by Tony Urban
Wim didn’t feel like a winner, but he liked seeing the old man smile. Emory had told him bits of his life’s story since they met and although the two couldn’t be more opposite, Wim felt an admiration so strong that it bordered on infatuation.
He loved listening as Emory discuss backpacking through Europe or driving a Land Rover across the Australian Outback. And even though Emory was the first gay man Wim had met in his entire life, when he talked about his early years with his partner, the age melted off him like snow on a tin roof. Wim found himself so envious to experience that kind of love that he felt a physical ache deep inside himself.
“Have you ever loved someone, Wim? Someone other than family?”
“No, sir.” It seemed like there should be more to add. An excuse as to why a 32-year-old man was so inexperienced in many ways, but he couldn’t find the words. Probably because there weren’t any to find.
“I view love as life’s greatest blessing, and its most devious curse. The person you love occupies your thoughts every waking moment. They’re with you all day long whether in physical form or not. You fall asleep thinking about them and then you dream about them. In the morning the whole show starts over again.”
“So why’s that bad?”
“Because love isn’t always reciprocated. Actually, I’d say it seldom is, at least in equal parts. One person always loves a little harder. Needs a little more. It’s like an old fashioned money scale.” Emory held his hands up at an even level, then lowered one while raising the other. “And when that happens, the balance gets lost. One side keeps falling further and further behind the other and, eventually, it’s passed the tipping point and it bottoms out.”
”Which one were you?”
Emory flashed a smirk that could have been rueful, but light flickered in his eyes. “Grant wanted to love me. In fact, he did, at first, I’m certain of it. Maybe even up until the bitter end. But Grant had a veneer that I never managed to penetrate. Perhaps it was there to protect himself, but it was always a barrier between us.”
“Did you ever think about divorce? Or, I guess it would have been a separation.”
“Not for a nanosecond. He was the love of my life, even if he couldn’t reciprocate in the way I would have wished. And I loved him for his so called faults, not in spite of them. He challenged me in a way no one else ever did.” His eyes drifted away from Wim’s gaze.
"Even in the later years, when it seemed like we were virtual strangers in that big house, I’d still wake eager to see him. I’d go to Grant’s quarters. We had separate bedrooms for decades. I’d stand in the doorway and watch him. Sometimes only for a few seconds. Sometimes so long my knees would get sore and my back stiff. And his face, so peaceful and soft as he slept, was the face of the man I saw dancing across that stage decades earlier. It didn’t matter that his hair had gone gray or his skin was as wrinkled as a newspaper that had been crumpled into a ball and flattened back out again."
"I always fled before he woke, but even during the darkest years, I gazed at him on those mornings and found peace. And, in many ways, that’s even better than love.”
It was so dark inside the room the two could barely see each other but when Wim felt a yawn coming on, he covered his mouth to hide it.
“I’m tired too,” Emory said.
“It’s been a long day.”
“Indeed it has. And we’ve earned a good night’s sleep.”
Emory was asleep when his head hit the pillow. Wim lasted slightly longer. He watched the stars outside the motel room window. Billions of stars. There used to be billions of us too. He tried to imagine the sky if 99.9999% of the stars winked out. The idea that there might only be a few thousand people left alive in the whole, entire world dominated his thoughts until he drifted off.
When he woke the next morning and found the motel surrounded by zombies, he realized he’d left all the guns in the Bronco. It was a stupid mistake and in this new world, stupid mistakes got you killed. He felt bad that Emory was going to die for his carelessness. And he regretted that he’d never get to see Ramey again. But most of all he wished God would have spared someone smarter and more deserving of that one in a million winning lottery ticket that he’d just wasted.
27
Ramey neared a school bus that sat disabled at the side of the road, felled by a flat tire. She slowed the truck as she passed and peered into the windows. Most were blood-stained, and some cracked. She caught motion inside, figures roaming through the confines of the bus. When she got to the front, she saw eight dead children pawing at the windshield trying to escape. Their small, undead faces gave her goosebumps, and the site had her on edge for the next half hour.
As she rounded a sharp, downward sloping curve, she saw two figures on the road ahead. She thought they were corpses, but when she got within 20 yards, she saw movement. Not just moving, fighting. Ramey closed the gap to 10 yards. She rested her hand on top of the cold gun on the seat beside her and watched.
The two were almost perfect opposites. The one on top was young, tall, thin, and male. The woman on the bottom was older, short, and round. They made Ramey think of that old comedy act she sometimes saw on TV. Laurel and something. Harvey?
At first she thought they were both alive, but she soon realized the boy’s movements had the herky jerky zombie mannerisms she’d seen so often. The woman was alive, and she was losing the fight.
Ramey opened her door and jumped down from the truck. She tried to line the sights up with the zombie’s head, but it looked like a pinpoint. Every time she breathed it dipped out of alignment. You can do this, she thought. Just focus and aim. Focus and aim. She held her breath and pulled the trigger.
Ramey saw a spray of blood and the zombie boy flinched backward and grabbed at his throat. A second later he dove at the woman who struggled to hold him back.
“Damn it!” Ramey aimed again. Fired. This time the round slammed into the boy’s shoulder and sent him teetering off-balance.
The woman pushed him the rest of the way over and he hit the ground with a thud. She rolled out from under him and looked to Ramey as she staggered to her feet. She didn’t see the boy stand up and run, but Ramey did.
Ramey leveled off the gun. The woman’s eyes grew so wide Ramey could see white all around the iris.
“Don’t! I’m normal!”
Ramey shot again and saw a red mist burst from the side of the zombie’s head. He dropped in a heap. She hated that it had taken three bullets to get the job done, but better late than never. The woman whose life Ramey saved looked behind her and saw the dead boy in the road.
“Holy shit! I thought you were gonna kill me! But thanks.”
Ramey flicked the gun’s safety on and tucked it into the side of her belt. “Of course.”
“I’m Peggy Benoit.”
Peggy extended a hand and they shook. The woman’s grip was strong as a man’s and Ramey was relieved when she let go. She guessed the woman to be in her mid fifties. She had a bowl cut of black hair that had gone at least half gray. She wore no makeup, black trousers, and a blue work shirt. Ramey didn’t know if she was a lesbian but thought she looked the part.
“Ramey.” Ramey motioned to the dead boy on the ground. “Did you know him?”
Peggy nodded. “Teddy Stader. He’s been riding my bus since kindergarten. A little weird, but a good kid.”
“I passed a school bus a little while ago. That was yours?”
Peggy’s eyes clouded over with tears but she fought them back before they could take an escape route down her cheeks. “Yeah. It was…” She didn’t finish. Instead she looked to Ramey’s truck which still idled in the roadway. “Where are you going?”
“To West Virginia. To look for my father.”
“You don’t think he’s alive, do you?”
Her bluntness didn’t bother Ramey. It was a question she asked herself a hundred times and hour. “Not really. But I have to know for sure.”
“Oh.” Peggy’s eyes n
arrowed, and it was clear she thought the idea stupid.
Ramey knew she was being judged and wasn’t a fan of it. She had just saved the woman’s life, after all. “Do you have anyone?”
“No.” Peggy tapped her foot in a rapid, nervous tic.
Ramey tried to think of something to say but Peggy beat her to it.
"Could I go with you? If you don’t mind.” Her voice broke and she looked at the ground. "I’d really like to go."
Ramey hadn’t had the best luck with companions but she couldn’t leave anyone alone, with no vehicle, no protection.
“Of course. We can even take turns driving if you’re up for it.”
Peggy glanced up and half-smiled. “Been doing it for a living for 34 years. Think I could manage.”
“Good.” Ramey moved toward the truck but Peggy lagged behind.
“Ramey?”
She looked back.
“Could we move him off the road first? We don’t have to bury him or anything, but it don’t feel right just letting him lay there like roadkill. And he saved my ass earlier. Kinda feel like I owe him.”
Ramey looked to the dead boy and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll help.”
Together they dragged the boy into a field of Kentucky bluegrass and clover. Peggy knelt down at his side and folded his hands over his chest, then tousled his hair which had been cut into a mohawk and dyed green.
“I’m sorry, bud.” Peggy stood up and nodded her head. “Let’s go.”
So they did.
28
Mead spied the warehouse first. Bundy was too busy staring out the window with stars in his eyes over the broad they’d met in the ambulance. The steel sided building was at least 300 feet long and even wider. A large electronic billboard out front was blank, but a faded placard on the front wall read, ‘Gilbert Paving & Heavy Construction’. No cars occupied the parking lot, which Mead felt lowered the likelihood of zombies inside. He also saw plenty of doors, from regular entryways to huge garage bays. Another plus. Mead wasn’t a fan of taking shelter indoors because it was easy to become surrounded and trapped. This warehouse, however, seemed mostly immune from those issues.
“Check that out,” he said to Bundy.
Bundy came out of his daydream and looked ahead. “What about it?”
“Might be a good place to rest and regroup.”
Bundy shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe.”
When they reached the long driveway heading to the warehouse, he turned in. The ambulance followed. After stopping at the entrance, Mead bounced out of the BMW, grabbing his stick on the way. Bundy also got out of the SUV but didn't follow. Mina strolled toward the big man.
“What are we doing here?”
Mead ignored them as he bounded to the front doors.
“Mead thought it would be a good place to rest up.”
“He never heard of a hotel?”
Bitch. Mead pretended not to hear.
“His idea, not mine,” Bundy said.
The door opened to reveal an industrial waiting area filled with metal and vinyl furniture, tables littered with magazines like “Popular Mechanics” and “Field & Stream”, and a healthy layer of dust on the tile floor. It looked completely undisturbed and, while Mead knew that wasn’t a guarantee, it was another good omen. He glanced toward the lot where Bundy and Mina mulled.
“Looks empty,” he called to them.
Mina huffed. “Is there a reason you want us to hole up inside some factory and not a house or a hotel?”
Mead wanted to respond sarcastically but stopped himself. He took a breath, then spoke. “Houses and hotels are more likely to have people. Dead people. And it’s too easy to get trapped. This is safer. Besides, there might be cool shit inside.”
Mina and Bundy exchanged a glance. Mead could tell they realized his points were valid. Why didn’t people just trust him? He knew his shit. “I’ll do a run through and make sure it’s clear if you want to bring whatever supplies we have left.”
With that, he disappeared into the building.
“Doesn’t he ever get tired?” Mina asked.
“Not to my knowledge. He’s like that Energizer bunny. He just keeps going and going and going and—”
“I get it.”
Mina took two small, plastic bags of groceries she’d gathered during an earlier stop. Bundy took his rifle and a few more bags of food. Then they headed into the warehouse.
While Mead explored every nook and cranny of the warehouse, Mina followed Bundy through a few of the cavernous garage bays which were filled with heavy equipment. Bundy pointed to a gigantic steam roller.
"What do you think? If we had that we wouldn’t need to drive around zombies, we could roll right over ‘em."
Mina raised an eyebrow. Was he serious? “How fast does one of those go?”
“I don’t know. Four miles an hour maybe. Five.”
“Oh, so we could make it to Florida in about two years.”
He looked to her. “Is that where you’re heading? Florida?”
Mina shrugged her shoulders. She hadn’t given it much thought. “It’s warm. And I’ve never seen the ocean.”
“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Well, we’ll have to remedy that.”
She liked Bundy. She didn’t trust him entirely just yet, but she was 75% of the way there.
They moved into another bay which was filled with supplies such as concrete and tar. Bundy examined the various boxes and bags. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends what you’re asking. But go ahead.”
“You don’t seem fond of Mead, but you tolerate me. Why is that?”
It was a good question. “You want an honest answer?”
“Of course.”
“Because I know I can outrun you.”
Bundy stared for a moment, then burst out laughing. His deep, jovial chortles made Mina smile and laugh a little too. It had been a good, long while since she laughed. That bumped him up to 80% trustworthy. Maybe even 85.
“Well ho-ly shit,” Bundy muttered.
He stared at something behind her and her first instinct was to think it was a zombie and panic. As she started to run, Bundy caught her arm and held her gently.
“It’s okay. Nothing for you to be scared of.”
He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward what held his fascination.
“Is that…”
“It sure is. Let’s keep this between us for a little while, all right.”
She thought that was a good idea. “I’m okay with that. Anyway, I’m hungry. How about you?”
Bundy gave another wide grin. “Look at me, Mina. I’m always hungry.”
29
By the time Ross returned to the truck and found Josiah eating away at his father’s arm, the boy had devoured a wad of flesh the size of a racquetball. Ross only stared at first and when he got words out, they came out in screechy whistles through his gapped teeth, “Whaaaat the heeeeeell?”
Grady’s eyes fluttered and opened. The pain was exquisite, and he walked a tightrope between consciousness and darkness. He felt Josiah’s teeth pull loose of his arm. Then he saw the boy stand and move away from him.
In his delirium, it looked like Josiah was skipping. Just an average, healthy American boy enjoying the sunny weather on a spring day. Maybe he was off to play a game of hopscotch or red rover with the friends he never had.
Grady saw Ross running. And then he saw Josiah catch him. The boy grabbed onto the older man’s spare tire. His tiny fingers sunk into the fat and held tight. Grady’s head drifted backwards and came to rest on the concrete where he stared up at the perfect blue sky.
What a beautiful world God has given them, he thought as Ross squealed like a pig being slaughtered outside of Grady’s new field of vision. We won’t foul it up this time, Lord. We’ll make everything right again.
Another, weaker squeal came from Ross. It sounded wet, like he might be choking. Grad
y barely noticed. He saw a wispy "t" of clouds high above him and thought it looked like a cross. Another sign.
After a few minutes Ross stopped squealing and sometime after that Josiah returned to his side. Blood had painted his face red and only his perfect, white teeth stood out amongst the crimson mask. Even his eyes were bloody.
The boy stared down at his father, his mouth twisted into a grotesque grimace which Grady took for a smile.
”All is well, my son. God is protecting us.”
Grady sat up and Josiah took a seat in his lap. Grady held his son in his arms and paid no attention to the mangled corpse eight yards away.
He glanced at his arm. Blood oozed from the wound and he noticed a small puddle had formed beside him. Grady assumed he would soon transform into a zombie like his beautiful boy. He welcomed this first death because this death was necessary. It was only after the first death that he could be saved and welcomed into God’s new kingdom.
Josiah had already been saved. The peace he displayed as Grady held him was proof of that. Before this, the boy would never allow even the briefest of embraces, let alone being cradled in his father’s arms. God had cured the boy from the demons of autism that had tormented his short life and he was now one of God’s chosen ones.
Away from them, Ross rose to his feet and stumbled about, trying to get his legs under him. He turned toward Grady and Josiah, then did a 180 and shambled away in the other direction.
Grady laid in the street, holding his son, and waited for death. But death wasn’t coming for him.
“They’re zombies!” Dash said as he peered through the 4x scope attached the hunting rifle he’d found in an abandoned pickup earlier that morning.
Bolivar had stopped the car 100 yards from the tractor trailer that blocked the road. He saw the two figures in the street and planned to find a way around them, but Dash was a full steam ahead kind of guy and insisted they clear the path. Aben considered himself simply along for the ride and didn’t offer an opinion either way.
