He closed his eyes and remembered what it was like to walk through the front door, the way the deadbolt felt as he rotated it into the locked position. In his memory, he visited each room and tried desperately to recall every item housed within. But it was impossible to recollect each spice container his mother barely had time to use, each book his learned father had read and added to the home office library, and every action figure Ian had stored in boxes in his closet.
He began to cry.
Grant kept watch while his best friend mourned the loss of everything he called home.
• • •
He sought revenge for what you did, before burning down your house.
“Yeah, he tried to kill us first.”
• • •
Keller made his move one night when they were sleeping in the dining room of another empty house. At around two in the morning, Ian awoke to a sound.
• • •
What did you hear?
“A crying baby.”
• • •
The house was much colder than it was an hour earlier. Ian shook Grant, who kept his eyes closed, but turned over in his sleeping bag.
“Hmm?” he grumbled.
“Do you hear that?” Ian whispered.
“No, go back to sleep.” Grant turned to face the other way once more.
The crying continued and Ian began to worry they’d missed a starving child during their earlier sweep of the house; or that others had entered while they were sleeping. Either scenario meant danger.
He crawled from his sleeping bag and walked carefully down the hall, searching the first floor for the source of the noise. In a corner bedroom, he found it.
The window was open when it hadn’t been before. Frozen air flooded in. The room was empty, but propped in the windowsill was a baby monitor, turned up to full volume. He had only a moment to realize what was happening before a bright blaze in the distance caught his eyes.
• • •
I shudder to remember the sight.
“Me too.”
• • •
Flaming zombies. Zombies covered in fire and walking straight for the house in which they hid, like Molotov cocktails with half a brain.
Ian dove for the monitor and ripped its batteries out, but it was too late. The dead made steady progress across the back lawn, the fire licking their decomposing flesh.
“Grant!” Ian yelled at the top of his lungs, no longer concerned about making noise. “Pack up!”
The first of the zombies hit the side of the house, transferring the fire to the dry wooden frame. A second immolated cadaver came careening through the open window. A wave of heat rushed toward Ian, inspiring him to move.
He ran into Grant, who wore his own pack and carried Ian’s gear in his arms, in the hall.
“Holy shit, the house is on fire!” he said, gazing into the flame-engulfed bedroom.
Ian threw his pack on and they made their way to the fireless side of the house. They found the front door open and a crying child, the same one, called through another baby monitor set just beyond the threshold. Grant kicked it like a football and it landed on the sidewalk, shattering into several pieces. Another group of burning stiffs stumbled in their direction.
On the rooftop of the house across the street, cradling a carefully wrapped baby doll with the other baby monitor strapped to its crying face. Keller grinned.
• • •
It was a very clever idea.
“Keller is full of them, isn’t he?”
• • •
They ran for blocks, their packs bouncing on their backs, until they lost the zombie Molotovs. A gentle wind carried the scent of burnt flesh and wood.
“He’s gone too far,” Grant said as they stopped to catch their breath. “He could have killed us.”
“I think that’s the point.”
• • •
“Surviving was more work than we expected.”
And Keller made it harder.
“Much, much harder.”
Why did he set your life on fire?
“Simply because…”
…I PISSED OFF THE WRONG GUY
Every school has a version of him: the spoiled, rich asshole who acts like he rules the world; a bully who is popular and untouchable. Of all the other kids to survive the first weeks of the apocalypse, Ian and Grant wondered most why Keller Kenton had to be one of them. He was the kind of guy who would kill his parents for the inheritance. Lucky for him, the zombies had done that dirty work and left him alone to do as he pleased.
Ian was finally beginning to feel like himself again after a major breakdown. He and Grant were starting their day at Ian’s house and preparing for another foray into the surrounding neighborhood when an engine roared in the distance. Not many people were stupid enough to make such a racket. They went to a window and watched the street. A moment later a huge black hummer sped by. An untrained or desperate eye might think the vehicle belonged to the military or a special operations group, there to rescue survivors and whisk them away to a safe haven, but the boys knew otherwise.
“Looks like Keller is doing all right,” Grant said, recognizing the most expensive vehicle ever to park in the student lot of the high school.
“He’s going to build a crowd with that engine noise.” Ian watched the end of the street where Keller’s Hummer had emerged and sure enough, the dead followed.
Keller sped up the street every day for a week, bringing more and more of the undead with him each time.
• • •
He always was the leader of the pack.
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Ian droned. “It was time for payback. Keller made school hell for me.”
You didn’t take charge, though. Grant did. Again.
• • •
“We should make tomorrow his last trip,” Grant said with a plan in his eyes.
“We can’t kill him, Grant. He’s not a zombie,” Ian replied. It was an unspoken rule of theirs, that they didn’t end lives unnecessarily.
“He won’t die, but his tires will.” Grant hefted a bucket full of nails into the kitchen from the garage. “We can break some beer bottles too and spread it out on the pavement.”
Ian wasn’t big on confrontation and knew a bad idea when he saw one, but it was so hard to say no to Grant and Keller really did need his ass handed to him.
• • •
The next day as Ian and Grant ate lunch, they heard the bass of Keller’s music before they saw the SUV. He was right on time and the boys were ready for him. The street in front of Ian’s house was covered with everything sharp they could find. Keller punched the gas and tore through the mess without second thought, making it just a few feet before the tires deflated. Keller threw the Hummer into park and jumped out.
“What the hell have you done?” Keller bellowed. He circled the Hummer, examining the shredded tires as though there might be some way to fix them. There wasn’t. They were gone.
They watched from behind a large rhododendron bush in Ian’s yard, listening to Keller curse as he emptied the behemoth vehicle of supplies.
“You’ll pay for this, Ian!” he yelled and then took off running as the dead started to close in.
“Why am I going to pay?” Ian whined aloud. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“We shouldn’t have destroyed his ride directly in front of your house, I suppose.”
• • •
It wasn’t very smart of you.
“Well, that’s why it’s a mistake, isn’t it? Technically, it was Grant’s fault.”
You could have said no to the whole thing.
“That would be my mistake then, letting him go through with it.”
Ian falls into a fitful sleep. His mind is filled with visions of Keller Kenton. In these terrifying dreams, Keller follows him everywhere he goes, setting ablaze the things Ian loves.
• • •
He wakes the next morning covered in sweat and burning up from the woo
l coat. A moment passes before Ian is sure he isn’t nearly on fire once again.
You didn’t only stay in houses and stores.
“I just woke up. Give me a minute.”
Your time is limited.
“Ugh. No. We stayed in a hotel once too.”
Because of another mistake.
“Because…”
…I CHECKED OUT
Grant and Ian traveled down a curved section of Interstate 5 to get further into Northgate’s center while avoiding the zombie-infested streets of the neighborhoods. When a break in its tree-lined edges allowed, the freeway gave them a good view of the surrounding area. The permanently parked traffic offered plenty of places to hide in the form of abandoned vehicles.
It also made it extremely difficult to see all the zombies.
The Mini Cooper was the perfect height to hide the legless zombie that struggled behind it. The open door of a sedan beautifully concealed the zombie that lay across the back seat of the vehicle. There were no less than fifty biters that had ended up beneath other cars in the never-moving traffic. They lay in wait to grab ankles and chew through dirty socks. The correctional facilities van was like a jack-in-the-box or Pandora’s box waiting to be opened. Four prisoners were abandoned within and now their rotting wrists were finally pulling free of the restraints.
“Watch my back,” Grant said, “I’m gonna do a quick sweep through this stretch of cars. Keep your eyes on the shadows.”
Ian nodded and followed behind. He was doing a good job of checking until a woman appeared out of nowhere between Grant and him. She was undead and still dressed in her work clothes. When a former nurse is decaying in her scrubs, she looks like every other nurse in the same situation. But to Ian, she could only be his mother. One foot missed a shoe and the height of the remaining one gave her an awkward up-and-down lurch as she gained on Grant. The bobbing of her body was mesmerizing to Ian, setting him into a trancelike state as she drew closer to his friend.
She reached her arms out and grabbed hold of Grant’s hair in one hand and his left arm in the other. In Ian’s mind he could see his mother’s urine-stained pants, her stringy hair, and the hunger in her eyes. He wanted her to be happy, fed.
“Ian!” Grant yelled as he struggled to get away from the zombie.
Ian stood still and let the tears fall from his eyes. If his friend had to die for his mother to be satisfied, he couldn’t find the strength to disallow it.
• • •
Your track record is ridiculous.
“Grant could have died then. I was going to let him.”
It might have been better. Less your fault than Lena. A death you could live with.
“No, I still didn’t help when I should have. It was absolutely my fault.”
But you wouldn’t be stuck in the closet if he had died sooner.
• • •
“Ian, what the fuck?” Grant screamed. He managed to push the woman off and trap her in a car. Her fingernails pulled from their beds and stuck to the rear window as she clawed at the glass. Grant shook uncontrollably from the close call.
“I’m sorry,” Ian said distantly. “Things are catching up with me.”
Drawn by Grant’s voice, zombies came from every direction in the pileup, tumbling between the cars like pinballs in a machine. He grabbed one of Ian’s shoulders and led him to a Vanagon with tinted windows. After a quick scan for any undead inside, they climbed in and closed the door. A few revenants bumped up against the sides of the vehicle, but they soon lost interest when no flesh was to be found.
“Hey, I know you lost your mom and that makes you sad, but there isn’t room for these emotions in the apocalypse.” Grant checked his clothes for tears and any pieces of the zombie that might have transferred during their scuffle. He found a slimy fingernail on his shoulder and flicked it away with a grimace.
Ian didn’t respond. He was in shock and his mind still replayed the last images he had of his undead mother. A soccer ball slowly lost air on the floor of the vehicle. Grant picked it up and threw it at Ian’s chest to break him from his daze.
“What?” Ian asked, unsure of where they were and what they were doing there.
Grant leaned back against the side of the Vanagon and closed his eyes. “We need to find somewhere secure to stay for awhile. I can’t depend on you right now.”
• • •
You know, Grant is really looking like the better friend here.
“He already knew loss. His mother was a waste of life, his dad was a deadbeat. He had a pet snake when he was nine, but it was sick when he got it and it died.”
Did you just say that Grant is a better friend because his snake died?
“Don’t be a dick. You know what I mean! Bad things never happened in my life before this.”
• • •
Instead of traveling east toward the central part of the city suburb, Grant and Ian took the long ramp of Exit 173 and turned west behind a gas station. They cut through a car wash tunnel. The scrubbers hung sadly, waiting to have purpose again.
“Where are we going?” Ian asked. “This is kind of the long way back to my house.”
“Do you honestly think you need to be anywhere near your house right now? It’s full of memories of your mom and dad. We’re going to the hotel.” Grant trudged up a steep embankment into the parking lot of the Hotel Nexus.
The hotel was an old four-story, 169-room behemoth of a building on Northgate Way, recently given a modern makeover through paint and furnishing changes. It was full of dangerous possibilities, but Grant was willing to risk it for the easily secured and comfortable shelter a room on the fourth floor would provide. Once when he was younger, Ian stayed at the hotel with his parents when their house was bug-bombed. He remembered it as clean and with a friendly staff. Now, he found himself hoping it had become a spotless ghost town.
Grant made for the lobby doors, but he stopped and held a hand to Ian’s chest. “You should take the stairs to the fourth floor and wait for me.”
Ian was scared to go alone, but he was frightened of the lobby as well. He beheld the tower that led to the long hallways of the upper floors. A handful of the doors were open, some all the way, some only a crack.
“Lots of places for things to hide.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Grant said. “We have to get a master key. The electronic locks won’t work.”
Ian jogged to the stairwell. The dead were moving toward them from across the street. He hit each step as quietly as possible and took frequent breaks for his breath and Grant to catch up. They stood at the top floor railing and viewed the parking lot from above.
“A lot of cars down there.” Grant took a deep breath. “There could be folks hiding out in the rooms still. Late check outs.” He smiled.
“Yeah, we’ll have to pick carefully.”
• • •
You found a room no problem.
“I can still remember the smell of the shampoo.”
That place was nice. You should have stayed there. Grant was still alive then.
“Can’t I finish my story without you bringing that up?”
• • •
“Wow.” Grant threw his bag on the ground and walked deeper into the room. There was a kitchen stocked with cooking utensils, a dining area, a flat screen television and a comfortable couch. He fell onto one of the double beds, its bedding still tucked perfectly beneath the mattress. Ian followed suit, taking the second bed.
• • •
“Those beds were amazing.”
They were plain, old beds. They’re just better than a wood floor of a closet.
• • •
“It’s like an apartment.”
From the other bed Grant sighed. “I could stay here for a while.”
Ian stood up. “Help me put the couch in front of the door.”
“The zombies won’t get up here.”
“The others, in the other rooms. They could take our stuff i
n the night.”
That evening, from the window of the hotel room, Ian watched crooked shapes wander in the moonlight. Each form a demented, interpretive dancer with unfailing energy.
“We can go outside, Ian, on the deck,” Grant suggested. “They aren’t gonna take the elevator.”
“There’s a lot of them in the street. I don’t want to end up trapped. Even if they can’t make it up here, we still have to make it down.”
“Whatever you say, man.”
• • •
Remember the maid?
“She was scarier than the zombies.”
• • •
On the second day of their stay in the suite, around midday, the sound of wheels rolling down the outdoor hallway broke the silence. Grant peeked out the large window and saw a hotel maid rolling her cart toward their room. He moved the couch, opened the door before she could try, and stepped out. Ian listened from his bed.
“We don’t want to be disturbed.”
“I brought you some fresh towels,” the maid responded.
“That is very disturbing. Why are you here, working?”
She handed him a small stack of clean towels. “My boss didn’t tell me not to come so I’m watching after the hotel.”
“But if no one’s here, what are you doing?”
“I’ve been making my way through the building, checking all the rooms. Some of them are in very bad shape. I’m almost done. I’m about to clean the one next door.”
They watched the woman go about her work. First, she dragged a man’s body from the room and placed it on a low cart. Ian wondered why she didn’t throw the body over the railing, but then realized it would splatter all over the parking lot, and the maid’s duty was to clean, not to make a mess.
“This one shot himself.” She shook her head. “Big mess to clean up. Time for the tough chemicals.”
Mistakes I Made During the Zombie Apocalypse Page 9
