by Bella Street
“Is he breathing?” Gareth asked from across the room.
The friend pressed his head to his heart at the same time Malone swore. Seffy leaned forward, her own heart skipping several beats. Please just be passed out. Please.
“Oh, my God,” Addy said in a hushed voice.
Malone lifted Clay's leg, revealing a livid, oozing bite mark on the ankle. Seffy sank back against the couch, a numbness stealing over her mind.
“Bitten,” Malone declared. “The SOB lied.”
“What does that mean?” cried one of the girls.
“Son of a—”
“No, the bite!”
Malone stood up and swept them all with a harsh look. “Your friend is dead. And, if we don't act fast, he'll turn into a zombie.”
Chapter Eight
Someone screamed. Seffy didn't know who. Probably not her since she couldn't seem to pull air into her lungs. She stared at Clay's body. How could he be dead? She didn't even know him.
“You did this!”
Seffy looked up from the body to see the weedy guy pointing at her, his face mottled with rage.
“She didn't do it,” Malone snapped. “The boy was bitten. He was a dead man walking the whole time he was here.”
“God, Seffy, you must feel like—”
“Addy!” Gareth said, his voice hoarse. “Leave her alone! She has enough to worry about.”
Seffy put a hand to her head. Worry?
Gareth looked at Malone. “Well, I mean...there's a chance...” He looked back at Seffy, his brown eyes wide with horror.
A heavy silence settled upon the room. Seffy peeked at each person from under her lashes, trying to discern the reason for the sudden hush. Her friends were white-faced and stunned, their expressions matched by the dirty blond. The new girls looked confused and petulant at the same time. The weedy guy stared at her, appearing murderous. Heck, even Malone looked freaked.
Now I'm scared.
Seffy got to her feet, refusing to process what lay just on the edges of her consciousness. “Okay, everyone just calm down. Now, I'm really sorry about Clay. He was very...nice.” She drew air in through her nose, endeavoring to stay focused. “And I think we need to show him respect by not saying such awful things.” She looked at Malone. “Is there any way we can have a burial of some kind?”
Malone stared at her, his mien chilly. He glanced at the watch on his hand, then blew out a breath. “I'll take care of it.”
Seffy closed her eyes and lowered herself back onto the couch. Her stomach contracted but she tried to remain calm. No one spoke while Malone prepared to move the body. After a few minutes she heard the struggling breath of the men and knew Clay's body was being removed from the room. The door slammed shut. Soon, she heard muffled sobs.
After an hour of awkward silence, Malone, Gareth, and Clay's friends returned. Seffy watched them go into the kitchen and scrub their hands. Dark thoughts burgeoned, but she wrestled them to the back of her mind them and tried to think of something else that had nothing to do with the Gareth-awkwardness, or being in the wrong state, or...Clay germs. Seffy got up and approached the bathroom, aware her friends watched her every move.
Stepping over the wood fragments as she entered the bathroom, she opened the cabinet and found a bottle of disinfectant. Without giving thought to her actions, she found a washcloth and began to clean the bathroom, from the fixtures to the floor. Her movements made almost enough noise to block the hushed whispers filtering past the door. Almost.
“How long does it take?”
“When will we know for sure?”
“How does infection spread?”
“Through bites, which infect the blood.”
“What about through saliva?”
“Is is possible the alcohol neutralized the virus?”
“Have you ever seen a drunk zombie?”
“How can you tell the difference?”
“Guys, I think we have to prepare for the worst case scenario.”
“God, she is so dead.”
Seffy squeezed her eyes shut as her stomach roiled. Lifting the lid on the sparkling clean toilet, she threw up again.
***
“Um, that Seffy girl is on the floor.”
Trent stopped scratching the inside of his arm and looked over with dull eyes. The whiny brunette he'd arrived with was pointing at the bathroom door. The other females gasped. The guy with the over-sized hero complex rushed to the bathroom and wrenched open the door. Seffy was splayed on the floor, her skin tone matching the dingy white tiles, her salon blonde hair puddled around her head. A black dread filled him. He closed his eyes for a moment. Seffy. He tried to reconcile the girl with the name and failed. Who would name a kid that, anyway?
The hero scooped her up and took her to the couch, shadowed by the survivalist and the girls.
Trent swallowed hard. Is she dead? The thought went round and round in his fevered brain.
Hero looked up at him.
Did I say that out loud?
“Shut up,” Hero hissed.
He settled Seffy on the couch, then touched his fingers to her neck. Her eyes opened for a moment, before rolling back in her head and closing.
Not dead. Trent gazed at the arch of her throat, at the blue network of veins beneath the surface of her skin. If only he could hold still he might even see her pulse. Sweat stung his eyes. Will she die?
The survivalist cocked his gun and pointed it at Seffy.
Hero jumped to his feet. “Put that away!”
“It's only a matter of time,” the survivalist snapped. “If you can't deal with it, I will.”
“She's only unconscious,” Hero said in a furious undertone.
The gunman impaled him a hard look before retreating to his chair and laying the rifle over his lap, his finger twitching on the trigger.
Hero situated Seffy on the cushions, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest. A strange look of concern and disgust mingled in his expression, then he wiped his hands on his jeans. What did that mean? Her two friends crowded next to her, one of them sniffling.
“Is she going to be okay?” The brunette had spoken, tears standing in her blue eyes.
Wiping the perspiration from his face, Trent watched the small group, then turned his attention to Seffy. Her lifeless form made his chest tighten until his lungs had to labor for air.
“She's going to die, isn't she?” the redhead said, her eyes and voice flat.
“I don't know.” A muscle jumped in Hero's jaw.
“Why would she do this?” The brunette's face crumpled. “Hooking up with strangers just isn't like her.”
Hero looked at the redhead and a meaningful look passed between them. He shook his head, his voice low. “I thought she was over this crap.”
Flexing his arms to stop the infernal itching, Trent regarded Seffy. Bitterness washed over him, roiling his gut with nausea. She looked so pure, almost otherworldly. But apparently she wasn't. “She's not quite the angel she appears to be, is she?”
The three friends jerked their heads in his direction. “Shut up.” Hero said. “She's none of your concern.” Then he straightened. “What's your deal anyway?” His eyes narrowed. “Were you infected?”
“Now it's your turn to shut up, pal.” Trent's voice came out rusted and worn.
Hero's eyes widened. “Were you...also with her last night?”
He smirked. Some friends.
“What are you two whispering about over there?”
Hero glanced at the survivalist over his shoulder. “Looks like we might have another blood puppet.”
The survivalist got to his feet and crossed the room, assessing Trent with malice. “You're looking a little under the weather there, friend. Something you're not telling us?” He looked at Seffy's still form for a moment. “Something you got in common with this girl here?”
Trent backed up, adrenaline surging into his system. “Sorry to disappoint you, dude.”
The surviv
alist shoved the rifle at Hero. “Hold this on him while I search him.”
Hero took the rifle and pointed it at him.
“Hey! Get that out of my face!”
The survivalist forced him against the wall and began shoving up his sleeves.
Trent struggled, but weakness plagued his limbs. “Let go of me, you bastard!”
The survivalist ignored his protests and pulled the collar of his shirt down to check for bite marks.
Finally, Trent managed to push the man away. Once he was free, he tore off his shirt, rage giving him a burst of strength. “No bites, got it? You happy?”
The survivalist grabbed one of his arms for a better look. His expression shifted, then he snorted. “I want to see your legs.”
Trent unzipped his pants and yanked them off. When he was down to his boxers, he did a stripper's turn. “Seen enough?”
The survivalist turned and retrieved the gun. “Looks like you passed...for now.”
Trent began jerking his clothes back on, aware of every censuring look upon him.
Except for hers.
***
Seffy awoke, her cheek rubbed raw by the pebbled texture of the red couch. As soon as she took in her surroundings, she craved the blackness of unconsciousness. Every time she woke up to this reality it made the notion of escape all the more impossible. A hand touched her shoulder. She looked up to find Gareth gazing at her with concern-filled eyes.
And if she were perfectly honest, something else.
“How are you feeling?”
Seffy ignored the question. “How did I get here?”
“You passed out.”
She stifled a groan. She'd meant Montana in general. “How long have I been out?”
“About an hour.”
“Great.” She looked around the room. Lani leaned against Addison's shoulder where they sat in a couple of chairs. Most of the newcomers sat against the wall next to the door. Another one was standing, staring at her like she was a freak. Maybe she was. And Malone, he was cleaning his gun. “Oh, God.”
Gareth made an apologetic face. “Yeah, Malone thought you were dead and was watching the clock to see if you reanimated. But you woke up instead.”
“And that's good?”
“That's good.” His worried smile was almost convincing. “You're not one of them.”
“At least not yet.”
“Sef—”
“I heard you talking about...about saliva. Maybe the effect is just slower.”
“Don't worry, princess, I'll be watching for signs.” Malone sent her an evil smirk.
“You're going to be okay,” Lani said, tears running unhindered down her cheeks.
Addison's rigid face told Seffy at least one of her friends weren't so sure.
She struggled to sit up. Must rinse out mouth and brush teeth now.
Gareth pushed her back against the couch. “Relax. We're still trying to figure out what to do. The new people are getting antsy and now Malone is trying to sell us on the idea of heading to yet another 'safe house'.”
Seffy studied Gareth's features, feeling sad she had some responsibility for the strained lines around his mouth. “What do you think we should do?” she asked quietly.
“I don't know,” he said, sounding defeated. “If there are zombies outside, we are absolutely safer staying in a place like this.” His gaze implored her. “But we can't stay forever.”
Seffy bit her lip. “What if I...jeopardize that?”
He lowered his eyes but not before she caught the flash of fear.
“I'm so sorry,” she whispered.
He looked up, his expression set. “Don't.” Gareth stalked over over Malone. “It's time for a plan.”
Seffy saw Malone look at him before swiveling a look her way. He put down his gun rag and snapped the rifle shut with one hand. “I think we all know how this has to end. Sorry, babe. What a waste.”
Seffy tried to tune out his words. She went to the bathroom and washed her face. Her teeth were next. If this was it, at least she had freshened up. A sob boiled up in her throat, but she held it back with an effort.
“Suppose it doesn't happen,” Gareth was saying when she came out of the bathroom. “What then?”
Malone's heavy brows joined in a frown. “Well, these safe houses were only stocked for one person to survive for a time. There's ten of us. We'd have enough for two more days tops.”
“Where's the next safe house?”
Malone made a face. “About five miles north.”
“Five miles. And then what? Keep running from zombies?”
“Boy, you know as well as I do that we can't kill 'em all. The key to survival is simply to outlast them.”
“Outlast?” cried the blonde girl. “Why are we even here? Where's L.A.? This can't be happening!”
Gareth sent her a pitying look then turned back to Malone. “How many of these safe houses are there? Eventually they have to run out. What about supplies. How do we get more?”
Seffy watched Malone fidget with the rag as she lowered herself onto the couch. He pursed his lips. “There...is a place I know of. A place where we could stay long term.”
“So what's the problem with it?”
Malone shrugged. “It's about 7 miles away.”
“If it's so close, why didn't you mention it before?”
“Because he's lying about something.” Dirty Blond stood up, clenching and unclenching his fists, his eyes wild. “This guy is playing us.”
Malone scowled. “Hey, I been taking care of you all, asking nothing in return—”
“I doubt that.” Trent caught Seffy's eye then quickly looked away.
Seffy glanced at Lani to see how she was taking the response to Malone. Lani stared at her hands, her expression clouded.
Malone stood. “We can head to the second place, but take shelter in the first if need be.”
“What about her?”
Seffy looked at Clay's dark-haired friend, the awful truth beginning to sink in. Suddenly the room seemed to close in on her.
“Is she coming with us? I mean, that's kind of defeating the point, isn't it?”
Seffy leaned against the cushions, her head still spinning. “I need some fresh air. Are there any windows we could open?”
“Of course not!” Malone glared at her, then his face cleared. “But you could step outside for a few minutes.”
Lani jumped up. “What? She can't go outside!”
The need to get outside and breathe became paramount. Seffy addressed Malone. “Just for a minute, if it's safe.”
Malone grabbed his gun with alacrity. “I'll scout for you.” Before she could change her mind, he unlocked the door and eased it open, revealing a crack of dark pink sunlight. With his gun leading the way, he eased outside and shut the door behind him.
“You're going outside why?” Gareth said, aghast.
“Just to clear my head.”
“It's a good idea,” Clay's friend said.
Gareth turned to him. “Shut up.” He approached Seffy. “You don't need to be a martyr here. Outside is dangerous and there's still hope you'll pull through this.”
“Just for a little bit.”
“To clear your head,” he said.
“And...so the rest of you can talk.”
Gareth regarded her for a moment, before releasing a breath. “Yeah, I'd want a break from this, too.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Assuming Malone calls the all clear, there's nothing out there. Just the shelter. So you can see any...one coming.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice wobbling.
He leaned closer. “We buried Clay way over the hill. You won't need to see the grave or anything.”
Seffy chewed her lip and nodded. “Good.”
His brows raised a fraction. “Should I come out with you?”
“No. I'll be okay.”
Malone came back inside. “The coast is clear.” He held out the gun to her. “Just in case.”
&n
bsp; Seffy made a face. “I wouldn't even know how to use it.”
“You point and pull the trigger. It's already cocked.”
“How about I just come back inside if there's a problem.”
“Take it, Seffy,” Gareth said. “I'll feel better.”
Seffy glanced at Addison, who avoided her gaze. She sighed. “Fine.” She accepted the gun which was an unfamiliar heft in her hand. Holding it over her shoulder like a soldier she headed for the door. Malone sprang ahead and opened it, scanning the scene before letting her out. Every eye bored into her back. She could feel it, under her skin. Or was that the disease taking effect? Oh God.
He smiled. “Aim for the head.”
She blinked. “Wow, thanks.”
The now-lavender sky and garish sun surprised her for a moment. Behind her the door clicked shut and she released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Spotting a large flat rock about ten feet from the door, she went over and sat down, setting the rifle on the ground next to her.
The sparkling red sand and hazy sky shimmered around her in absolute silence. No birds, no breeze, just the pathetic thudding of her heart. Seffy closed her eyes and struggled with the overload of events in her mind. Blast, shock, friends, memories, bitey people, Malone...Gareth...Clay. Her head pounded in time with her pulse as she plucked at the folds of the stupid dress she still wore.
How could I have blown it so bad? What is wrong with me? There must be something wrong with me.
She tried to remember how many days had passed since the blast. In West Hollywood she'd be planning for the weekend, shopping for the perfect outfit, spending too much on shoes, flirting with Gareth. Seffy felt a mantle of hopelessness settle upon her shoulders. Before she could control herself, a tsunami of tears overtook her. Seffy sagged with the weight of grief, trying to stem the moisture with the heels of her hands. Tears dribbled over her lips and down her chin. Every one represented a memory or a vain hope. Every one of them tasted like regret.
When the sobbing eased, she closed her stinging eyes and forced herself to think of something else.
But one's imminent-demise had a way of eclipsing the best of intentions.
When her hands began to shake again, she clasped her fingers together, keeping her back ramrod straight. After several minutes, she sucked in a lungful of air and was able to gain control of her emotions. Soon her breathing slowed and she forced her attention to the horizon, forced her mind to go blank. It worked...for a little while.
