by A. Rosaria
Pinned down, he knew it would only be a matter of time before they finished him and made him their meal. Someone rushed up the stairs, making a lot of noise, which drew their attention. His mom stopped biting him and raised her head. It still held his arm. He couldn't use his hand. His dad pushed his head against his neck, trying to bite him, but it only made it difficult for him to glance sideways. An axe soured through the air and cleaved his mother’s head in two. She slumped to the carpet. He pushed the zombie gnawing at his neck and smashed an eye in. It fell backward. Ralph slid down the wall onto the floor.
“I'm sorry, so, so sorry,” Sarah said. “I should have come sooner.”
He turned his head. She was covered in blood; her arm was bitten—tiny uneven teeth marks. Her hands had dirt on them—just like his soon would. And she had cried. He could see where the tears had run over her dirty face. She had cried like he was crying now. He rested his head back against the wall, sobbing. She hugged him, cradled him, and moved him away from the corpses of his family.
Sarah helped him to the sofa and sat next to him. He sat dazed, looking nowhere. The image of what had just happened kept spinning in his mind, building up the sorrow. He felt as if he would lose himself if he said nothing, did nothing, to get his mind off his distress. Finally, it was Sarah that said something, but that did not keep him away from the dark thoughts.
“I...I also had to kill my family. They didn't get better at all—just like yours.”
He grabbed her hand. “No, my mom got better and I think my father never got ill. It was my sister that got to them.”
Ralph pointed at the bag on the dining table. “I went to get some medicine for Ginny; I didn't know she was already dead. My mom never told me.” He wiped the tears away. Anger rose in his voice. “My father came home while I was gone. Had I come back sooner, this wouldn't have happened. They would still be alive.”
She held him tighter.
“My brother bit me. Does it mean we'll turn like them?”
“I don't know.”
She sighed. “If it happens, please shoot me.”
“Only if you die and turn, not everybody turns. I killed two men today.” He felt her body stiffen next to him, and she squeezed his hand holding hers. “It was in self defense,” he quickly added. “One turned, the other stayed dead. Both were okay, not everyone turns.”
He looked at her and saw a confused look on her.
“Nothing is clear about how it works. We may die or live, and no one knows the how and why.”
Sarah stood up, grabbed the bag from the table, and turned it upside down. From the pile, she took one box and opened it, popped out two pills. She returned with the pills and two glasses of water and gave Ralph one glass and a pill. “Swallow. For the pain.”
He followed her example and swallowed the pill, flushing it down with water.
“Do you have any bandages?'
“Upstairs in the bathroom cabinet.”
Sarah went upstairs for the medicine kit. He didn't want to do it, but sooner or later he had to go up and drag his parents and Ginny outside to bury them. And after he did that, what would they do? Play house in this city full of death? Move out? To where? And what was the point of surviving? He wondered if the doctor on the radio was still alive. She said that one percent would be immune, which would mean close to seventy million worldwide. In the USA alone that would be three million, but how many died the first day? How many really would still be breathing within the first few weeks? Considering how many times he had already brushed with death, it wouldn't be many. The doctor also said about four percent were resistant. That would increase the odds for humanity a little, fifteen million possibly alive. He would be surprised if a tenth of them survived the first week. He had no idea about himself. Was he immune or resistant? If he was the former, he doubted a few bites would hurt him, but if he were the latter, then it wasn't so certain that he would be safe.
Sarah returned from her excursion in the bathroom. He noticed she had washed her face. Clean, pretty, however her eyes were red from crying. The hardness in her eyes was now replaced with sadness—a hurt he believed they shared. She had bandaged her wound.
“Remove your jacket and shirt,” she said.
“Just give me the bandages and I'll do it myself.”
“Just take them off.”
He would rather not. He felt uncomfortable being half-naked in front of a woman. He couldn't stand their judging eyes. He took his jacket off and pulled his shirt off. He was glad to see no judgment in hers, though there was something in them he couldn't place. Whatever it was, he preferred it over quickly, so he could get his clothes back on. She cleaned his shoulder wound and bandaged it. She did the same with the one on his hand and forearm. Her fingers were nimble and strong and sure. You could never tell it was her first time bandaging someone else.
“Thanks,” he said as he put his shirt back on.
“The least I could do.”
***
Sarah helped him drag the bodies down. It was difficult for him, holding his parents as if they were sacks of rotten potatoes to be discarded. She offered to drag Ginny down by herself, but he refused. He should do it. It was his family and his responsibility. He was glad for her help, though. In the tool shed near the garden, he grabbed a shovel and started digging one big grave, six feet by four and about three feet deep. It took him well into the evening. By the time he was finished, his hands were blistered.
He watched his family lying on the ground for a long time—three bodies lined up, cloaked in linen like mummies—before he put them in their grave. His parents went first and then Ginny in their arms. Forever together. He knew that wherever he died, he would not be buried with them. It was a disconnect he would never have chosen freely. He was not part of a family anymore. Sarah put a hand on his shoulder and kept it there for a while before she left him alone.
He held the shovel in his hands and felt the wood dig into his blisters, screaming its presence, egging him on to do the job he imagined he would do. He stood over the grave, hesitant: it took a long time before he shoveled the dirt and started filling up the hole. At the same time, the loss made a hole in his heart. It took him close to an hour to fill the grave.
He entered the living room covered in dirt and greeted by the aroma of food being cooked. Sarah was making diner. Until now, he had not thought about food at all. It seemed he had not the time too, and with all that had happened, he couldn't image having any cravings. But now, smelling the food, his stomach crumbled and his mouth watered.
“Go clean yourself and put some clean clothes on,” Sarah said.
Sarah stood in the kitchen only in her bra and panties. She noticed him gawking at her. “I couldn't possibly cook in those clothes and make the food tasty.”
She did look nice; he already knew she did, but he never really got the chance to see her this way. He tore his sight from her, feeling uncomfortable with the inappropriate thoughts running through his mind. He went upstairs for a shower, glad that the water and electricity still worked. It could not stay working for long. Eventually, something would break and there would be no one to fix it. He realized he couldn't shower without wetting his bandages. Not wanting to have to reapply them, he took a wet towel and scrubbed himself clean instead. He rinsed his face and hands and then went in his room and put on a pair of sturdy, outdoor pants and a woolen, long sleeve shirt.
He had to get something that would fit Sarah. His clothes were too big for her. His mother was more her size. His parents’ scent was strong in their bedroom. It brought memories of happier times. Ralph choked up. He didn't want to stay in here for too long and loose himself in nostalgia and regret. He found some outdoor clothes his mom bought when she was into running and hiking. This fad of her lasted a year. He grabbed a pair of pants and a long sleeve, fleece sport jacket.
Back downstairs, Sarah was serving the meal she cooked.
“I brought you some clothes.”
Seeing her
half-naked was distracting, but so was seeing her put the clothes on. The clothes fit her well enough. Sarah had wider hips than his mother, which made the pants a bit tight, and she had a smaller waist, making the fleece jacked loose around the middle, but again tight at the top.
“I'll have to go home for some of my clothes before we leave the city.”
“So we are leaving?”
They sat down at the table.
“Yes, we can't stay here with the dead walking around. We should go somewhere more remote.”
The eggs she baked tasted good and the sausage wasn't bad either; the rice was a bit wet though. He never knew Sarah could cook. He had always seen her as someone who had people do stuff for her.
“What if I don't want to go?” he said, still chewing.
She was taken aback by him questioning her and frowned. “I thought it was for the best.”
“And you thought that I would just agree and follow you?”
That was more like the Sarah he knew. He agreed with her; it irked him that she just assumed that he would. She didn't know him well enough to make assumptions about him.
She cast her eyes down. “If you really want to stay, then we'll do that.”
Maybe he shouldn't be the one doing the assuming. He put a spoonful of food in his mouth. He obviously knew her as little as she knew him.
“I'm sorry, Sarah. You are right. I suggest we leave at dawn.”
They finished their meal in silence. Ralph didn't want to sleep in his room, so they each took a sofa to crash on. With hours of hardship, their bones and muscles tired, their bellies filled, within minutes both fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The sound of rotors whooping in the air woke Ralph up at midnight. He shook Sarah awake. “Do you hear that?”
Wide eyed, she looked at him. “A rescue?”
“No, not a rescue. I've seen this happen before and it certainly wasn't a rescue.”
She jumped up and went for the light.
“Don't turn them on.” He quickly put his jacket on. He tucked the gun in his waistband, passed the lumber axe to Sarah, and grabbed his hammer. “Follow me.”
He ran outside for the truck. The rotors sound intensified. From the night sky, beams of light cut through and swiped from house to house. Sarah clicked the doors open. Ralph got behind the wheel and Sarah next to him.
“Wait here,” he said.
Ralph got back out and ran to his mother's car and popped the trunk open. He took off his jacket, put on the bulletproof vest, and his jacket over it. He grabbed the shotgun and ammo and shell boxes and ran back to the truck. He put the shotgun in the space between the driver and passenger seats and the boxes on Sarah's lap.
She looked at him.
“Got them from a police cruiser; the cop had no need for them anymore.”
He left the headlights off, left the driveway, and drove up the road. He was sure they must have blocked the city again with fresh troops. He didn't know what they were looking for, but whatever it was, he didn't want to be it. He had seen how callously the military had treated the ill and whoever might have been among them—just sent them indiscriminately to the burner. They didn't care if people could get better or weren’t ill. They followed whatever order they were given. The government might have a part in this; however, it was only his suspicions, and he wasn't going to stay to find out. At the intersection, he swerved around a zombie and took a left turn. He knew somewhere southwest a trail led to the forest, and through the forest, they could get out of the city, while the canopy of leaves would protect them from being seen from above.
“Where are we going?”
“To the Blackwell forest; there is a path that leads out.”
“I know where it is. Take the right here, right now.”
He steered sharply to the right. He took part of the curve and hit the taillight of a parked car. Its alarm went off, the sound clamoring in the silent night, the car lights flashing like a beacon. One beam in the air closed in fast, arching in their direction. Ralph downed the gas pedal, sending the truck speeding ahead.
“No, they'll see us,” Sarah said a note of panic in her voice. “Park in that spot.”
She pointed to a free parking space two hundred yards away. He sped toward it and carefully parked in it so as not to set off another alarm. He killed the engine. By that time, the helicopter could not have been more than a mile from the car they hit. The beam stayed on that car for a short while, and then suddenly moved up and down the street over the surrounding area. It swiped over their truck once or twice. Ralph and Sarah ducked away. Ralph lay over Sarah, his body pressing down on her, and she tried to make herself as small possible, as if they could see them sitting in the truck from the helicopter.
The helicopter moved up the street and hovered a hundred yards behind them. Ropes were dropped and soldiers in black with facemasks rappelled down. Ralph assembled his courage and dared a peek. Slowly, the soldiers crept in their direction. Their SMGs pointed forward. They must have had heat sensors that read their body temperature or more likely the heat emanating from the truck's engine.
“They are coming for us,” he whispered. “You need to change places with me and drive while I try to hold them back.”
She pushed forward under him to his seat while he crawled over her. Sarah sat at the steering wheel, and he sat straight on the passenger's side, loading the shotgun with shells. The soldiers noticed them. Six of them, Ralph could see from the rearview mirror while he pushed the last shell in and cocked it in the chamber. Two ran for a car and broke in; the other four ran to get them before they could flee.
Sarah started the engine and charged out the parking spot, revving the engine. Ralph rolled his window down, stuck his body half out, aimed in the soldiers’ general direction, and shot. All four hit the ground and returned fire a second before Sarah turned the corner. The impact of a bullet sent Ralph flying back into the cabin, scratching at his chest where the vest had stopped the bullet. It hurt badly, worse than being punched in the chest. He had difficulty breathing. He gasped, trying to get some air in.
“Are you all right?” Sarah screamed, panic in her eyes.
Ralph could only manage to nod, too busy to get air in to be able to say anything. A beam of light hit the car. The whoop of the rotors echoed high above them. Breathing normally again, he crawled into his seat while being rocked about when Sarah took another corner.
“We are almost there,” she said.
A bullet shattered the rear window and went through to shatter the windshield on its way out. With his feet, Ralph kicked the windshield out. Air blazed in their faces. He pulled out his gun. A sedan was chasing them with a soldier hanging out from the passenger side. Ralph crawled in the back of the truck and shot at the soldier and missed. The soldier shot again and blew a tire. The back of the truck swung sideways and back straight as Sarah regained control. Sparks spewed out from under the blown tire while the rim carved the road.
Ralph aimed at the center mass of the car chasing him. Knowing his aim was not as accurate as the soldiers, he hoped he would hit something before they got him. He emptied his clip at the car. Bullets hit the hood, smashed a side mirror off, and one went through the windshield and out the back. Another hit the driver in the chest and another in the shoulder; the rest went wide and no where. When shot, the driver swung the steering wheel and crashed against a parking car, sending the soldier hanging out the car flying against a lamppost.
Sarah turned the truck down a dirt road. He could see the dark tree line ahead. The helicopter was close on their tail. They sped forward, the tire eating dirt, the truck swaying here and there, unstable on three wheels and one rim.
“We have to change the tire quickly,” Sarah yelled over the blowing wind in their faces.
She was right. They couldn't go on like this off road without crashing into a tree for their effort.
“Get us past the tree line, far enough that they can’t see us
visually.” He knew they probably still knew their location with whatever electronic surveillance systems they had on board, but the soldiers not being able to see them gave him and Sarah a fighting chance.
“Can you change a tire?”
She nodded.
With difficulty, she managed to get them into the forest and on a solid part of the dirt toad. They quickly got out. Sarah ran to the back and got the spare tire and the wrench out. She started changing the tire.
“How long do you need?”
“Five to ten minutes.”
He left her to do her job and went to the tree line. The chopper hovered a distance away. He watched, wondering what would happen next. He didn't have to wait long. He grew wary when he saw another helicopter move in fast. He glanced back. Sarah was still busy; he could not possible see how far along she was. Five minutes must have passed when the second helicopter moved in closer to the tree line. Ropes were dropped and six soldiers in black rappelled down. They hit the ground, weapons ready, and immediately started advancing. He shot at them. His shotgun roaring in the night didn't stop the soldiers in their advance. They fired while moving and hit the tree he stood behind. The moment they stopped firing, he ran toward the truck. Sarah was putting the last screw in. He took cover behind another tree. He peeked and saw that the soldiers had reached the tree line. He sprung from cover and shot twice at the closest one, hitting him in the chest. The soldier staggered back and fell to his knees, grabbing where he was hit. Ralph didn't wait for what happened next. He ran for the truck. Sarah was already sitting behind the wheel. She had left the passenger's side wide open. He sprinted while bullets hit the ground behind him. He jumped in and Sarah spurted away. The truck hobbled over the terrain. Bullets whizzed past. She took the bend in the road out of the soldiers’ sight.
The men would not be able to follow them for long on foot, and there would be no car they could jack anywhere close, though both helicopters were still in the air following them. No way could they shake them off. By now, the soldiers must know about the path through the forest and if they were efficient, as they showed they were, they would be waiting for them on the other side.
