumps in. Almost before the door shuts, I stomp on the gas. The other man pulls out a pocket knife and starts sawing away at the ropes still binding my wrists. As I drive around the armory, we see the entire front gate swarming with undead. So I blow right past it and head to the side gate that I hope is here like the one in Springfield.

  The front door of the armory is thrown open and a shotgun comes out of the door before I see Jake raising it and aiming it right at us. The man with me freaks out and ends up slicing me across the back of my right hand, but I ignore him - and the pain of the cut - the best I can and stomp on the gas once again. My focus is completely on the side gate that I can now see in the distance. I refuse to believe we won't get out of this place, safely at that. I feel my face harden with determination and the power of anger...and fear.

  Jake misses the tires and, of course, the body is bullet-proof. How he missed I don't know. He's an excellent shot.

  Shit!

  As we near the gate, we can clearly see that this gate isn't much better than the one in the front.

  Frikken zombies!

  Damn you!

  You know what?

  Screw you!

  I stomp on the gas once again, the man beside me screams that we can't bust through the gate - just as we bust through the gate. I look over at him and can't help but grin at the "Holy Shit" look on his face.

  "Holy shit!" - See? Told ya. - "You mean this whole time anyone could have done that? This is an armory for God's sake! What the hell were they thinking?"

  I shrug and say, "What the hell were they thinking when they let Jake in the military? What the hell were they thinking when they started this whole shit?"

  "What! That guy was military? I just thought he stole the fatigues. And what the hell do you mean "They started this shit?" The military? No. I'm sorry, but you got that wrong. They wouldn't do this!" he insists.

  I just shrug again and concentrate on the way I'm going - and in the rearview, the way I've been.

  You can believe whatever the hell you want to, buddy. I saw proof.

  "Look, does it even matter who started it now? Little late to stop them. Anyway, we got bigger problems, like a mentally unstable live one who will be on our ass soon enough. Do you happen to know how to disable the tracking system on this truck?"

  He stares at me for a moment, obviously still in shock at the idea the military could ever possibly be involved. He finally sh
akes his head and his eyes focus on me.

  "What? The tracking? Well, sure. I mean, I am the tech guy. I installed them."

  Thank you, Lord!

  "If we can get stopped somewhere, you need to get it out or Jake will find―" I stare in astonishment as he reaches under the panel close to the floor, rips out a hand-sized black box - and wires and all, tosses it out the window.

  "Done," he says as he grins at me.

  "Well, looks like we're stuck with each other, so what's your name? Mine's Canada."

  "And mine's Larry. So where we headed, Canada?"

  "Hopefully to find my family before Jake does. He knows that's where I'll go." I tell him.

  "Then don't go! Go somewhere else. He'll kill us!"

  "Look, asshole! That's my family. My kids are with them. If I don't get there before he does, he'll kill them. I'll be more than freakin' happy to drop your ass off along the way. Doesn't make a shit bit of difference to me!" I yell at him.

  He raises his hands and says, "Damn, woman! Calm down. I wasn't thinking. Sorry." He lowers his hands and we both stay silent for a few minutes. And then I hear him mumble under his breath as he looks out his side window, "Women are so damned emotional. Damn! Am I glad I'm not a woman."

  I grin and quietly speak up, "I'm glad you're not too. You'd make one ugly-ass woman."

  I hear his sharp intake of breath as he realizes I'd heard him and he was busted. Then we fall back into silence again, until he suddenly scares the shit out of me with his loud booming laughter. After awhile I'm unable to stop myself as I laugh too. I doubt anyone could keep from laughing when he starts in like this. It's contagious. He helps loosen the tension and the fear I feel turns to strength. Strength I badly need right now.

  An idea comes to me and I swing so fast on Larry, that he shrieks and jumps against the door, his arms pulled up and against his body, fear on his face. That makes me laugh so hard my eyes gush tears.

  "Wha― What the hell? You screwed in the head or something? You need medication?"

  "Oh hell, Larry! I haven't laughed this damn hard in...God! I don't even know how long! Thanks. Anyway, do you have a phone, Larry? Do you? A phone?" I'm so excited until he shakes his head 'no' and drops his head.