by C. M. Wright
Softly, he tells me, "I'm sorry, Canada. I wish I could help you."
"No big deal. We'll just have to make sure we beat that asshole to them."
He then goes to back to work on the rope that is still tied around my wrists, even though my wrists are no longer tied to each other. When my hands are finally free of that damn rope, I rub the tender areas and curse Jake in my head for causing me even more pain. Then I take a quick, but thorough, look at my passenger.
I would guess Larry is about five-nine or six feet tall, maybe 210 pounds. He has brown eyes and hair, which is getting a bit sparse on top, but on him it works. He's wearing a set of camo-colored fatigues and boots. I can tell by the laugh lines on his face and the natural sparkle in his eyes, that he has a great sense of humor and seems to be a very sweet, gentle, and caring man.
"Do you have any family, Larry?" I ask him.
He sighs and looks out his window. Just when I give up on getting an answer, he turns back to me and says, "A wife. I have a beautiful, wonderful wife. I don't know if―" Larry lets out a heavy, shaky breath and drops his head. When he raises it back up, his eyes are red, his face flushed. I feel my own eyes burning knowing his pain. Twice now I've lost my husband. The first time I had been positive he was dead. Now, I don't know what the hell has happened to him. I suck in and blow out a few breaths of my own.
"I just don't know. I tried calling her every day. I couldn't leave that damn place to look for her, though I tried. Those things are everywhere. The other men refused to let me take one of the trucks to leave, said my responsibility is to the military, to them, and they would shoot me if I tried to leave."
"None of the others would take you to check on her?" I ask.
"No. They made it clear my wife wasn't their concern. Keeping their own asses alive, and making sure their families were safe, was all they cared about. They had all planned to go out today to gather their families up. I was told they would check on my wife if they could. But I know they had no intentions to do any such thing. I overheard a few of the men talking. Said my wife and I are too old, so it wouldn't matter if anything happened to us, as we wouldn't be much use in this new world."
"I'm sorry, Larry. What a bunch of assholes!" If it had been me, I'd have blown all their asses up to get to my family. Or at least I'd like to think so - but of course, but I wasn't in his position so I can easily say that. Who knows if he even had access to the weapons? Most likely, they disarmed him and locked away all the other weapons.
My conscience refuses to let me be like the others that turned their backs on this man and his wife. But what am I going to do about my family? Jake will kill them all now. Maybe I can get to a phone and warn them.
Sucking in a deep breath, I slow the truck just enough to be able to turn around and head back into Kansas City.
"What are you doing?" Larry asks as he holds on tight to the dash as I spin around.
"Where's your wife?"
"But your family! And that Jake character! What about them?"
"Where's your wife, Larry?" I ask him in a low growl. I'm pissed because I don't want to be a good person right now. I don't want to care about anything or anyone but my own family.
He gives me directions and thanks me half a dozen times until I finally tell him to shut the hell up. I see a vehicle coming at us up ahead and my gut twists. We should have gotten of the main highway that goes through KC and heads north...where my family is. That's what we should have done, but this right here is exactly what I want to happen. I want to lead Jake away from my family.
As Jake and I pass each other, his eyes let me know how much trouble I'm in. Once he's past me, I hear his tires squeal as he whips around. Larry freaks out beside me but I tune him out. I have got to keep my shit together and my mind focused on this.
"Put your seat belt on, Larry." I reach over my left shoulder and grab my own, pulling it across me. Larry grabs hold of the buckle and clicks it into place for me. I give him a distracted, "Thanks," while keeping my eyes on the angry lunatic behind me.
I watch as Jake speeds up and almost hits my bumper before sharply swerving to come up beside me on my side. He thrusts his finger at me, signaling for me to pull over. The rage on his face tells me how bad an idea that will be, if I were to actually do what he wants. Instead, I slam my foot on the gas and shoot ahead of him. It doesn't take him long to catch back up. I avoid looking at him, instead focusing on the road and where his vehicle is.
He swerves toward me, but I expected him to do that, so I'm ready with my own swerve away from him. Jake slams on his gas, shooting in front of us. And I know his next maneuver will be to try to block us.
"Larry! You said that turn is up here. Where up here, damn it!"
"The next left!"
Damn! I could have missed it and we would definitely have been screwed.
"Hold the hell on!" I scream just before I slam on the brake and make the turn, tires screaming on the asphalt. "Ok. Where now, Larry? And try to warn me before the turns."
"Six blocks. Turn right."
Shit! I can't give Jake six blocks to catch up.
The second road on the right, I turn as fast as I can and a few blocks down, see an opportunity to hopefully save our asses. An open, empty garage connected to a single-story home. I quickly drive into the garage and scream at Larry to shut the door. He jumps out and hurries to do just that. It slams to the ground and he runs back to me.
I've opened my door and am sitting sideways in my seat, my feet dangling above the ground. On the other side of the door leading inside the house, I can hear the sounds of undead as they moan, grunt, groan, and beat at the steel door.
So not in the mood for this right now.
"Larry, carefully go peek out the window on the garage door. See if that nut is around."
Larry nods and goes back to the door. He watches silently for a few moments and then tells me he doesn't see him. Relieved, I let myself fall back on the seat and let out a huge sigh. Larry walks back to me and stands in front of the open door in front of where I'm lying. When he starts speaking, I lift my head and look down toward him.
His hands are in his back pocket and his voice is quiet, uneasy. "Canada, what happened to your face? Did that man do that to you?"
"Uh huh. No big deal. I've had so much worse shit happen to me in the last week. This is nothin'." I let my head flop back down on the seat, sigh again, then sit up. I've got too much crap to do.
"Somehow we need to get to a phone, get to your house, and get back with my family - all while avoiding psycho-boy out there. Any ideas?" I ask Larry.
Larry looks at me but isn't focused on me, so I know his brain is turning. I don't even bother trying to come up with something, hoping he will just do the brain-work for me.
"Well, we could try cutting through the yards to my house."
Is he for real?
Instead of telling him how impossible his plan is, I show him with a bit of a tap on his leg with my cast.
He jumps away and looks down at my plaster-covered foot. "Oh crap. I'm sorry. I forgot."
"It's alright. I try to forget about it too. Damn thing complicates shit a lot, doesn't it?" As I lean forward to get out of the truck, Larry grabs hold of my upper arm to help me. I stand and hop to the truck's middle door, which I open and climb inside onto the floor. I raise the backseat and start pulling out weapons and ammo, taking stock. Six handguns and twelve boxes of ammo, two shotguns and six boxes of ammo, two rifles and six boxes of ammo, one sniper-rifle with two boxes of ammo, and finally the dozen grenades.
Loading all the handguns and the two shotguns with ammo, I give half of the weapons to Larry, then I load up my fatigues with as many guns as I can.
When I look up, I notice Larry isn't standing outside the Hummer's door anymore. I lean forward and look around for him, finally spotting him next to the back door.
"Larry, what are you doing?" I call out to him, but softly, not wanting to rile up the undead behind the door a
gain. When I watch him twist the doorknob and throw it open, I scream a hell of a lot louder.
"Larry! What the hell!"
Chapter Eighteen
He doesn't answer, as he's too busy hauling ass for the truck. I watch in fear as he hustles as fast as his butt can go. Sure, he makes it. No problem. These are the slow ones, after all. I highly doubt he would have done this if he had known about the faster ones.
I slam my door shut as he gets into the front seat. We lower our windows and start taking the rotten things down. I freak out over every shot. The loud bangs will be easy for Jake to hear, but we have no silencers. I'm a little pissed off that Larry decided this option without discussing it with me first, without weighing both pros and cons. But it's a little too late now.
Finally the last one out the door returns to its death-state - for good this time - and we get out of the truck. Larry is grinning at me, proud of himself. I don't have the heart to inform him Jake is most likely not that far behind now, so I just give him a glare, but keep my mouth shut, and hop toward the door of the house. I feel his confusion at my less-than-excited reaction to his quick-thinking. If only it hadn't been such quick-thinking.
I lean my back against the wall next to the door and lean over to look inside, ready to shoot in case of stragglers. Seeing and hearing nothing, I motion Larry to lead the way. After he goes inside, gun ready, I follow with all my senses on high-alert. I can't move as well or as fast as he can, so he "orders" me to sit on a kitchen chair and wait for him.
Thanks. I believe I will.
I turn the chair so that I can see down the hall, and back out to the garage, with just a quick turn of my head. I can hear Larry as he makes his way through the downstairs and then the upper floor, clearing each room. Finally, he comes back and sits in the chair next to me.
"All clear. Do you want me to see if the phone works?" he asks me.
I nod my head and watch as he walks to the telephone attached to the wall across the room. He lifts the receiver and I hold my breath, totally expecting it to be as dead as the corpses in the garage.
And guess what?
It is.
Larry replaces the receiver as he shakes his head, then turns to me and apologizes - as if it's his fault. I pull an envelope that's lying on the table toward me - a phone disconnect notice which I'd already seen and the reason I had a good idea the phone wouldn't be working - grab a pen that's also on the table, and write down my Mom's cell number. I also write a message.
Mom,
Either a zombie got me or Jake did. If it's Jake, don't even bother trying to rescue me. Most likely he's got plenty of weapons and ammo. Much more than any of you have, so please stay away. If it's a zombie, then definitely stay away. There's nothing any of you can do.
I love you, Mom. Please take care of my boys and tell them everyday that I love them. If Will happens to still be alive, tell him to do the right thing and forget about being a hero. The boys need him much more than I do. But tell him I love him too. And that I wish I had listened to him about Jake.
Jake's duffel bag is in the house that hopefully you rescued Melody from. It's under the bed and has some interesting stuff inside that you may want to check out.
Love,
Canada
Just writing that broke my heart and released tears and sobs that I couldn't hide, no matter how hard I tried. I look up and find Larry looking at me his own eyes shining with unshed tears. He had obviously been reading what I'd written.
"Canada, is that really necessary?" he asks me.
"I hope not. I really do. But just in case, I want you to make sure this message gets to my Mom. Will you promise me you'll do that?"
Larry bows his head. When he raises it, he gives me a nod. "I promise."
I fold the envelope and hand it to him. He puts it inside one of his shirt pockets and zips it, keeping my note secure. I stand and hop to the sliding door that leads to the backyard. It's empty of the undead, but surrounded by a tall privacy fence. There's no way I can make it over that.
Larry comes up beside me and looks out. He points out a doghouse in the far back corner of the fence. "If we can get you up on that, maybe you can get over."
"Larry, even if I could, how would I get down on the other side? I can't jump. There's no way you could catch me. And let's say I do get over, how would I ever outrun a zombie? How would I move fast enough to hide if I need to? Forget it. This cast is going to get me killed, and if I go with you, I could get you killed too," I tell him with more than just a little disgust with the entire situation.
I want to let that cast know just how pissed off it makes me, but I'm not brave enough to kick the wall with it. Pain sucks and I'm getting a bit tired of it.
"What are we going to do then, Canada?" he asks me.
"We aren't going to do shit, Larry. You're going to have to go alone. Go see about your wife, call my mom, and get to safety. I know my family will take you and your wife in." If she's alive.
"And you? What are you going to do Canada?"
"When you are done doing what you need to do, you'll come back here and get the truck. If I'm here, great! If not, get the hell out of here."
"Canada, I―"
"Larry!" I interrupt him. "You have no say in this. Go do what you need to do and I'll take care of me."
I turn away from him and hop into the next room. I hate snapping at him, but he's too sweet to just leave me here. He needs to save his wife, if she's still alive, and I need that damn call to be made to my family.
I find myself in a small, cozy living room. Except for the blood and a few body pieces, it's a nice room. One a family can relax in, lounge on the sofa with it's thick cushions and matching pillows, and a throw lying over the top of the sofa to cover themselves. Thick cushioned recliners that perfectly match the sofa are arranged so that whoever sits in them can see both the television and whoever might be sitting on the sofa.
I hop to the couch and give it a quick blood/body-part check, then lie down. I adjust the pillows - one for my head, one for my foot - and pull the throw on top of me. There's a large bay window behind the sofa and a thick, dark curtain covering it so I'm able to hear the undead outside, but they're muted enough that it doesn't bother me much. I'm not all that worried about them breaking through and getting me. Maybe because they haven't broken it yet, or maybe because the curtain is so thick they can't see me. Or, maybe I'm just so exhausted emotionally and physically that I just don't give a shit.
Do I want to die? No. Do I want to be a zombie? No. But it just seems like that's where I'm continuously being led to since the beginning. Maybe I'm meant to die. Maybe I'm meant to be a zombie. Maybe Jake is meant to "have me." I don't know anymore. I don't care anymore. I’m just so tired. I just want to rest, to get a little strength back, to just be left the hell alone. I want this all to never have happened!
And this is where I break down and start crying like a damn infant.
After a few minutes, I feel Larry's hand stroke my forehead and hair as he tells me it's going to be alright. My eyes flash open, my mouth ready to tell him exactly how I feel about his words of "comfort" - but when I see the sweetness, the gentleness, and the genuine caring on his face and in his eyes, I can't say a word. So I just nod and give him a weak smile.
I sit up and he sits on the recliner across from me. I ask him what his plan is and he tells me what he's come up with.
"I'm going to wait until it's dark out - not total dark, but dark enough I can hide from that man if I need to. I'll take my handguns and leave the rest here since I won't be able to carry them all. I'm going to stick to the alleys and cut across yards until I get to my house. Then, I guess what I find there will decide my next move. I will call your family, Canada. If not there, I'll break down every door until I find a working phone or cellphone. Promise me you'll be careful while I'm gone?"
Laughing softly, I tell him I have every intention of being careful, it's just the carrying it out I have problems with. H
e gives me a look that I can imagine one of my own dad's giving me when they don't find something I say amusing. I got those looks often.
While we wait for the sun to go down a little more, Larry helps me upstairs where he insists I stay or else. He gets me all set up and comfy in the master bedroom, complete with its own bathroom. The room has a huge bed with tons of pillows, a thick-cushioned window seat facing out the front of the house, and thick plush carpeting. The curtains, like the downstairs living room, are thick and have a light/heat-blocking back to them. The door of the room is thick and has a lock - though it's not a deadbolt - but who normally has one of those on a bedroom door?
My advice to you in preparation for the zombie apocalypse - if you do nothing else, at least get thick doors with really good locks. And for god's sake, do something about the windows! At least the downstairs ones.
Larry gets me settled and tucked into bed, then goes downstairs and makes us something to eat. While he's gone, I spy a book laying on the bedside table. After just staring at it for a few minutes, I think "what the hell" and reach out for it.
Days Gone Bad
Eric Asher
The cover looks pretty cool.
I flip it over and read the description on the back.
"My name is Damian Valdis Vesik. I am a necromancer. My master and I vanquished many evils in times gone by. Now, something is releasing a new evil, forcing us to hunt an enemy beyond anything I’ve faced before. Our abilities are feared and hated as much as the powers we set ourselves against. I was already busy enough with vampires, fairies, witches, Watchers, weddings, and … damn, I need a vacation."
Chapter Nineteen
Necromancer! You gotta be shittin' me.
I want to read it now more than ever, thanks to that little tidbit. I wonder if the author is still alive? And does he feel the same about necromancers now?
