“I’m sorry,” I whisper, clearing my throat as I notice that she has her first tear running down her perfect cheek in the scorching kiss of the sun. She doesn’t look away from the dead body on the ground. I feel a knot in my stomach. She’s not giving me any signs.
“Oh God,” her quivering voice causes my world to quake. “He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” I utter louder this time, but still hushed enough that I’m not sure she heard me. Beauty is a curse in this desolate world and the immediate impression of her beauty is wearing off on me. Bewitched for the moment, now I’m back to my senses. This woman is a threat. She has a gun and I killed someone important to her. “I’m sorry.”
“You killed him.” Another tear breaks the seal of her eyes and rolls down her left cheek, a diamond in the sunlight of her suffering. I don’t hold up my hands. I remain on my knees, looking at her with my scruffy, remorseless face. No apologies, I tell myself. I killed him because if I hadn’t, then I would be where he is now.
“I did,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
Okay, maybe I’ll apologize to her—but in the end, I regret nothing. Her shoulders shudder and she buckles forward, covering her face with her free hand as a sob ripples through her. I can hear her crying and I immediately look away in shame. Why is she doing this? Kill me and then cry. I don’t want to be here for this. She lowers her hand and blinks a few times, the twisted mask of sorrow on her face receding as she looks into the ether and then at me. She stares at me for a moment, strong, unyielding to her grief, but within an instant, it’s gone and she’s sobbing again.
“You killed him!” she cries in a heart-shattering wail of sorrow.
“Yes,” I say again.
“Why would you kill him?” She looks at me with her beautiful face ruined with grief. I feel for her.
“He attacked me,” I say cautiously, not wanting to turn her sorrow to rage. “He kept attacking me and I defended myself.”
“You were trying to break in,” she sobs.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was here,” I say again, slowly rising and holding my hands up. The knife is still on the ground where I left it. “I looked around for any signs that there were people living here and I don’t see any. I just came looking for a bottle to hold some water. When I went to search the cellar, your friend—“
“Jason,” she corrects my ignorance.
“Yes, Jason,” I nod and correct myself. “Well, Jason started hurting me with that crowbar and when I tried to get away, he refused to let me go. So we got in a fight and he didn’t survive. I’m sorry, but he didn’t give me a chance to explain myself. I didn’t want to kill him.”
“But you did,” she said, with tears running down her cheeks still. She looks at him with loving eyes and an expression of pure sorrow that makes me feel like I’m looking upon the face of a weeping cherub. “You killed him,” she says like a broken record.
“I know,” I say again. “Listen, I don’t want to hurt you and I’m alone, so there won’t be others coming for you. I’ll just turn around and leave. No one else needs to get hurt. I’ll just go my way and you can go your way.”
“Go where?” she wails, throwing up her arms, and I flinch as I see the gun move. God, please don’t shoot me, I want to scream. “What’s left of this damned place? What’s the point? Jason said we’d be okay, that we’d be safe and no one would think to look for us out here.” She looks at me as if she’s forgotten everything I’ve done. She looks at me as if I’m just a face in a bar that she’s talking to after a reasonably difficult day. She almost looks at me as if I’m a friend. It makes me feel sick. “This isn’t even our house.”
“Whose house is it?” I ask, trying to keep her talking. As long as she’s talking, she isn’t shooting me.
“My dad’s,” she says, wiping a tear from her eye as the hot wind picks up gently, tossing her golden hair freely. “Jason said he’d keep me safe, that we’d be fine. My parents were gone, though. I don’t know where they are.”
“Where did you guys come from?” I ask her, my hand shaking.
“Arizona,” she says quietly.
“I walked here from Lake Huron,” I tell her.
She looks at me with recognition. “That’s pretty far.” She breaks and starts crying again. If she didn’t have that damned gun, I’d reach out and hug her, she’s that sad and pitiful-looking standing next to her dead man.
“Yeah, I’m headed to Florida,” I say calmly, not sure why I’m telling her this. “I’ve got two daughters—a bit younger than you. I’m trying to get to them.” I hope that making her see me as a human makes her second guess anything that she’s thinking while she holds that pistol. She looks at me through red eyes.
“Jason drove the cars and tractor far away and walked back,” the girl says, trying to wipe her eyes again. “Or I’d let you have one, but I don’t have a car.”
“I don’t want your car,” I say. “I’m fine on my own. I’ll be just fine walking.”
“Florida sounds nice.” She looks at me with a soft smile on her lips. “I went to Miami for spring break a few times.”
“Yeah? They’re in Gainesville,” I say. “But it’s still nice.”
“I’ve been there.” She looks back at Jason and closes her eyes. “Go Gators.”
“Go Gators,” I nod. I take a step forward, hoping I might be sensing something. To be honest, it’s the loneliness that’s getting to me now. I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about companionship. Granted, the beauty of this woman makes me desire her presence even more, but just to have someone with me, someone to watch my back as we travel, it’s as precious to me as water has become. I know that she lost her Jason right now, and whatever capacity of a relationship that was, times have changed. Sorrow and grief have become things that are shoved deep down inside of us. We move on quicker. We have to. If we want to keep living, we have to keep moving. I’m afraid that if I leave her, she’s going to starve or wander into a city full of Zombies or cannibals. I don’t want her to die being eaten alive or raped and then served as barbecue. Maybe there’s a chance that she might come with me. Maybe if I can keep her alive, then she’ll one day understand why Jason had to die. I’m not saying forgive me, just understand. Besides, it was the least I could do to buy back my life from her hands. “Are you alone here?” I ask her. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she says. “Jason and I have been fine for a while now. We’ve been through a lot.”
“But will you be fine on your own?” I ask her.
“I don’t know,” she whispers.
“I only ask because I feel like I might owe it to you to help you,” I say hopefully. “I have to get to Florida and I’d be willing to make sure you’re safe before going. Or if you don’t want to be alone, you can come with me as far as you like, until you find somewhere else to call home.”
I realize how stupid I sound and stop talking. She is quiet, looking at me with a vacant expression on her face as the tears keep rolling, an incessant tide. Her eyes are swirling with thought and for a moment, I feel like the odds might swing in my favor. Maybe she will help me. Maybe she will give me a shot at being my traveling companion.
“I hope you find your girls,” she says as she stands there in her white top and white shorts. I wonder now why she’s wearing white. I haven’t seen white in ages. I haven’t seen white since before I left the university. Bathed in the golden sunlight, she looks like an angel. My hopes wither the way the world has and I look down at the knife in the pool of Jason’s drying blood. “I’m sorry Jason tried to kill you.”
“No apologizing, I understand.” I take a step back.
She lifts the revolver and points it directly at me and my hands slowly rise to meet the threat. My heart begins to pound and I feel a calm sense of understanding in my mind. I knew that this was how it was going to end before I even whispered that I was sorry. Vengeance is a very real and powerful force and it keeps the worl
d in balance.
“There’s nothing left,” she whispers before withdrawing the pistol and sticking the barrel in her mouth. Before I can say a word or comprehend that I’m not about to die, the pistol goes off. It is the sound of the world shattering. It is the explosion that ripples across the world that one of the last beautiful things in the world has died. The rose in the field of weeds has died and as I watch the gun fall from her hand and the beautiful woman fall flat on her back next to her Jason, I stare in utter disbelief at what I just witnessed.
“Oh Jesus,” I gasp as I stare at her body.
No thinking. No sorrow. No regrets. I reach down for my knife and quickly look around. The gunshot was so loud that suddenly I am filled with dread that someone might have heard it. I listen for a sound carried across the wasteland on the wind, but I hear nothing. I stand still, listening to the wind for little more than a minute before I rush over to the dead girl and pick up the revolver. I flip out the cylinder and look at the rounds.
One.
And she used it to kill herself.
“Selfish bitch!” I roar at her corpse before throwing the gun at the cute little barn. It bangs the side of the shed before bouncing back into the dirt and sends up a plume of dust that quickly chases the wind. “Come on, asshole,” I growl as I grab hold of Jason’s boots and drag him closer to me. His eyes staring up toward the clouds. “I hope she finds you in heaven, dick.” I push up his jeans and search his boots for anything that he might have been hiding. I find nothing and pat him down, searching every pocket before tossing him aside in anger.
I move to the girl and quickly pull off her shoes, feeling her smooth, hairless legs and feeling truly disgusting. But more importantly, what woman still shaves her legs in this nightmare of a world? I toss her shoes away after searching them and then reach up for her shorts, feeling the pockets. Searching her back pockets made me feel even worse than touching her legs and I step away in revulsion. It’s then that I notice the ring on her left hand and catch the sparkle of the diamond’s flashing light. My God, I realize. They were engaged. I look at them, two idiots. What were they thinking?
“Why not call out?” I shout at Jason. “Why not warn me and tell me to leave? You fucking moron!” I turn and look at the body of the beautiful woman. “And you! Why did you do that? Why?”
I can feel tears rolling down my cheeks as I shout at them. It’s not because there’s no bullets or that I just killed a man who actually sounded pretty decent, even if he was an idiot. It’s not that the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in ages just committed suicide in front of me rather than come with me and keep me from insanity. No, I know exactly where the tears are coming from. They’re coming from the fact that I’m a monster. They’re spewing out of the fountain of reality that tells me that I’m the reason why both of these people are dead. Jason was defending his home and his woman who undoubtedly was always at risk of being raped and murdered, of drawing attention to them in this new world. He was defending her from some stranger and I can’t blame him for that. But instead of trying to explain myself or backing down, I’d killed him. I could have cut his arm or punched him in the face or done a number of things, but I chose to kill him. I chose to stick my knife in him and gut him. Now, this girl and Jason were dead. All because of me.
No regrets?
I step away from them, my stomach twisting with pain and disgust at what has happened. “Fuck me,” I whisper to myself before turning and looking at the gaping mouth of the cellar, the source of all of this. The source of my interest. I try and forget about the two dead people outside and I think about the well a mile away. Slowly I descend into the cellar, looking for bottles to get me to Florida.
Chapter Twelve
The cellar is cold, as if it knows that I’m the one who killed its dwellers. I take careful steps, listening for the sounds of anyone else in the darkness, but all I can hear is the ringing of the gunshot echoing across the wasteland. I shiver at the thought of it. Just seconds ago, I had been talking to someone. Talking! I haven’t spoken to anyone in months and she seemed really nice—sweet and innocent. I hardly knew her, but I felt like I’d lost the last beautiful, civilized person in the world. I try to shake it off, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It hangs about me like a millstone tied around my neck. I step into the darkness a little deeper and realize that the light coming through the doors isn’t the only light inside this thick darkness.
There’s a lantern in the corner of the basement and there’s another half a dozen candles scattered throughout. They’re placed in glass bowls that I reach out to touch but discover that they’re actually made out of a thick plastic. Smart. In the corner of the basement is a sort of makeshift bedroom that I assume they’d been using. I look at the old dresser they’d placed next to the bed and the pictures of each other they had sitting on the dresser and nightstand. Most of them were engagement photos and I look at them with a disgusting, churning in my stomach. Part of me was glad that they were still together, but mostly, I felt sick.
As for the rest of the cellar. There was a lot that I could use. This was a farmhouse and a nice one at that. The wall was stocked with tools used for all sorts of tasks. There were yard tools, basic construction tools, welding, painting, and even automobile tools. It looked as if Jason was set to build a New Jerusalem here if he wanted to. I think about taking a shovel or a hoe with me, to use as a long distance weapon, but I figure that it would be cumbersome. I had abandoned my rebar when I fled the subdivision and in hindsight, I was smart. There is no way I would have dragged that with me across the wasteland and still have it. I discard the idea of taking a shovel with me and continue searching in hopes of finding ammunition. I find nothing.
There are rolls of clear plastic, windows, and wood enough to build another one of the sheds. There is a stack of drywall and buckets of paint and nails. None of it is readily useful to me, but it did make me wonder what it was that Jason was planning. I seriously doubt that it was the girl who had been plotting all of this. A corkboard by the wall has a map of the area and as I suspected, I am closer to Dayton that I had anticipated.
There are dozens of blue pins all around Dayton as well as green pins. I look at the board with a furrowed brow, not sure what any of them mean. They all are spread out in strange clusters, but obviously they had been important to Jason. I ignore my cramping stomach as I look down at the table in front of the corkboard, looking at the phone book that is flipped open to construction supplies. I look at the map once more and see that there are several locations to the north of Dayton that are marked with black pins. Other locations are marked with red. Jason had been scouting and searching for supplies, but construction supplies confused me. With the phone book, there are dozens of papers with numbers scribbled out, some of them are marked in liters and gallons, others in weight increments.
I abandon the madness of that board and table and turn my gaze toward the stairs. I found nothing that seemed overly useful for a journey. As a safe house, this place is well stocked and ready for expansion. Part of me wonders if Jason is hiding everything of value. Maybe he built a little hidey-hole to put his ammunition and valuables in. As I take the stairs, I look back at the cellar doors. I stop ascending the stairs and decide that a smart man would shut those doors. Deciding that I’m a smart man, I walk across the basement and pull the doors shut. I notice that one of the doors has a sliding bar and I shake my head in disappointment. Why not lock the cellar door, Jason? Why not save yourself?
Up the stairs, I push open the door and step out into a warmly lit house that is full of sunlight that is filtered through glass and lacy, thin curtains. I’m in a hallway that leads away from the front door. As I step into the house, I’m reminded of the past, almost wanting to call out to see if anyone is here. I listen for breathing, motionless and only hearing my heartbeat as I wait for someone to make a sound. The girl had said that they were alone. I don’t know why I doubt her. Slowly I close the door and turn around to l
ook at the door. There is no door. It’s just part of the wall. I stare at the wall in disbelief. Jason had been a very busy boy. I trace the wall from one end to the other, noticing how seamlessly Jason had built the new wall to make it look as if there was no door. Clearly I had stumbled across him before he could do something about the cellar doors.
The house has not been tossed. In fact, it looks as if someone has been living happily here since the Panic, unaware of what was happening in the outside world. Everything was dusted and cleaned, the carpet was even well taken care of. I walk into the living room and sit down on a large, overstuffed sofa and look at where the flat screen sits on the wall and try to imagine what Sunday football must have been like in this house. I look at the photographs on the small table and lamp next to the sofa where I see the girl and her parents with two other girls that I assume to be her sisters. I wonder where they are now. Are they alive? Her parents had disappeared, probably following the Quarantine orders to seek sanctuary elsewhere.
I think about Jason and his girl, wondering why they came here. I had heard rumors, nothing more, of the Southwest being the last holdout. For ages, civilizations and animals had lived in hostile, devastating environments and had adapted and learned how to survive. I think it was Port Huron who had spoken about this once. It was talk about how the people of New Mexico, Arizona, Southern Utah, and southern Nevada were in the best condition, as was southern Texas. Of course, if they were doing well, then that probably meant that most of the West had headed to sanctuary in the dry, arid deserts they’d once mocked. So what brought Jason and his girl here? Was it truly just a desire to be with family?
LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series Page 10
