by David Lovato
A man came out of a supply closet down a short hall past the fountain drinks. He stepped into the main area, looking puzzled. There was also fear in his eyes.
“Hello,” he said. “Who are all of you?” He scratched at the back of his balding scalp.
“Not important,” Billy said. “Are you staying here, or passing by?”
“You know, I’m not real sure.”
“How can you not be sure?” Phil asked. “It can’t be safe here.”
“Like I said, I’m not sure. There’s an abundance of food, and there’s plenty of fuel for fires. The zombies adore the flames, you know. They’re drawn to them.”
“I didn’t know that,” Martha said.
“It’s true, ma’am.”
“Why would you risk setting fires around here?” Emily said. “This is a gas station, you could blow yourself to bits!”
“I’m careful enough,” the man said.
A small girl’s voice came from the supply closet. “Jerry! Who’s out there?”
Why is he keeping this child in a closet? Martha thought.
“Chloe, it’s all right,” the man said. “I think they’re friends. Just stay safe in there, honey.”
“Who is that back there?” Phil asked.
“Chloe… is my neighbor. Well, she was, when we lived in our neighborhood. I’ve been taking care of her since this began.”
Francine looked at Jerry, and with a hint of sadness in her voice, asked, “Where are her parents? Are they…”
Jerry nodded. “They’re both gone.”
“That’s so sad,” Martha said.
“It is. If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you here?”
“Just need some food to get us along the way. We were pretty low on gas, too.”
“I see,” Jerry said. “Not much different than us, then.”
“You should really find someplace safer than this, you know, for Chloe’s sake,” Billy said.
“Yeah. I just don’t know if that’ll matter anymore.” Jerry turned away and looked at Alan as he was moving to fill Francine’s car with gas. In the distance, a few zombies wandered around the cars along the side of the road.
“What’s that mean?” Jesse said.
Jerry sighed.
“She was bitten, wasn’t she?” Emily said.
“I’ve done everything I could do for her, but I still failed to protect her.”
“I’m sure it was unavoidable,” Martha said.
“I’m not so sure about that.” Jerry shook his head, then smiled. It was as if he had shaken the sadness away. “So, where did you folks come from?”
“The football stadium in Lynnwood,” Billy said.
“That didn’t work out?”
“So many people died there,” Phil said.
“My mom was one of them,” Jesse added.
“I’m very sorry,” Jerry replied.
“Don’t be.”
“Angela was shot, at least she didn’t suffer long,” Phil said.
“Fucking long enough.”
“Would you rather have her been eaten alive, like all the people who didn’t make it out?”
“What I want isn’t really an option, so just forget it,” Jesse said.
Everyone’s attention was drawn back to the girl in the closet. She had begun to cry. Her small form poked out of the door. She came out and slowly walked toward the others.
“Chloe, what’s wrong?” Jerry said. The sight of the little girl and the sadness in Jerry’s voice brought a tear to Martha’s eye. “Come here.” He opened his arms. “I know you’re scared. This will all be over soon. Come here, Chloe.”
Martha and the other survivors watched as the two hugged.
“Please, Jerry,” Chloe said. “I want to go home. I want to go home to Mommy and Daddy.” She looked at Jerry with big teary eyes. Wisps of brown hair were matted to her cheeks.
“Honey, you know we can’t go back there.” Jerry let out one sob but kept others within. Chloe buried her face in Jerry’s chest.
“I want to go home. Please! Let me go.”
Martha jumped as a car alarm went off. The others hurried to the window, minus Jerry, whose attention still belonged to Chloe.
“Shit,” Francine said.
Alan had finished with the cars and was working on the second gas can when the car alarm went off. He saw the small cluster of zombies near the cars in the road, and one car with flashing head and tail lights. The zombies along the street were drawn by the noise, and many of them finally noticed Alan nearby, and started for him. Alan rushed to the car door, opened it, and grabbed a shovel. Several zombies were coming close. He swung the shovel and knocked one down, and then made his way to the gas station.
Jerry turned to the window and rose to his feet. Zombies flocked from across the street and all around, dozens of them. Suddenly, Jerry felt a small pair of hands on his ankle. They moved his pants up slightly.
“Euuuuurrrr,” Chloe said. Her teeth clamped down on Jerry’s ankle, and he screamed in pain. Without thinking, Jerry flipped around and kicked Chloe. The toe of his shoe connected with her nose. She fell back.
Phil rushed over and restrained Chloe. She growled and tried to bite him. Martha rummaged through some first aid supplies on a shelf nearby and found some gauze. Emily and Jesse got some of it wrapped around Jerry’s ankle.
Billy hurried to the door and opened it for Alan. Alan rushed inside, panting heavily. Billy locked the door behind him, but more zombies were coming. When they got to the doors, they began scratching and pounding at them, moaning and growling.
“Why are you holding that thing?” Alan said.
“That’s Chloe,” Jerry said. “I don’t want her to be like this. She deserves to rest in peace.”
“We don’t have any guns,” Phil said. He held Chloe’s arms back.
“That man’s shovel, then,” Jerry said. “…I should do it. Please, let me set her free.”
Alan handed Jerry the shovel, and Phil laid Chloe out on the floor. She squirmed, but it wasn’t hard to restrain her.
Jerry stood above Chloe with tears running down his cheeks. He saw her flailing around, growling up at him, gnashing her teeth. Finally, he raised the shovel up in the air and brought it down on her throat. She went quiet and still.
Phil let go of her. Jerry gave Alan his shovel back and, without a word, went to the opposite side of the store. He appeared to be looking for something.
“What are you doing?” Francine asked.
“You should all get out of here,” Jerry said.
“How are we supposed to get out?” Billy replied. “The only exit is the one with all those fuckers outside it!”
Jerry returned with a bottle of motor oil and a box of matches. “I told you before, they adore fire. They’ll pass people by for the flames. I’ll light a fire in here, and you open the doors, let them in, then get out.”
“Are you sure they’ll all be more interested in the fire?” Emily said.
“Trust me, I know.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Martha said.
“It’s all I have to do. Just look at me. Look at Chloe. She deserves a better send-off than that.” Jerry moved to Chloe’s body and poured almost half of the motor oil over it. Martha and the others moved to either side of the doors. “Are you ready? You’ll all have to move quickly.” Jerry drew a trail of oil from Chloe’s body through the narrow aisles. Oil spattered on the ground until Jerry squeezed out the last bit in the center of the floor almost ten feet from the doors.
The group exchanged looks and then nodded.
Jerry struck a match, dropped it on Chloe’s doused body, and jumped away as flames rose high and burned bright, slowly eating her corpse. They ran along the trail, and the big puddle in the middle began to blaze. The zombies outside groaned and pounded on the doors harder than before. Their eyes begged the survivors to let them bathe in the fire.
“Open the doors,” Jerry said. “Let them in!”
The flames leapt higher, catching merchandise on fire.
Alan opened the doors. Zombies rushed in, but none of them paid any attention to the other survivors. They all stampeded toward the fire. When there were no more zombies outside and the ones within had passed the door, the survivors made their way out, trying to ignore Jerry’s screams.
They ran to their cars. Alan grabbed the gas cans and put them in the trunk of his. Francine climbed into hers along with Phil and Jesse. Martha and the others climbed into Alan’s car. As promised, Billy took the wheel this time. Alan sat in the back with Emily. They drove out of the parking lot, none of them looking once at the fiery grave of Jerry and Chloe. It was too painful.
****
It was starting to rain. Billy looked at Martha as he drove down the road. Martha was looking at her picture.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“I’m fine, dear.”
“Are you sure?
“Billy, I am just fine.”
“Okay, then.”
Alan held his notebook in his lap, pen in hand. He scrawled ferociously in the college-ruled pages for most of the ride. It was nearly one unbroken strand of letters. He stared almost angrily at the words as they ran down the paper, his eyes beating back and forth across the page.
What the fuck started this? Alan thought. What the fuck started this, and what the fuck will end it? Mother, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.
Alan looked up from his notebook, and his pen stopped moving. He looked at Martha. I won’t let anything take you, Martha. I won’t fail you too.
Alan looked at the page he’d been working on. “Mother” was etched under what he’d been previously writing. He had, without thought, gone over it a couple dozen times with the pen. It looked like some sort of graffito, nearly ripped through to the next sheet.
Alan sighed and looked at the paper for a moment, then quickly flipped through the next few pages. They all showed that same word, fading with each turn. He turned until it was no longer visible. Alan gripped the half-dozen or so pages and tore them out, then crumpled them up. He tossed them onto the floorboard and continued scribbling on the new pages.
It wasn’t long before Billy pulled Alan’s car into a neighborhood somewhere in Bellingham, Washington. Francine still followed. It was a quiet suburb, and the street they were on led up a hill. At the top was a large house. Zombies lurked around the houses on the way, but not many took notice. Those who did were few, and they didn’t make any attempt to pursue the cars.
“Why are they not following us?” Billy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Emily replied.
“They know they can’t keep up,” Alan said. “I think they may be changing. Evolving, you could say.”
“Evolving?” Billy said. “Fuck.”
“You saw those things at the gas station, Bill. They’re faster, and they’re getting smarter.”
There were no zombies near the top of the hill, and the house had a “For Sale” sign in the yard, so the cars pulled into the driveway and the survivors climbed out.
Martha and the others sauntered up to the porch and stood under the awning. She reached out and tried the knob. It turned, and there was a group-wide sigh of relief. They entered and looked around.
All the furniture was still in the house. There were boxes in some rooms, most marked clearly with DISHES, LINENS, and other things. The survivors even found a mostly filled refrigerator in the kitchen.
“Looks like we got enough food in here for a few days,” Billy said.
“Do you think this person will come back?” Jesse said from the couch.
“Who knows?” Phil said. “He’s probably dead, but if he comes back, hopefully he doesn’t mind some guests.”
Martha sat down on the couch. She looked at her and Charlie and didn’t say a word.
“Well, we have a place to stay for a little while, but we shouldn’t stay for long,” Alan said.
****
Late that night, Martha entered the bedroom she’d chosen to bunk up in. She held a glass of water in her right hand, taking a sip as she headed for the bed. She lay down but didn’t cover herself right away, she just looked out the window and set the water down next to the picture frame she’d carried so far.
Outside, the thunderstorm was in full swing. There was nothing but the sound of rain, and Martha’s thoughts. No matter what raced across her head, it always led to the same thing: Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. Anger at Charlie for hurting her, sadness because Charlie was gone, then anger there, too; how could he leave her behind, leave her alone in a world like this?
How different the night could have been if Martha had, for even a moment, let in some happiness at ever having Charlie at all.
Instead, she let the anger wash over her like a hurricane. Martha raised the glass into the air and threw it. It busted into a thousand little shards that rained down on the dresser near the door.
Martha looked at the picture frame. It seemed to call to her, in Charlie’s voice. She picked it up, brought it close to her face. Then she flipped it over and beat it into the corner of the nightstand, breaking the glass into pieces. One larger shard, the shape of an awkwardly cut slice of pie, glimmered in the low light. Martha picked it out of the mess of smaller shards and twirled it in her hands.
It was nearly a quarter until one when she plunged the glass into her throat.
She lay on the bed, silent and still, with a small smile spread across her bloody lips. She felt peaceful. Her body ran cold, and her spirit passed on to wherever spirits go when their bodies die.
60
In the Car
Zoe watched the faded yellow strips of paint rush beneath the car, moving so quickly they blurred until they were almost a continuous line. It was nearing noon, their third day on the road.
“So, what’s California like?” Zoe asked.
“You’ve never been to California?”
“Nope.”
“It’s great. A beautiful place, really. It has a certain smell to it, I can’t really describe it. And the ocean…”
“I’ve never seen the ocean. Well, just in pictures, on TV, things like that.”
“You’ll have to come see it with us,” Derrick said. “With me and Mara, I mean. When we find her.”
“Yeah, definitely!” Zoe said. She was far less excited than she sounded. She wasn’t jealous (she had no reason to be) but she feared that when they finally found Mara, Zoe would feel like a third wheel for the rest of their time together. A thought crossed her mind then: Perhaps she would leave shortly after Derrick and Mara reunited, go off and be alone again. While it colored the back of her mind, the thought faded from the forefront like the lines in the road before them.
When Derrick spoke, Zoe was just beginning to notice the more frequent stopped cars and the wavy glimmer ahead, where the road met the sky and the heat rising off of it introduced reality to illusion.
“The road should be opening up pretty soon. What should we do?”
“It’ll probably be crowded,” Zoe said. She reached into the glove box and found a map of the area surrounding Chicago. “Looks like the highway thickens for a few miles, but then an exit leads to a smaller road. I can’t see exactly where it goes, but it goes in the right direction, at least. We can probably figure it out from there.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Derrick said. “We’ll just have to be ready, in case things get ugly.”
Zoe retrieved her gun from the console, but Derrick remained focused on the road.
****
The car was stopped. A few hundred yards ahead of them was a scene of chaos. The highway was completely packed with cars.
Zombies walked around. Two of the closest ones, still far away, were fighting over something Zoe could hardly see. Something red. They pulled it back and forth in what would have been a humorous tug-of-war had the object in question not been so red.
“So,” Zoe said. “What do we do?”
“We can probab
ly drive around it,” Derrick said.
Zoe looked at the map. “No way. This road becomes an overpass. That’s I-74 down there, and it’s just as crowded. Besides, it runs north and south, so we don’t know where it’ll take us.”
“The map doesn’t say where it goes?”
“It’s a local map. We’re already almost off of it.”
“Let’s stay with this road, then,” Derrick said. “How far is our exit?”
“Three miles, maybe.”
“Think it’s jammed this badly up there?”
“I honestly wouldn’t know.” They sat in the stopped car for a bit longer. After a while, Zoe said, “Can we go back? Maybe find a different route?”
Derrick shook his head. “We’ll never make it. We’re almost empty as it is.”
The sun was climbing higher into the deep blue cloudless sky.
“I hate to say it,” Zoe said, “but I think we’re going to have to walk.”
Derrick sighed. “Yeah. I think so, too.”
Derrick opened the door, unbuckled his seatbelt, and stepped out onto the asphalt. He leaned back into the car and grabbed his gun from the console, as well as his bag from the back seat.
“Hey,” Zoe said. Derrick looked at her. “Next place we stop, let’s watch a movie, or something. Take a break, you know?”
Derrick looked at the road ahead, and then back at Zoe.
“Yeah. Definitely.”
Zoe retrieved her things and got out of the car. She shut the door as she left. Derrick didn’t bother with his.
****
The sun was hot as it bore down on them. The traffic jam was becoming clearer and more frightening with every step. Zoe and Derrick could hear the growls and snarls of the nearest zombies.
Zoe’s finger rested on the trigger of her gun, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. Derrick seemed a lot more composed, which made Zoe feel better, a little less scared.
