Maggie snorts.
“It just made this banging scraping noise, and it was like I could feel it there. I tried going backward and forward but whatever it was must have been tangled in the wheels. Finally, I just stopped the car when I saw another car coming. I stopped my car and waved for the other car to stop for me.”
“That would be me,” says Eddie, clearing his throat. “I was just getting the hell out of Dodge when I saw her. She was hysterical and waving but she clearly wasn’t one of the afflicted. I rolled down the window and drew a gun on her to be sure, but she seemed normal enough so I told her to hop in.”
Justin looks up at him. “Where are you headed to?”
“Beats the shit out of me,” he says. “I watched the game at a bar yesterday, came home feeling fine. I woke up in the middle of the night and all hell was breaking loose at my apartment complex. The fuckers upstairs—they’re always noisy, but this was surreal. I—I think they were having a fight to the death up there. It sounded like a cage match with props.” Eddie stops to cough into his sleeve for a while.
“Are you okay?” asks Justin.
“Fine, fine….” He clears his throat. “So, same as her. Next morning, I pack up, thinking that the rural areas would be safer—fewer afflicted. But then I run into the local chapter of the NRA out here and now we’re locked up. This is a fuckin’ shit show.”
Eddie breaks into another coughing fit. Justin says, “I need to get back to work,” and heads to the corner. I follow him.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I whisper when we’re away from the others.
“That we’ve got to get this hole dug before it’s too damn late? Because that’s all I’m thinking.”
“No, I’m talking about Eddie. Do you think he’s alright?”
Justin looks back at the others, his eyes landing on Eddie, who is hacking away while Eva stands next to him, patting his back. “Oh,” he says. “Ya think?”
“I’m starting to.”
“Maybe we should wait and see.”
“I don’t know about that. I didn’t see anyone actually turn into a zombie. But I’m willing to bet that the flu comes first. Does that look like flu to you?”
Eva is wiping Eddie’s forehead. He has his arms crossed and is rocking.
“Could be,” says Justin. “Just keep an eye on him. I’m almost done with this hole. Then we can deal with it.” He turns his attention to digging.
I look back. Eva is helping Eddie to a place on the floor so he can lay down. She takes off her hoodie and rolls it up into a pillow and slides it under his head.
“I’m good,” he protests weakly.
Reluctantly, she stands and steps away to Maggie’s side.
“Are you two a thing?” asks Maggie.
“Us? No,” she laughs lightly. “We only just met this morning. I’m just the type of person that wants to take care of people. I spent so much time in hospitals with other people taking care of me, so I guess it’s my own little pay-it-forward impulse.”
I move closer to join the conversation, but Maggie asks the obvious question. “Why were you in hospitals?”
“Oh, me? I have a… well, I guess I can say it. I have diabetes. It just hit a few years ago and it’s been pretty rough.”
“What does it do?” asks Maggie.
I jump in with, “It’s when the immune system can’t tell good from bad anymore, and starts attacking the cells in the pancreas that create insulin.” Maggie gives me a sharp look and I shrug. “Books.”
“That’s it in a nutshell,” Eva says. “It’s chronic. There’s no real cure. Some people get it worse than others. I would be one of the unlucky ones.”
“I’m not a doctor,” I say, “but you look pretty healthy.”
Another sharp, irritated look from Maggie.
“Thanks. The past couple months I’ve been feeling better than I have in years. I’m on a new treatment.”
I turn away and look at Eddie. He’s out cold, but is still moving, rolling back and forth just a little bit. A slight moan is coming from his lips.
Eva says, “He’s got a bad cold, looks like. I’m sure he’ll feel better once he gets some sleep. If we could find some cold medicine he might do better. Or even some antibiotics, since it could be bacterial maybe.”
“Justin talked about getting into some pharmacies for meds,” says Maggie. “If we get out of here, maybe that should be our first stop.”
“Really? I’d be very interested in that. Desperately interested, as a matter-of-fact. I don’t have any of my insulin with me. I’ll need some by tomorrow morning.”
“Definitely talk to Justin. He can help, he’s a nurse.”
Eva brightens. “He is? Good.”
Just then Eddie moans loudly, and Eva kneels at his side. She holds her hand on his forehead.
I subtly motion with my eyes at Maggie to step towards the corner with me. She just gives me an irritated look and then goes back to watching Eva and Eddie.
I clear my throat and when she looks, I tilt my head in the direction of the corner. She ignores me again.
Then I grab her by the shoulder and with my thumb indicate that it’s urgent that she come with me for a talk. She finally does so.
“Jesus! What?”
“He’s really sick,” I whisper. “This is how the zombie disease starts.”
Maggie purses her lips in alarm, but then says, “Yeah, but wouldn’t it have hit him yesterday if he was going to get it?”
“Who knows? Maybe it works differently on different people.”
“Damn,” she says. “Maybe we should just take him out now.”
“I’m not sure that would go over so well. Maybe we should just tie him up as a precaution.”
“Got rope?”
“There’s got to be some somewhere in this shed. Start looking.” I weave my way past the man toys and lawn mowers toward the far corner, opposite the one where Justin was digging. Maggie looks around the walls before cautiously making her way up a ladder that leads to a small loft area.
The scream shatters everything. My pulse doubles and I feel sick. I turn to look for Maggie. I see her legs sideways on the ladder. I move toward her but then I realize that the screams do not belong to her.
Behind the tractor, I see glimpses of thrashing. I hear Eva’s screams and the howling rage of a demon. I duck down to the ground—and then I realize that I can’t hide anymore in this world—I force myself to stand and step around the tractor.
All is blood. Eva’s throat is torn and her legs are slowly moving in some macabre imitation of escape. Eddie is atop her, tearing and biting. I try to shake myself out of my shock and look for a weapon. I see Maggie coming down the ladder holding the first thing she could grab, a lone cross country ski.
Then I am shoved aside as Justin steps into the picture. Eddie senses him and turns and lunges toward his mid-section. He doesn’t get close. The action unfolds in slow motion. Justin takes a half-step back and assumes a perfect baseball hitter’s stance. He swings the sledge hammer as if he’s aiming to send the ball bouncing across Trumbull Avenue. It connects squarely with Eddie’s head with a force so undeniable that the tendons in the neck rip, the vertebrae in the spine detach and the skin tears. His head smashes against the door of the garage as blood spurts from the neck of the body, tumbling to the floor and landing sprawled across Eva’s lifeless legs. The head rebounds from the door and rolls to a stop next to their motionless forms.
We stand frozen in shock. Maggie sets her cross country ski down carefully. “Mother fuck,” she says.
“Well,” I say. “How’s a guy going to word that as a Facebook update?”
From outside, the guard’s voice: “Is everything alright in there?”
Justin sighs. He takes his sledgehammer and heads back to the corner.
“Peachy,” answers Maggie. “Everything’s fucking peachy.”
13→TERRORS UPON TERRORS RUN
Darkness falls and the c
racks of light that had penetrated the shed fade to black. Justin, who has been waiting till the sounds of activity around the farm die out, grabs the shovel and starts on widening the hole beneath the wall, so that we can climb out.
Maggie and I have been silent. Hungry, but silent. She draped a canvas tarp over the bodies. Since then we’ve been simply waiting.
The mood is strange—hell, it’s been strange ever since I tried to kill myself. We are determined that we don’t want to die in that shed. Death is a likelihood no matter which direction we go from here, but the dark shed is not where I like to picture it happening.
It’s certainly presumptuous for me to put labels on Maggie’s feelings, especially when she’s not talking, but I think she’s ashamed of herself. Not that she should be, but I think she’s wondering why she didn’t react sooner, why she didn’t get to Eddie first. Why couldn’t she have been the one to kill him—in time to save Eva’s life? But what was she going to do with a cross country ski? It’s hard to even conceptualize that as a weapon on any battlefield.
It’s easy for me to analyze her. It keeps my mind busy so I don’t have to wonder why I initially ducked down and hid. I don’t have to wonder why, despite being the closest, I was the one who didn’t lift a finger to stop Eddie’s zombie rampage. I was the one who was paralyzed. I was absolutely useless.
Eventually, we hear Justin say, “Psst. Guys!” We go to the corner and he’s not there. His voice is calling from the other side of the hole. “Now. Quietly.”
Maggie goes first and is out in seconds. I lower myself into the hole, duck my head under the wall, and it is easy to pull myself out on the other side. A light glows from the farmhouse porch. A half-moon shines above. I bump into someone’s arm as a shovel is forced into my hands.
“Let’s take him out,” Maggie whispers, indicating the guard who is probably dozing in his chair around the corner of the shed.
“No,” says Justin. “Let’s find our cars.” We keep to the shadows. Other than our guard, we don’t see anyone else. We pass behind the big barn and around the silo and we see a row of trucks and cars. We settle into the tall grass. “Listen,” whispers Justin.
Night sounds. It’s cool enough so we’re not hearing insects. But we hear the wind wafting through the trees along the creek. Faintly, I think I hear the screech of an owl. A dog barks, back near the farmhouse. Justin motions us forward. We stay near the front end of the vehicles, along the edge of the tall grass so we can duck down and hide easily if anyone approaches. We pass 11 pick-up trucks before we find ours. Justin’s car is parked next to it.
“Don’t open the door yet,” says Justin. “You don’t want the dome light to come on. Wait till I’m ready to get into my car. Then we have to get in and shut the door fast to get the light off. But someone might spot us. Do you know how to hotwire a car?”
I shrug but Maggie says, “Did it a few times with my brother, it’ll take me a few minutes.”
“You’re ahead of me,” Justin says. “I have no idea, and seeing it done in movies my entire life has not helped at all. So unless we win the lottery and the keys are still inside. I’m just going to grab my backpack and a few other things and jump out so I can squeeze into your truck.”
Perhaps he felt Maggie’s breath catch. He adds, “If that’s cool with you…”
“Yeah, of course,” she says.
“Okay, let’s do it,” he says, making his way around the truck to get to the door of his car. I follow him, so I can get in the passenger side of the truck.
“One, two, three…” he says.
We open the doors, nearly simultaneously. I jump in and pull mine shut behind me, trying to be as quiet as possible. The dome light flashes and is off in maybe three seconds.
“Holy shit,” says Maggie. “The keys are right here.” She fires up the engine and looks right to see that Justin has done the same. “I lead,” she says. “Reach in the back and grab a gun.”
I had just done my seatbelt but undo it in time to get thrown into the dash as she guns the truck in reverse. She stops abruptly and floors it forward. I bounce around again as she swerves onto the road and away from the forest. I have my back turned to the road as I fish in the back. Eventually I pull out a long gun of some sort. I sit forward again as she reaches over to check it.
“Shotgun,” she says. “Good call. Roll down your window and get ready to pull the trigger. There’s a switch on top, above where the trigger is. Push it forward.”
I fumble with opening the window and then I feel for this switch. I push something forward. “I think that’s it.” She checks with her hand.
“Locked and loaded. Point it out the window. Anyone shoots at us, just point and pull.”
The road seems straight. And dark.
“Turn on your lights!” I screech.
“No,” she says. “There’s probably a roadblock ahead and I don’t want them to be able to draw a bead on us.”
“Yeah but don’t you want to be able to see the roadblock?? What if they have a car parked across the road?!”
“Life’s funny like that.” She laughs and seems positively thrilled to be alive at this point. In captivity, her spark was gone. Now Maggie is absolutely beaming. No fear.
And spotlights blast our eyes—two or three of them just ahead of us on the road. Gunshots follow. Maggie accelerates. Too late I see several of the men standing on the highway with their rifles pointed at us. Beyond them, a car turned sideways. Maggie yells “Duck!” and swerves left then right. I pull the trigger of the shotgun just because it seems like the right thing to do. The truck hits something, goes over a bump, and then we glance off the car and keep going.
Eventually I open my eyes and look. Maggie’s got her lights on and we’re probably nearing 100mph. “Did we hit that car?” I ask in shock.
“Just a corner of it. Toyota. No biggie.”
“Did we hit people?”
“God, I hope so.”
I turn around and see Justin still following us. There’s no sign of any of the old guys joining the pursuit. I sit forward. “What happens next?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m freaking starving.”
14→ABED HERE IN A STRANGE HOUSE
After about a half hour of high-speed screeching, we find ourselves far away from our captors, alone on a road so desolate there are no mailboxes. We pull to the side. Justin stops his car behind us.
“Pop Tarts,” says Maggie, as she steps out of the truck. “I’ve got some in the back. And some Dinty Moore beef stew.”
I am slow getting out. The night is still dark and while we are far away from trees, it’s impossible to be completely sure that we are alone in this spot. I clutch the shotgun.
“Is this ready to fire again?” I ask.
“Pump it,” she says over her shoulder. I eventually figure out which is the moving part and I push it forward carefully until I hear a loud click. I think I’m good. Maggie opens up the cover on the back of her truck and starts digging for the food. Justin joins me in scanning the area—looking and listening in the darkness for whatever threat is coming to call next. But nothing emerges, and before long we are eating Pop Tarts and cold canned beef stew.
“The apocalypse is going to suck from a culinary standpoint,” I say.
“Screw you. Next time you get to be the cook.”
Justin shakes his head and laughs lightly, stepping away from us to scan the road again. After a slow turn, he says, “Where are we going to sleep tonight? Now that we’ve stopped to catch our breath, it’s all catching up to me. I’m exhausted.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Could sleep right here in the truck,” suggests Maggie.
“That, to me, would feel a little exposed,” he says.
“There’s no faster getaway then sleeping in a vehicle.”
“Yeah, you see, I do not flourish when I am trapped in an enclosed space. And I’m not going to be able to sleep wondering if some zombie-type is going to
be throwing themselves at the window a couple inches from my face. Or if a bunch of old country goobers sneak up on us with guns in the night, we’re dead. They can shoot us through the windows before we even hear them.”
“Maybe we need to find an empty house. There are probably plenty.”
“Okay,” says Maggie, “but not in a neighborhood. You want it to be someplace that we can clear of threats easily and not have some horde of undead attack us. A farmhouse might be our best bet.”
“Are we just walking in and assuming it’s empty?”
“No way. We have to assume there’s at least one crazy in each house, maybe more. I mean, if it’s your typical family, there’s going to be some, you know, people that have been killed…”
“But there’s the ones that have done the killing. We just blow them away.”
Justin speaks up. “Friends, partners, maybe we should introduce some aesthetic considerations into the mix. I suggest that we draw the bad ones out of the house and kill them there. No one wants to sleep and eat in a house that has blood all over the floors.”
“Point there,” I say.
And that’s how we end up house-hunting somewhere in the middle of Michigan in the middle of the night in the middle of the apocalypse. The dynamics of the search are probably a bit different than what we would be doing in a pre-apocalyptic shopping mode. For one, we don’t need to worry about “for sale” signs. Everything’s available. Though Justin rightly suggests that a “for sale” sign might give us an indication that the house is already empty, thus relieving us of the need to kill any resident zombies.
The World Itself (Book 1): The World Itself Departed Page 8
