Zombie World (Zombie Apocalypse #3)

by Hoffman, Samantha

  Ryder flinches, and I take his hand in mine. He hasn’t touched his hot chocolate, and I’m not sure if he even knows it’s in his free hand. Allen unlocks the front door and passes the key off to Aaron, promising to come back around dinnertime in a few hours. Until then, we’re going to be shut in this house. I have the urge to get out and explore the rest of the community, talking to people and seeing how everything works around here. But I don’t want to risk anyone finding out about Ryder before the meeting later.

  So we all head inside, closing and locking the door behind us. The inside of the house is beautiful and in pristine shape, as if it’s never been touched by the evils of the apocalypse. There are no signs of any blood or disturbance, which will make it much easier to live in when we come back after tomorrow. There won’t be any reminders that people were killed or lives were destroyed.

  It’ll be a fresh start. A real one, not a temporary place to stay until something awful happens. This is it for us.

  “Well, we should try our best to settle in,” Aaron says, looking around the spacious living room with clean furniture and carpets. “There should be enough room for all of us to get a little rest before dinner. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow, so we should take all we can get now.” He tosses his backpack to the floor and sinks into the nearest reclining chair, pulling the lever to put up his feet. He shrugs off his coat and sets it with his bag, closing his eyes and stretching out as far as he can.

  The rest of us all follow suit. Todd and Madison disappear together upstairs, and I tug on Ryder’s arm. “Come on. I wanna change your bandage now that we have a minute to stop and think. That dirty shirt is probably doing more harm than good at this point. I can’t believe that doctor didn’t at least offer to change it before trying to get you thrown back outside.”

  Ryder follows me without a word and I grab the backpack from near the kitchen counter that has our remaining first-aid supplies in it. I’m not sure how much we have left, given that we had to leave so much behind at the site of the accident, but it’ll still be better than an unwashed piece of shirt. I take him by the hand and lead him upstairs, searching for an out of the way bathroom.

  Madison and Todd have claimed the master bedroom as theirs. She closes the door in our faces with an apologetic and bashful smile, and we both keep walking. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall, near one of the spare bedrooms. I close the door behind us, motioning to the edge of the bathtub. He sits, watching me as I dig through the backpack. I find some generic medical supplies, like bandages, iodine, and Neosporin.

  Ryder lets me unwrap the blood soaked bandage from his arm, hissing in pain as I gently pull it away from the skin. We both glance at it, and he winces. “It looks bad,” he says. He looks up at me, his mouth set in a firm line. “I don’t know how long it’ll be before I start to turn. It could be a couple of days if we’re lucky, but most likely it’ll be within the next twenty-four hours. A day and I’ll be one of them.”

  “Don’t say that!” I command. His lips twitch as if he wants to smirk at my tone, but his eyes are too sad to really manage it. “You’re going to be fine. You have to be. We’re going to get this cure to Detroit, and even if you do turn before we succeed, you’ll come back to me.”

  He cups my face in his hand, his thumb lightly tracing my cheek. Each touch sends shivers down my spine. “Sam…”

  “No.”

  “You can’t put yourself in danger hoping that I’ll be fine. I’m a threat, a ticking time bomb. You and I both know it, and you can’t forget it. You’re letting your feelings for me cloud your judgment; you all are. You should have let that doctor throw me back out of here. Now you’re all in charge of watching me, and we know how badly that turns out.” He closes his eyes, dropping his forehead to touch mine. “Don’t let yourself end up like Tobe.”

  His words sink in, but I try to ignore the fear in my gut. “That is not going to happen,” I say firmly. “You are not going to hurt me or anyone in this house. We’re not stupid, Ryder. We’re going to watch you once it really starts to happen and keep track of how your symptoms are progressing. We’re not giving up on you, no matter what. And besides, there’s still a chance that you’re immune. Todd was. Who says you can’t be as well?”

  He looks at me and I know he’s never had a hope of being immune. He’s accepted his fate already and nothing I can say will change his mind. He knows he’s either going to die tomorrow on the way to Detroit, or he’s going to turn and be brought back a very changed man if we succeed. Both of those options are horrible, but I don’t care how damaged Ryder is as long as he’s still in my life. If I have to be the one to hold him during night terrors for a change, so be it. It’s a small sacrifice to still have the man I love in my life.

  “I’ll take care of you,” I promise. “No matter what kind of shape you’re in after tomorrow, I’ll take care of you as best as I can. I won’t let you go.”

  “You may not have a choice.” His voice is soft and husky, thick with emotion. “Sam, by the time we get to Detroit, I’ll most likely be in the advanced stages of the disease. I’ll be disoriented and confused, and slow. I’ll be a liability. I might get someone killed. I might get you killed. You need to promise me you’ll worry about yourself instead of me. No matter what happens to me tomorrow, you keep going. You do whatever it takes to survive. Promise me!”

  My cheeks are wet with tears and I bite my lip to keep from sobbing. I can’t manage the words, so I just nod my head. Ryder pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me, more alive than he has been since getting on that bus. I force my way into his lap, weaving my arms around his body and holding him as tight as I possibly can, just in case we don’t get the chance to just hold each other ever again.

  “I love you,” he says softly, whispering in my ear as his hand rubs my lower back.

  “I love you, too.” I bury my face in his neck for a second, inhaling deeply and committing his scent to memory.

  All too soon, he pulls away and I slide out of his lap, taking his arm and examining the wound. The edges are puckered and already turning a dark red and it won’t be more than a few hours before the edges of the wound are dark purple, like there’s poison beneath his skin. Within the next twelve hours or so after that, he’ll start leaking pus from the bite wound, his fever will spike until he’s seeing vivid hallucinations, and he’ll have painful cramps. After that, it won’t be long until he’s a goner, too out of it to even know where he is or what he’s doing. He’ll be completely lost to the disease.

  Everyone is different. Some turn faster than others, while some can manage to hold out. A full day, a day and a half, maybe more. Hopefully we can get to Detroit before he turns, or we may never find him once we spread the cure. There’s no telling what shape his mind will be in, maybe he won’t even remember me to find his way back to me…

  I gently wash and bandage the wound with our supplies, trying not to hurt Ryder in the process. When it’s finally bandaged, he looks up at me with tired eyes. The circles under his eyes are so dark it looks like he’s been punched in the face, more than once. “I wanna lay down. Aaron’s right. We should get some rest while we can. Dinner won’t be for another few hours.”

  “I’ll lay down with you, if you’d like.”

  He nods. “I would like that.”

  I follow him into the bedroom and close the door, giving us some privacy. Without the rest of the group around, I see him start to relax a bit and begin to unwind. He gets into bed, not bothering to take his clothes off or even get under the covers, and he stares at the ceiling, unblinking and unmoving. Climbing in beside him, I curl up against his side, looking up at the ceiling with him.

  “Ryder?”

  Before I can even ask if he wants to talk about it, the dam breaks. His face crumples in anguish, and he makes a noise that reminds me of a wounded puppy, helpless and in pain. Tears stream down his face and he draws in a harsh breath, his whole body heaving and trembling. Quickly I sit up and lean again
st the headboard, pulling him into my arms like he’s done for me on so many occasions.

  He puts his arms around me, burying his face in my chest. Tears soak my shirt as I stroke his hair, holding him tight and wishing I could make his pain go away. He clings to me as if he’s afraid he’ll die if he lets go, but I have no intentions of letting that happen. I’ll be here for him no matter what, no matter how long it takes for this storm to pass. All I can do for him for now is hold him tight while he lets it all out.

  We cry together for what seems like hours, just holding one another in the darkness. Eventually the tears stop and give way to dry sobs, and I feel Ryder’s chest heave against mine with each breath, like he’s gasping for air, or like each breath he draws is slowly killing him. Finally, there’s nothing but silence in the room, and Ryder stops trembling in my arms. I look down and notice his face is red and splotchy, his eyes are puffy, and his lip is torn and bleeding from biting down on it to stop the pain.

  His breathing has slowed down, and for now he’s asleep. Carefully, I smooth back his hair, letting me get a better glimpse of his face. I take in every line, every single hair on his jaw, the slope of his nose and the fullness of his lips. This may be the last time he looks like my Ryder, and not some monster version of him. Like his scent, I commit it all to memory, hoping that I never lose the way he looks right now, peaceful and asleep in my arms.

  I kiss his forehead lightly, and he stirs in my arms. With nothing else to do, I fall asleep with him pressed tightly against me.

  *****

  A knock at the door later wakes both of us, and Ryder flinches at the sharp sound. “We’re awake,” he moans, holding his forehead. Immediately I glance at the bandage on his arm, hoping the disease isn’t going to progress faster than it does for others. I need him to be okay for as long as possible.

  “Sorry to wake you,” Madison says through the closed door. “but Allen is here to escort us to the food hall. Get ready, and don’t forget we’re talking to the residents afterwards.” Her footsteps retreat away from the door, and Ryder slides back down to the bed, burying his face in a pillow.

  “Are you okay?”

  “My head hurts. And I don’t wanna go eat dinner with everyone. I just wanna stay here and be alone.”

  “I think it’s best if you’re not alone for now,” I say softly. “You’re with people who care about you, and they’re all worried about you, too. Plus you have to eat if you wanna keep up your strength.”

  “Okay.” The muscles of his back flex as he pushes himself up off the mattress and gets out of bed. I watch him closely for any signs of sickness, but he looks like he’s in good shape considering what he’s been through so far today. I don’t see any signs of the disease progressing yet other than the headache, but that might be because of something else all together. It might be too early to tell if there are any other symptoms.

  A quick glance out the window shows that it’s no longer snowing, which is good for us. It’ll make the drive tomorrow much easier if the roads don’t get any worse, and it’ll be easier on us when we have to ditch the vehicles and continue on foot. I’m not sure of the layout of Detroit, but I assume we’re not going to be driving straight up to the front door of a top secret government facility. At the very least I’m sure there will be a fence, and maybe even more obstacles.

  I tear myself away from the window, sitting on the edge of the bed with Ryder while I pull on my boots. They zip up easily, and I wait for him to ready himself mentally. He finally sighs and gets to his feet, following me to the door. The others are waiting for us downstairs, and I see Allen, Chad, and Roberts are all with them. This can’t be good…

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just a precaution,” Allen assures. “Word got out about Ryder being here, and there are a lot of unhappy campers. We just wanna make sure nothing happens to you guys before or during dinner.” He pats the gun belted to his hip, and I notice that Chad and Roberts both have weapons of their own. Theirs are more deadly looking, like they could put a real hole through a man if they got too close. The added security does make me feel a little better, but I’m still going to stick close to Ryder and keep my hands near my own weapon for the rest of the night.

  Allen leads us back through the community, and I notice that a few streetlamps are lit, creating a bright glow that lights up the streets. Other residents walk down the shoveled sidewalks, all bundled up against the cold and rushing towards the back of the community. We follow along behind them, trying to keep our heads down and be as inconspicuous as possible, but I’m sure anyone here can pick out the strangers with ease.

  We pass the greenhouses again, which have a few dim lights on inside. “Allen? Aren’t these gated communities usually pretty packed together? How did you get the room for all those large greenhouses?” I ask.

  “We all worked together to tear down a few of the houses to make the room. We needed the space, and we also needed the supplies. With the supplies we took from those houses, we built the food hall, a place where everyone could safely gather to take their meals. And in the event a catastrophe of any kind happened, it could also double as a shelter large enough for all of our residents. If zombies ever got in, or if there was ever a severe blizzard, they could be kept warm, safe, and well fed.”

  “You don’t let people have control over what food they eat?” Todd asks. “Seems kind of controlling to me.”

  “It does seem that way, but Annette looked at it from a practical standpoint. If we let everyone have their own food in their homes, we have no way to monitor how much we have left, or how much they’re using. We don’t plan to starve anyone here, but we also can’t let them be eating Thanksgiving feasts every single night. She found out pretty quick that when food was readily available to people, they went a little overboard. This way everyone here gets equal shares and we can inventory what we have.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Aaron said. “We did the same thing at the school. We had people prepare mass amounts of the same kinds of food for each meal and then dish it out to the residents. That way everyone was fed and we didn’t waste anything. It’s hard to find large enough portions of stuff, but we got creative and did our best. We ate a lot of powdered stuff, and homemade toast was always popular since there always seemed to be sacks of flour left at every store we went to.”

  Allen nods in agreement as we approach a large wooden building. “Yep, we find a lot of that kind of stuff. Sugar and flour. We make what we can. The people here understand that we’re doing our best, so they try not to complain too much. Mediocre food is better than no food, and most of them know what it’s like to go hungry.”

  Allen holds the door open and we file in one at a time, with him bringing up the rear. The inside is very plain with nothing but lots of mismatched tables and chairs. The walls and floors are just bare wood, aside from a bristled rug near the door to scrape off extra snow from our boots. I stomp my feet and follow Allen over to the very front of the room, where a buffet style counter has been set up, keeping food steaming hot for any late comers like our group and the people ahead of us.

  There’s a stack of clean plates and a container of silverware near the end. I grab a plate and spoon, waiting in line behind Aaron and the people in front of us to see what they have to offer. The first container is a tub full of baked beans that smell like the most wonderful thing ever, full of brown sugary goodness. A woman behind the buffet counter ladles a heaping spoonful onto our plates, ushering us down the counter.

  The next tub is full of thick and creamy looking cheesy potato soup. It’s the good stuff, not some cheap brand of soup. The potatoes are obviously fresh given that they’re not perfect uniform squares, and I’m sure they’ve been slow cooked in a mixture of cream of chicken soup and maybe some kind of cream. At least, that’s the way my mom used to make it, always after Easter with leftover ham chunks. Just the thought of her cooking brings a smile to my face, and I eagerly take a medium-sized plastic bowl from the se
cond lady behind the counter, placing it on my plate near the beans.

  At the end of the counter, there are a few trays with slices of fresh baked bread, and I grab a thick slice, along with a chocolate chip cookie. I glance back at Allen questioningly, and he smiles. “We find lots of sweetened condensed milk on the shelves, and one of the older ladies here said we could replace the butter with extra light olive oil, which also gets left behind quite a bit. So we always try to have some kind of treat available with dinner.”

  The food smells really good, and I bring my plate closer, inhaling it deeply.

  Allen chuckles. “I hope you like those baked beans, cause we have them a lot. Lots of baked beans, lots of soups made from stock with potatoes and other vegetables we’ve managed to grow, as well as lots of pasta. Not a popular thing for people to grab off the shelves in the beginning. When people got desperate, I’m sure it was okay for them to grab, but when you’re panicking and trying to grab what’ll be the most useful, you don’t think of pasta. Cause you have to grab the noodles, the sauces, and you have to know you’re gonna have water to boil, along with the pans to cook it all in.”

  “So you make a lot of spaghetti then?” Madison asks. I can practically see her mouth drooling at the very thought of it, and I smile.

  “Yep, lots of spaghetti noodles, and we have a few different types of sauces. Some are just plain old spaghetti sauce while others have like garlic and mushroom in them, while we’ve also found those creamy alfredo sauces, and cheese sauce. I’m pretty partial to the alfredo myself,” he says with a grin. “But it’s all pretty good, especially when the ladies in the kitchen make homemade garlic bread to go with it. It’s not restaurant quality,” he admits. “but it’s better than anything I could make on my own.”

  “Sounds like things are going pretty good for you,” Aaron says. “I’m glad you guys made it here safe and sound. You’re really thriving since the last time we saw you.”