by David Lovato
“Mother fuck,” Ortiz shouted. “Are you okay?”
Max was crying. Ortiz could see tears running off of his nose and mixing with the blood on the floor.
“Are you okay, Max? Were you bitten?”
“No!” Max said. Ortiz recoiled, somewhat unsure of which question that was meant to answer.
“I’m so sorry, Max. I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone. Ah, fuck!”
Max sat up onto his knees.
“I tried to get up here as soon as I heard you scream, but I got tied up. Shit, I’m sorry.”
Max stared at the floor.
“Max.”
Max turned to him. Ortiz could see the scratch full-on, then. It looked deep. Max’s left eye was filling with blood, and he was blinking furiously in attempt to clear it.
“Shit, Max, can you see?”
“Yeah,” Max said. He sighed. “Yeah, I can see. It’s hard, right now. But I can see.”
Ortiz reached for his med pack, got out some iodine and gauze, and poured the liquid onto the pad.
“Is this going to sting?” Max asked.
“Like a motherfucker,” Ortiz said. He pressed the pad against Max’s face as hard as he could, holding Max’s head still with his free hand. Max screamed, but after a second, gave in to the pain. Ortiz held the pad there while he unraveled some gauze wrap. He shifted to get a better hold on the pad and keep applying pressure, then wrapped the gauze around Max’s head. Max held still, for the most part. Tears were welling up in his right eye. Ortiz finished up, then let go of Max’s head. He sat back to see if the bandage would hold. As soon as both realized the gauze wasn’t going anywhere, Max lurched forward and embraced Ortiz. He began crying uncontrollably, pressing his head into Ortiz’s chest. His sobs were muffled by Ortiz’s jacket.
Ortiz put his arms around Max’s head and gently rocked him back and forth.
41
In the Office
The two couches in Art’s office suite had been pushed together, perpendicular to the windows. Outside, the blanket flowed softly in the breeze. Nothing had flown overhead since it was put out there, and to keep their minds off of this fact, the group was playing charades.
Stephanie stood in front of the couches. She slid her right foot backward across the floor a couple of times. As she did this, she had both hands mounted on the sides of her head. Each index finger stuck up from a fist and curved inward.
“The Bulls!” Jason said.
“That’s right,” Stephanie said. “You’re up, Jase!” She moved past him to sit down and made herself comfortable, eager to see what Jason would do. Before he got to his spot, he grabbed a slip of paper from a small wastebasket they were using as a container. He opened up the slip and grinned. He put the paper in his pocket and cranked an imaginary film reel.
“It’s a movie, I guess,” Daisy said. Jason looked at her and nodded. “Kinda looks like you’re rolling down a window or something.”
“How many words are there?” Stephanie asked. She leaned back on the couch and undid her ponytail. Jason held up five fingers, made sure his team saw it, then put all down but one.
“First word,” Daisy said. Jason raised his hand to his ear. He tugged on the lobe gently.
“Sounds like,” Stephanie said. Jason nodded, and then opened his mouth wide. He clamped down, baring his pearly whites like a wild animal.
“Fight!” Daisy said.
“Night?” Stephanie said. Jason’s grin grew bigger, and he gave a thumbs-up. Then, he put two fingers up for the second word. With his index finger and his thumb close together, he pinched the air.
“Small word?” Daisy said. Jason nodded. Stephanie and Daisy shot out small words until the right one came out: “Of”. Jason did the same for the third word, and at that point, the cat was out of the bag.
“Night of the Living Dead!” Daisy nearly spat her gum out when shouting her answer. “That one was too easy.”
“I love that movie,” Stephanie said, chuckling. “It’s what got me into the genre. I’ve watched my fair share of zombie movies.”
“Same here,” Jason said. “That one’s not my favorite though.”
“I don’t like the older movies as much,” Daisy said. “I like the remakes better.”
“I watch all kinds.”
“What about B-movies?” Daisy asked.
Jason shrugged. “If it has plenty of gore and violence, I don’t care if it’s a big production or a little one. Acting better be decent though, or the story’ll fall apart.”
Evan cleared his throat. “I don’t really care for the slow zombies so much,” he said. “I think there’s something to be said about a group of mad crazies running full speed at you. That’s pretty scary.”
“What about in our situation?” Jason said. “Do you want those numbskulls out there to be fast or slow?”
“Is that a serious question?”
“Yeah. Fast or slow?”
“Slow, of course.”
“Well, there you go.” Jason laughed.
“I’m not m-much for horror,” Eugene said, “but I did enjoy Shaun of the D-dead. Simon Pegg is a good actor, in my opinion.”
“Why are we talking about this now, of all times?” Cynthia said. She laughed.
“I guess life imitates art after all,” Evan said. His smile disappeared. “So many people… that first day, so many people didn’t make it. I’m glad we did.”
“We’re all lucky to be breathing, I’d say.”
“Yeah,” Daisy said, “we could be on the move, constantly chased by those things.”
“We’re as safe as we can be at the moment,” Stephanie said. “We can thank God for that.”
Mal fidgeted between Evan and Cynthia.
“Are you okay, Mallorie?” Cynthia asked. She slinked an arm around Mal’s shoulders and smiled at her.
“I’m getting hungry,” Mal said. “Can we have sandwiches, please?”
“I like the kid’s thinking,” Jason said. “Let’s eat!” He stood up with a grin, and everyone followed him to the kitchen.
“How much ham is there?” Stephanie asked as she used a plastic knife to smear mayonnaise from a packet across a piece of bread.
“It looks like we have plenty,” Evan said. “Three or four packages, I’d say.”
Everyone was happy to make their food and bring it back to the couches, which they moved back to their original positions, facing one another. They ate in silence, which was nice, but it wasn’t meant to last.
Evan caught a glimpse of movement through the narrow glass window to the left of the blockade they’d set up. “Did any of you see that?” He asked.
“What? What is it?” Cynthia said. She leaned forward, and so did the others.
Mal set her sandwich on the table separating the couches and looked toward the door. “Who’s there?” she said.
“Don’t worry, honey. Daddy was just seeing things.”
“I wasn’t ‘just seeing things’. There was a person wandering out there.”
“It was probably one of them,” Jason said.
“No, I really don’t think so. It was moving too much like a person, like it was looking for something.” Evan took the last bite of his sandwich as he stood up and moved toward the door.
“Evan, don’t go out—” Stephanie said.
“I’m not. I’m just looking.”
“Daddy, those people can’t get in, can they?”
“Of course not, Mal.” Evan peered through the window and saw a woman exit one of the offices. She looked frightened, and then he recognized her as Vanessa, the bride they’d met in the kitchen the day before.
“Hey! It’s the lady from yesterday! Vanessa.”
“That crazy bitch is still alive?” Daisy said, and then smacked her gum.
Vanessa caught a glimpse of Evan peering out through the window. She smiled a little, taking a few hesitant steps toward the corner office.
“What are we going to do?” Cynthia asked.
“We’re going to let her in.”
“What if she’s been bitten?” Stephanie said.
“Yeah, I’m with Steph on this,” Jason said. “I don’t think we should let her in here.”
“Think about it, guys,” Evan said. “It’s been almost a day. It doesn’t take that long to change.”
“What if she was just recently b-bitten?” Eugene said. Jason pointed at Eugene, wide-eyed, and then at Evan, as if Eugene had just come up with the greatest idea known to man.
“He’s got ya there, Evan!”
“Stop with the ‘what if’s. We need to help her, if she turns out to be bitten, we’ll deal with it. I think we can handle one damn zombie.” Silence fell among the group, and Evan moved the barricade enough to open the door for Vanessa.
“Hey!” Vanessa said. “I’ve been looking for you guys for hours.” She held a crowbar, which was well-bloodied.
“Are you all right? Have you been bitten at all?”
“No.”
“Good.” Evan smiled and let Vanessa into the office. He closed the door behind her and moved the blockade back into place. Vanessa set the crowbar down on the desk in front of the door.
“Hello, everyone,” she said, waving awkwardly at the group. It felt to her like being at an AA meeting. “I’m Vanessa Galvaster.”
Everyone stared back at her, wary of her being there, but politely introduced themselves. They kept an eye on her over the next hour, during which Vanessa got herself cleaned up and ate some of their food. When the fear that she’d been bitten passed, everyone relaxed and welcomed Vanessa as the newest addition to their little band of survivors.
42
In the Abandoned Building
Zoe’s assumptions were correct: The building had been under construction, and was now completely empty. It also had no electricity.
Zoe made her way up the stairs, hoping for some sort of suitable overnight shelter. Some of the rooms on the lower floors were finished, but Zoe didn’t feel safe sleeping that close to the ground. Most of the rooms in the rest of the building were incomplete, mere skeletons made from metal rebars and concrete walls. In some places, she could see right through to the outside world.
As she climbed higher, some of the rooms appeared more complete than others. Finally, near the top floor, Zoe found a room that had four walls. There was no door installed, and there was no carpet. The ground was littered with sawdust and flecks of concrete, but the building was warm, and more importantly, it was shelter.
Zoe wished she had asked the old woman for a pillow and blanket, especially after having spent her first night on the floor of the woods, but the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Zoe was kicking herself for it now. She decided she could use her bag as a pillow, and she’d just have to deal with the grime and the drafts. Being safe was more important than being comfortable.
She set her things down in the walled room, then searched the rest of the floor for supplies. It was getting difficult to see as the sun began to set, but Zoe lucked out and found a relatively clean tarp that would serve as a sleeping bag.
She went without music that night, deciding to save the last of her charge for a more suitable time.
When she woke up in the morning, she was sore. She sat up, grateful to finally be off of that godforsaken floor, gathered her things (including her makeshift sleeping bag) and headed out through the empty doorframe.
Through the holes in the building, she could see that the sun was just rising. Zoe headed up to the roof. It was solid and sturdy, and it provided a great view of the surrounding area. It also provided a great view of the sunrise.
Zoe walked to the edge of the building. In the distance, farther into the city, she could see a few things wandering around, but no clear sign as to whether they were human or something else. She tried to think of a plan of action. Going deeper into the city seemed completely out of the question at this point, and she wondered if she could go around the city as she had done with her home town.
She sat at the edge of the building, legs dangling over the small ledge. She kicked her feet. The morning sky was growing more colorful, the dark blue was giving way to reds and yellows and oranges. It seemed an appropriate time to listen to her music, to do this moment of beauty justice in a world where moments of beauty were growing increasingly rare. It would also help her clear her thoughts and come up with a plan.
Beyond Zoe’s music, there were footsteps. Some were distant, and some were very close. The close ones were aimless, wandering. Pausing, then, noticing the place wasn’t as empty as it seemed, noticing something there, noticing a hunger, that incredible urge rising up within. The footsteps became more focused yet somewhat uncontrolled, all the while quiet, like ghosts.
Before any plan could be formed, the zombie was upon her. It grabbed Zoe from behind, nearly shoving her off of the roof in the process, into what would be a possibly fatal and definitely crippling fall. But in an event that Zoe couldn’t decide was either lucky or unlucky, it pulled her backward. She fell from the ledge of the building and onto the hard cement of the roof, her headphones pulled from her ears in the process, her beautiful music and beautiful sunrise cut tragically short.
Her back and head hurt as she hit the cement, but there was no time for the pain. The zombie tumbled onto her, pinning her down, snapping its teeth at her. Zoe caught its shoulders with both arms and held it out of reach. The zombie had been a decent-sized man, and Zoe couldn’t find the energy to shove it off of her. She tried once, and then again, but both attempts did little more than drain what precious little energy she had. The zombie pressed down, harder and harder, teeth gnashing, eyes a million miles away yet focused dead on her.
“Help!” Zoe said. She heard her words echo through the empty skeleton of a building, across an empty part of a dead town. She decided against calling again; only her echo and more zombies would answer.
She looked around, wondered if there was something she could use as a weapon. She saw nothing but a white canvas of concrete. If she could only get the zombie closer to the ledge, perhaps she could knock it over.
Only she couldn’t. It was too strong, had taken her by surprise, and all she could do was hold it there. She could swear it gained a few millimeters on her every few seconds, but hoped that was an illusion.
Then came the other footsteps. Fast, yet carefully placed, decided, controlled. Across the hardening mud (carefully, so as not to lose footing). Through the door. Up the steps, one by one, toward where the call had come from (had it been here? It must have been). Up more, through the door, toward the ledge.
The next thing Zoe knew, the immense weight she found herself barely holding up disappeared. The zombie made no noise as it toppled over the ledge and was gone, like a ghost, like a footstep.
She breathed heavily. So did he.
A young man stood there, panting, hands on his thighs. Sweat lined the outer reaches of his face, his brown hair barely dangling onto it. He swallowed hard, and then turned back to Zoe and extended his hand.
Zoe hesitated out of sheer disbelief at seeing an actual human being, and of all times, when she most needed one. Then she realized what the gesture was for, and took his hand. He helped her up.
“Were you bitten?” he asked.
“Almost,” Zoe said. “You came out of nowhere.”
“I came out of the city.”
“I was heading into—around it.”
“No point.” He straightened up. Zoe guessed him to be around the same age as her. “There’s nothing out there.”
“Is there anything anywhere?” Zoe said. She wondered if what she saw then was the crack of a smile.
“I suppose not.”
“I’m Zoe.”
“Derrick.”
The two waited for a moment, caught their breath. Zoe felt something she’d never felt before, then. It was so miniscule, she couldn’t be sure she had felt it at all, but it grew, it wouldn’t be ignored. She felt that things would c
hange. There was someone here now, someone she could travel with, perhaps even be safe with.
“You all alone?” Derrick asked.
“I was,” Zoe said.
“Well, you don’t have to be, anymore. If you want to follow me, I mean.”
“Where are you going?”
“California.”
California was far. A long way, in the direction Zoe had been walking away from. “Yeah. I’ll follow you,” she said.
“Just like that? Not even going to check and make sure I’m safe? That I won’t hurt you?”
“I can’t help but feel that if you were going to hurt me, you wouldn’t have just saved me.”
Derrick laughed. Zoe laughed, too. For the first time in a long time.
He reached into his bag, retrieved something, and handed it to Zoe. It was a handgun.
“Just in case you change your mind about how safe you feel. But I can promise right now, I won’t hurt you. You’re the first person I’ve seen for miles.”
“Thanks,” Zoe said. She took the gun, unaware of how to use it, hoping she wouldn’t need to, knowing she probably would, someday. But not against Derrick.
The two of them headed down the stairs and out of the building, down the road Zoe had come from the day before. For a while, very little mattered. It didn’t matter that she was backtracking days’ worth of walking. It didn’t matter that the zombie had clutched onto her headphones as it fell, taking her MP3 player with it on its way down. It didn’t matter that the MP3 player hadn’t even worked since the bus crash. In some way Zoe thought she would never be able to describe, it didn’t even matter that the whole world had died. Because things were going to change. She wasn’t alone anymore. She had found Derrick, and unlike the others she’d met on her journey, Derrick wasn’t imaginary.
43
John, In the Ferrington
John watched the others hurry out into the late afternoon air with the items they had scrounged up. He waited until they disappeared out of view, then he collapsed to the floor, holding his hands against the bullet wound. Though it wasn’t fatal, it bled profusely. He leaned against the shelves; the bread served as a good cushion for him.
