Love in the Age of Zombies (Book 2): Zombies in Paradise

by James K. Evans

  But he was alert for more than just zombies. He’d only seen four survivors besides Doc and Michelle; three attacked him and died for their trouble. The fourth was a man with a dog, holed up in a school a few miles from Kevin’s home. He assumed any survivors had evil intent until proven otherwise.

  Kevin focused on the task at hand. He knew the Jeep would attract attention from the living and dead alike. If they could hear him, they’d come looking for him. He followed the route he usually took on his bike, heading north and west. The zombies in the road were a nuisance but not much of a threat, and otherwise the beginning of his trip was uneventful. He skirted Dexter and kept west, taking side roads to avoid Chelsea. I don’t want to go to Chelsea, he thought instinctively. He likewise skirted around Stockbridge, heading west just south of White Oak to avoid the interstate as long as possible. Northwest of Eaton Rapids near Charlotte he crossed over I-69. He had carefully planned the route which would take him on an overpass without any entrance or exit ramps. From what Doc had seen, the interstates could be a huge headache—and highly dangerous.

  When Kevin got to the overpass, the scene below was horrific. This was not a traffic jam; this was an escape, but an escape with no place to go. Just as Doc had described, all lanes of the highway were blocked. The lanes, shoulders, median, banks, all were packed with metal, cold and silent. Zombies milled around the road, shuffling and shambling into each other.

  About a half-mile away was a very dark spot on the highway. Kevin raised his binoculars and took a look. The dark spot was the site of an explosion. The burned-out husks of dozens of cars surrounded a huge, dark pool of burned pavement. Thrown against the bank was what appeared to be the remains of a tanker-truck. Some of the steel had melted. His guess was that a gas tanker had exploded, perhaps when mercenaries tried to hijack the fuel. Geez, it looks like Mad Max, Kevin thought. Whomever was involved couldn’t have survived. That was obvious by the zombies around the crater.

  They showed signs of injury—he could see shattered bone, arms burned off, missing legs, rotting flesh . . . others only showed bite marks. As he was surveying the scene from within the Jeep, one of the zombies close to the overpass noticed him and began that rasping sound. That got the others’ attention and they, too, turned to him. Kevin thanked God this was an inaccessible overpass, as they had no way to get to him. Not that they didn’t try.

  A few tried to crawl up the bank of the overpass, but it was steep, they were slow, and halfway up was a substantial fence. This fence was meant to withstand possible car accidents. The zombies came up against it and were stymied. None of them could climb a fence.

  Their rasping noises got the attention of zombies stuck in their cars too. When Kevin first arrived on the overpass, there was only a little movement below him. Now the zombies all moved in his direction, and in cars he could see thrashing heads and flailing arms. Kevin began to see movement all along the line. There must have been thousands of them. Many of them were trapped in their vehicles, unable to even accidentally disengage their seatbelts. They thrashed around like rats caught in traps. Eventually, Kevin hoped, they would decay to the point where they were no longer a threat, but how long would that take? It had already been over six months, and still they moved and walked. Whatever the disease was, it somehow preserved them.

  He took his foot off the brake and moved on. It was a beautiful day in Michigan. Trees were in full spring attire, the air was fragrant, the fields wore that shade of verdant green you can only truly see after you’ve weathered six months of cold, overcast skies and colorless snow. Once again he could hear songbirds, crows, and oddly enough, a singular dog, barking off in the distance.

  As he slowly departed, Kevin could hear the rasping, snarling sounds of dead men clawing at a fence, men who wanted nothing more than to ingest his flesh. Other than that, they wanted nothing, felt nothing, thought nothing. A singular existence. The sound faded as he drove off.

  He headed northwest on M-50 and had a few quiet miles before he crossed over I-96 east of Lansing. Once again he’d chosen a route with no entrance or exit ramps. He encountered a similarly grisly scene to what he’d seen on I-69: unmoving dead vehicles surrounded by moving dead bodies. This time he didn’t stop to stare. North of Grand Rapids he pulled onto US Route 131. Kevin passed through a few small communities without incident, then drove into the Manistee National forest.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Michelle waved as the Jeep disappeared around the corner. “Goodbye—” she started shouting before Doc shushed her.

  “Michelle! Quiet down! Do you want zombies to hear you? We probably need to head indoors anyway. They may have heard the Jeep.” Doc headed back to the house.

  She stood there, staring at the spot where the Jeep disappeared from view. “Goodbye, Kevin! Please come home safe!” she whispered. With a sigh, she turned and followed Doc downstairs. She tried to put on a brave face as he handed her a cup of coffee.

  “So what’s on the agenda today?” he asked.

  “We have clothes to wash and I think it’s time to sweep the grow room floor. Otherwise, not much. I’m feeling kind of tired and didn’t sleep well.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll take care of the grow room. I’ll sweep and check the pH and see if any lettuce is ready for harvesting. I’m also going to try to reorganize the supply room. Kevin arranged everything alphabetically, but I think we should arrange it by protein level. High protein in one section, medium protein in another section, low protein in the last section. That way we can make sure we don’t run out of protein too soon.”

  Michelle didn’t seem to be paying attention, although she nodded her head. “Okay,” she said absently as she took another sip of coffee. She puttered around in the kitchen while he put one of his Miles Davis CDs in the laptop. Mellow trumpet sounds filled the air.

  She gathered their laundry and carried it into the bathroom. Under the sink was a bucket with a toilet plunger sticking through a hole in the lid. She took off the lid, added detergent to the bucket, and placed it inside the shower stall under the showerhead. As water sprayed into the bucket, she added a few items of clothing. Once the bucket was about two-thirds full of water, she put the lid back on and began pumping the plunger up and down. It wasn’t easy work. Michelle had rapidly gained a new appreciation for her ancestors who didn’t have the luxury of a washing machine. Washing clothes was hard work, and after an hour of plunging load after load of laundry, she was tired.

  The washed clothes were piled on the shower floor. They kept the floor constantly clean, so there was no risk of soiling the newly washed shirts, pants, and undies. Today wasn’t sheet-washing day, thank God. Sheets were even more work.

  When she had washed all the clothes, she stood up and stretched her back. The Miles Davis music she’d found soothing earlier had turned improvisational and had gotten on her nerves. She walked out of the bathroom into the grow room. Doc was snipping a few dead leaves off a basil plant.

  “Hey, Doc, two questions: one, can we change the music, and two, can you give me a hand?”

  “One, yes, and two, yes. Would you like to hear something different?”

  “Do you have any Joni Mitchell?” she asked.

  “No, I’m afraid not. How about some Frank Sinatra?”

  “Sure! I love Sinatra!”

  “And how can I give you a hand?”

  “The hardest part of doing laundry is wringing out the clothes. I wish Kevin had bought a clothes wringer. Could you help with that?”

  “Of course I can! Let me get Sinatra going and I’ll join you!” he went to his box of CDs and sifted through them while Michelle returned to the bathroom. In a few minutes, In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning began to play.

  Michelle listened for a few seconds and called out “Could we try again? That’s a bit too blue for me today!” The music stopped and a few minutes later Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited began to play. Doc came into the bathroom and Michelle pointed to the heap of clothes on the sh
ower stall floor. “All of these have to be wrung out and then hung to dry. It’s a real pain.”

  “Is that a toilet plunger washing tub? We had one of those at my cabin in case the power went out—which it did on more than one occasion. It’s a pretty efficient system. Did Kevin drill holes in the plunger?”

  “No, why would he do that?”

  “To reduce resistance. Where’s his toolkit?” Michelle directed him to Kevin’s tools, and a few minutes later Doc was drilling small holes into the head of the plunger. When he was finished he filled the bucket with water then poked the toilet plunger handle through the lid of the bucket and handed it to Michelle. She put it atop the bucket and began pumping the handle again. Her eyes opened wide.

  “This is so much easier! Dang!”

  “I’ll have to figure out a way to make wringing easier, too,” Doc suggested. “Kevin’s a very bright guy, but he’s not exactly a handyman or a hunter, eh?”

  Michelle laughed for a moment. “You got that right! He’s not exactly a man’s man kind of guy. Thank God.”

  “That’s part of the reason I like him so much. He’s quite able to accomplish anything he wants to, but he doesn’t come across as some macho bull-shitter. He ignores his accomplishments and focuses perhaps too much on his failures,” Doc finished.

  Just like me, Michelle thought. All this talk about Kevin wasn’t helping her mood. At least we’re still talking about him in the present tense! she thought soberly.

  They spent a half-hour wringing the clothes. Michelle was glad to have Doc’s help. He was every bit as strong as Kevin despite their age difference. Once they finished Michelle suggested a coffee break and Doc agreed. They went into the kitchen for a quick snack. Michelle had peanut butter on crackers while Doc just dipped a spoon into the jar and ate the peanut butter straight. Michelle said she was tired and they agreed to take a break.

  While Doc went into the living room to read the liner notes to the Dylan CD, Michelle went into the bedroom and took an afternoon nap, unusual for her. When she awoke, she drank a glass of water she kept on the lampstand. Then she pulled the poetry chapbook Kevin had written from her lampstand’s top drawer.

  As she lay there reading, Doc appeared in the doorway. “I thought I heard you stirring. How are you doing?”

  “I’m reading a book of poetry Kevin wrote for me,” she said softly.

  “May I?” Doc said as he strode to the bedside and gently took the book from her. He read a few poems and said, “He’s a good writer.” He paused. “I’d like to ask you something. Do you think you would have noticed Kevin if fate hadn’t thrown you together?”

  Michelle thought it over, then said, “I’d like to say yes, I would have, but to be honest I’m not sure. He has a quiet attractiveness that’s easy to overlook.”

  Doc nodded. “It’s good to see a happy couple. I’m glad for you.”

  They puttered around for a while—Michelle dusted while Doc started organizing the supply room. They both kept to themselves for a few hours, then Doc announced he was getting hungry and offered to make dinner. He made a tuna/quinoa/cilantro salad which Michelle loved but Doc was lukewarm about. Doc told Michelle a few hunting stories and she told a few of her father’s stories. All the while she was acutely aware of Kevin’s absence.

  When they were finished, Michelle cleaned up the few dishes they used for dinner. Doc sat on the sofa in the living room, sketching out his plans for a possible garden next door. Michelle was feeling very downhearted and struggled to control her emotions. Tears were near the surface and threatened to spill over at any moment. Get ahold of yourself, girl! she thought. It’s not like he’s dead! At that thought, the dam broke and she burst into tears.

  Doc heard her begin to cry and was not surprised. He had felt it coming since Kevin pulled out of the driveway. He put down his paper and pencil and went to her in the kitchen, feeling fatherly affection. Putting his arm around her, he said “Now, now, it’s okay. He knows you love him. He knows you’re just scared. He’ll only be gone for a few days.” Michelle buried her head in his chest, unable to stop crying. She allowed herself the luxury of losing control for only a few seconds before taking a deep breath and straightening back up.

  Wiping her cheeks dry, she said, “I know. I just miss him. We’ve been together every day since the Collapse and almost every night,” she said, beginning to sniffle. “I feel like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the jelly. Nothing feels right.”

  As he patted her on the shoulder, Doc said “I must admit I envy you two. I haven’t been in love for many years. I may never have been in love like you two. It’s been so long, I honestly don’t remember. This little time apart will do you good. It’ll make being together even better. It will make you stronger.”

  “Why do things that are good for us feel so bad? It sucks,” she complained with a long sigh. “I’m okay. I just lost it for a minute. There’s not a lot here to distract me.”

  “I’ll tell you what, why don’t we go upstairs? If the yard is clear of zombies maybe we can take a short walk. You really should be getting some exercise, you know. The baby is going to take quite a toll on your body over the next few months. The healthier you are the less likely you are to have any complications.”

  “I don’t know, Doc. I don’t really feel like dealing with zombies right now.”

  “We’ll check for them first. Maybe we’ll just get some fresh air for a few minutes. It’s probably close to sunset. We can watch the stars come out and you can tell me more about your father.” Michelle reluctantly agreed and wiped her hands on a dishtowel before grabbing a sweater from the closet, then they headed upstairs.

  Doc looked outside the through the small peep holes Kevin had placed in the windows. There were a few zombies milling about, both in the street and in some of the yards. “Unfortunately, it appears a walk around the neighborhood is out of the question,” he told Michelle. “However, the back of the house next door—I keep forgetting it’s your old house—is fenced in. We could walk around the yard, provided we securely close the gate behind us. And I’ll take my rifle just in case a few zombies show up. What do you say? I was thinking it might be a good spot for a garden anyway and wanted to check it out.”

  Michelle could think of any number of excuses not to go outside, but none of them seemed genuine. And the truth was, after spending nearly all her time stuck down in the basement of their home she was ready for a change of scenery and some fresh air. She waited upstairs while Doc went back down to get his gun. Once he was ready to go, they stepped outside and quickly crossed the side yard and through the gate, closing it behind them. “Of course, we want to be as quiet as possible, otherwise we’re likely to attract zombies and who knows what else,” Doc reminded her in a low voice. “But I think it’s safe to have quiet conversation. Let’s see how many laps we can take around the back yard while it’s still light.”

  They slowly walked the perimeter of the yard. The back deck had peony bushes growing around it, and they were in full bloom. “Look, how beautiful!” Michelle exclaimed, reaching out and cupping the pink blossoms. “Remind me to take some inside when we’re finished!” They walked past the abundant blooms and across the back of her house. “The hosta is coming along nicely! I’ve never lived here in the spring, I wasn’t sure what might pop up.”

  “When was it you moved in?”

  “Just a few weeks before the Collapse. Kevin was sweet enough to help me unload the truck, and he even gave me some fresh basil and lettuce from the grow room. I thought he was sweet!” Walking the fence line between her house and the Erickson’s, Michelle recounted her experience seeing the zombies attack the owners. Doc quickly changed the subject.

  “Isn’t this an attractive maple!” he said, gesturing toward the solitary tree that grew in her yard, about three-quarters of the way back. “Look at the low branches! When I was a kid, I would have been climbing this tree all the time!”

  “Me too,” admitted Michelle.
“I was quite the tomboy. I used to climb trees, catch frogs and snakes, all the things boys did. I even went fishing with my dad.”

  “I was going to ask you about him. What kind of man was he?” Doc asked.

  Michelle paused. “I’ve been asking myself that same question for years. When I was a little girl, he was my hero. Like I said, we went hunting and fishing, I even helped dress the elk and clean the fish. I think I took the place of the son he always wanted. Then things changed when I got older. For a long time I thought he was a jerk. He was hardly ever around. I think he missed every birthday and nearly every holiday after I turned twelve. He was always going on hunting trips. Mom used to tell me it started when I hit puberty.”

  “For the longest time, I believed her. I thought he was disappointed because I wasn’t a boy. Now I wonder. Maybe it had nothing to do with me. Maybe he wanted to get away from Mom. I think they quit being lovers, then quit being friends, too. Dad was never mean to her, but he didn’t act like he enjoyed her company. A few years ago I came across a quote by Albert Einstein, and I liked it so much I memorized it. He said, Men marry women with the hope they will never change. Women marry men with the hope they will change. Invariably they are both disappointed. I think that’s what happened with my parents. He expected her to stay the woman he fell in love with and she changed. She became very manipulative, and my dad was smart enough to recognize it. They were both extraordinarily intelligent. He was smart enough to see her manipulation for what it was; she was smart enough to fool everyone but him.”

  “So you see, even when she told me Dad was gone all the time because I developed breasts, she was manipulating me into taking the blame. So in some ways my perspective on both of them has turned around completely.” She was silent for a few minutes. By now they were on their third lap around the yard and dusk was setting in. “As I grew older, I started learning the truth.”