Behind him, I can see more Zombies coming over the barricade. It’s a small trickle of two or three, but soon there are more and more, a surge of them coming for us. The question of the town is now answered and that mystery is laid to rest once and for all. The Zombie charges and takes my machete in his ribs, but the blade is locked in the bones and I can’t pull it free immediately. His hands go for my face and slam me into the hood and bumper of a coupe that knocks me on my back. Snapping jaws grow closer and closer as I try to dig at the Zombie with my bladed stump. I twist the machete, but it isn’t doing anything. This creature has way too much endurance. I can feel his blood on my waist and chest as he draws closer and closer. I can hear the other Zombies getting ever nearer, closing the distance between us. I growl through my teeth and give up trying to gut him. His teeth are just inches from my face and I do the only thing I can.
I slam my forehead into his nose, feeling the immediate gush of blood before my head smacks into his teeth. The sound of breaking teeth makes me want to throw up, but the force of the blow is enough to break the Zombie’s hold on me and I shove him back with my hand and stump. He’s bleeding from half a dozen wounds, but he still won’t die. Already, he’s trying to regain his focus, shaking his head to stop the dizziness. I take my chance and charge the bastard, slamming my stump into his chest with enough force that it nearly cripples me with pain. Slicing back and forth once the blade has pierced him, I can feel it ripping him apart on the inside. The snapping jaws cease and I toss the creature aside. I stumble forward and pull my machete from his ribs as Lindsay decapitates the last of the Zombies on top of her.
She’s bloody, scraped, and not looking too good; but she’s on her feet and stumbling toward me. She reaches down and scoops up her bow with a bloody arm. I grab her other arm and pull her back toward the ten gallon gas tank, running as quickly as I can and as fast as she can keep up with me. I can hear her whimpering and groaning against the pain, but we can’t stop. There are too many behind us and they see us coming. We reach the tank of gas and I let go of Lindsay to reach down and pick it up. I don’t waste time with the cap, I just keep running, checking to make sure that she’s behind me. I hear the hiss of an arrow and the hum of her bow.
“What the hell are you doing?” I shout at her. “Keep running!”
“There are too many.” She fires another arrow.
I rush back to her as she fires off a third arrow, hitting a third Zombie in the stomach. It does the trick, but just barely. Many of the Zombies stop to feast on the dead and dying brethren that are in the middle of the crowded street. I grab her arm and drag Lindsay through the maze of cars until we are running through the ashen forest, leaving Cartersville behind us. There’s a ripple of thunder overhead and I feel the first raindrop splatter against my forehead.
By the time we make it back to the truck, thick, fat, warm raindrops are falling all around us. Lindsay is holding her side and wheezing as she collapses against the side of the truck and holds herself up. I don’t know how much gas I got, but I quickly steal one of the other caps from the gas cans and fill the tank of the truck, adding the extra three gallons we still had. Lindsay is watching me, her eyes darting toward the west where Cartersville is waiting with its legion of horrors.
“That’s why we avoid towns,” I smile at her.
She smiles back and shakes her head. “Stupid of me,” she says.
“Just bad luck.” I raise my stump. “I know the feeling.”
She laughs before I toss her an old shirt and a bottle of water. We both go to work cleaning her up and thanks to the rain, we abandon the bottle of water and save it for another time. We’re soaked by the time we’re back in the truck and she dries herself off with an extra button-up shirt in her pack that she brought. Drying her wounds, we wrap them before I turn the keys in the ignition and we push south, leaving Cartersville behind us.
Chapter Thirteen
The deluge that comes with the storm is enough for me to already fear what might happen if we get caught in the wrong spot at the wrong time. All around the truck, farmland turns into muddy swamps and forces me to the road. Sloshing and roaring through the layer of water that is beginning to cover everything, I make for the 75 and weave my way between stalled and dead vehicles that have been left to rot for eternity. It is automotive hell all around us. Lightning flashes in angry long strikes that light up the dim world all around us and I know that we’re not going to make it if I slow down.
“Charlie, you’re gonna get us killed.” Lindsay braces herself, leaning back in her seat as she stares out the window at the world speeding by her. I saved her life, but I’m putting it at risk once more. I know she doesn’t understand, but she will. I narrowly miss a cement truck, clipping the mirror off of Lindsay’s door. She screams at the sound and looks at me with enraged eyes. “Charlie, slow the fuck down!”
“Can’t,” I tell her.
“Why not?” she demands.
“That’s why,” I nod ahead and she looks toward the road in front of us.
The blue line on the map is hardly noticeable, but I’ve been watching for them. What once was a reasonable river has now gorged and swollen in the growing rain to a genuine problem. There are boats and cars sticking out of the widening deluge that has turned dark brown in the growing swell of the now raging river. Luckily, the bridge for the interstate is still intact, but by the end of this storm, there won’t be any way onto the bridge with a truck. We swerve past another car and I scrape against the concrete barrier on the opposite side. The metal screams as I skin it. Lindsay screams again as we clip another car and race toward the other side.
The far side of the bridge is washing away and I can see the road ripping away on the other side one small chunk at a time. A thick, oily patch of water warns me that we’re in serious trouble if I don’t keep moving. I slam into the water, hydroplaning as the car swerves and I try to correct it. I crank the steering wheel into the slide as we slam into a red Honda and come to a generously safe stop. Lindsay looks at me with wide, horrified eyes, but we’re not through yet.
“Hold on, Lindsay,” I warn her as we push onward, whipping past cars, splashing through puddles and all the while, I can barely see out of the window as the wipers work overtime to give me the minimal vision that I do have. She screams every time I have a close call and I don’t think a minute passes where I don’t almost slam into something or I scrape one side of the car against another. The lake that we are following is expanding as the storm picks up its strength and begins to hammer the truck with more and more wind and rain. It feels like a dozen fire hoses are trained on us as we’re driving. Ahead of us, the blackened remains of trees are falling like dominoes and sliding into the muddy sludge that is coming toward the road. Lindsay points voicelessly at the collapsing trees and I nod to her. I don’t think she saw me, but it doesn’t matter. I floor it and press farther and faster, pushing through the sludge as quickly as I can before the trees start to jam the street.
The road is vanishing all around me and I don’t even care to see what else is happening outside our immediate surroundings. When this storm abates, I feel pity for anyone who ventures through Georgia. There are no more roads. Like Cortez’s ships, the way back is vanishing all around me. Every survivor that made camp is now risking a major flash flood. Part of me is hopeful that they’ll survive, but truthfully, they’re all going to die. I don’t see how anyone will be able to survive this.
We pass over another bridge and I give out a sigh. It’s barely holding together and the western side of the bridge’s onramp was beginning to sink under the rising waters all around it. There’s a band of people waving their hands outside of a crashed car, but I speed by them, not giving them a moment’s thought as I race toward the final and last bridge. I have to get us to safety. I have to get us out of here before we lose our road. I feel the car shudder and I look at the gas gauge. The fuel we found bought us only so much time. The marker is beyond the empty mark and I begi
n to feel fear. We’re less than a mile from the last bridge. I pump the gas again and feel the truck shudder.
“What’s happening?” Lindsay asks me.
“We’re on fumes again,” I tell her.
“Is that a problem?” she asks me.
“It is if we don’t make it over this last bridge,” I answer.
Cresting a small rise, we can see the bridge up ahead and I push the gas again as the truck shudders. The ramp is what scares me. I’m afraid that it’s going to stall the truck or take what little gas is left. There’s a sinking feeling inside of my stomach. As we reach the bridge, we splash through the growing current and begin to make our way up onto the great arch until the engine chokes and sputters one last time before going silent. We are stuck in a giant metal drum for the rain to beat on. I immediately throw the truck in park and look over at Lindsay.
“Grab your bag,” I tell her.
She doesn’t ask questions. She grabs her pack and I reach for mine, tossing it over my shoulder before reaching for the handle. Outside the truck feels like a hurricane, but there’s no time to think about it. I rush around the front of the truck and reach out for Lindsay’s hand. I take it and I feel a warmth that can only give me strength at this point. I can see her lips moving through the veil of pelting rain, but I don’t have a clue what it is she’s trying to say to me. I don’t lean closer to find out. I simply tug at her arm and rush across the bridge.
Splashing through the puddles and rivulets running across the bridge, we weave in and out the cars that I would have had to ram to get through. When we crest the bridge and can see the other side, I realize that our situation is growing more and dire with every second that passes. Running faster and faster, the road is getting slick from the runoff and the sludge that is created by the rain and the residue all over everything from the dust storms. At the bottom of the bridge, we come to a section of the road that is washed out. Again, Lindsay tries to shout something to me, but I can’t hear a word that she’s saying. Slowly, I step out into the swift current and my foot sinks up to my knee. Taking Lindsay’s hand, I take another step into the current, slowly pushing myself out into the growing gap. Concrete and asphalt are peeling away in chunks the size of my fist.
Lindsay wades into the water and carefully we push across the rift, taking it as slowly as we dare. My footing slips several times, but I catch myself before I’m carried off. I let go of Lindsay, who is more sure-footed than I am. If I slip, I don’t want to take her with me. I keep moving until I begin to climb and can grab onto the asphalt. It peels away rapidly, so I have to move quickly. My grip is pulled away and I cut my hand on the jagged rocks until I’m able to pull myself up onto the street. Getting a firm footing, I turn around and reach out for Lindsay who slips and almost disappears below the swift, brown current. I shout helplessly for her until she stabilizes on her own and reaches out for my hand. I grab her wrist and wrap my fingers around her before pulling her up as quickly as I can. When she reaches the solid part of the road, she wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. Around us, the world rumbles with the roll of thunder and the crack of lightning, but all I care about right now is that I’m not alone. She’s still here with me.
We no longer have the option of driving. Looking back, the ramp begins to peel away and soon, there’s a twenty foot drop from the bridge to the swift current. We won’t be able to go back for the truck. We’re on foot from now until we can find another vehicle that isn’t sucked dry and has the keys. Lindsay holds my hand as we walk. I’m not scared, but I can tell that she is. The rising waters are high enough that it covers our feet, but I know that it’s only a matter of finding a building with a high enough foundation or a second story. The storm won’t last forever and when it abates, I know that we’ll be alive.
I look at Lindsay for a moment, her drenched hair clinging to her face and the sag of her waterlogged clothes. I hate that I don’t love her. In the time that we’ve spent together, no matter how short it has been, I should. I’ve had sex with her. I’ve kissed her. I’ve slept cuddled with her. Everything that we’ve done should merit the emotion of love, but I don’t feel that toward her. I am an awful human being, because clearly she does love me. Clearly she cares enough for me to keep wading through this hellish world with me. She hasn’t asked a single thing from me and still I can’t even warm up enough to her so that I can actually, genuinely love her.
But I do care about her. That was without question. I could not have made it this far without her. It’s more than the fact that she’s saved my life. She’s saved my sanity. She’s given me someone to talk to in this vast emptiness of a world that is all around me and that is something that I cannot deny. I needed her and she was there for me. I needed to be reminded what humanity was because what it is right now is something that I never even dreamt of in my worst nightmares. I’m grateful for the chance to have someone to talk and laugh with before the end. I’m glad that she has the personality that she has and that she isn’t weak or a liability. I may not love her in the romantic sense, but I do respect her and I do need her.
Just a few short hours ago, she nearly died because I had been reckless with my most valuable asset and didn’t even question it. What had I been thinking? Was I so impatient to get to Florida that I was more than willing to risk the one person that I had watching my back? What the hell was I thinking, just letting her wander off on her own while I hunted for gas? She’s not some tool that I can just throw away. I hang my head in the rain as I think about how careless I’ve been with her. For as grateful as I am for her presence, I certainly don’t take care of her the way I should. Maybe it’s guilt, but maybe it’s something more than that. Maybe I do have something more inside of me than respect for her. I think I’ve come to feel that I owe it to myself to keep her safe and alive as well as I can. I don’t think it’s because I owe it to her, as a payment for the times she’s saved me, but because I can’t lose her. I can’t just leave her.
I could have left her. That was the point of the dagger in my mind right now. I could have just grabbed the gasoline and made a run for it while the five ate her. She would have screamed and drawn the others in on her and when she stopped, they would have ripped her apart, sucking the marrow from her bones while I made it to the truck and sped off on my own. If I didn’t care for her something deeper, I would have just left her there to die. I hope she realizes that. I hope she knows that I care about her. I’ve never told her and maybe I should, but right now, I hope that actions truly do speak louder than words.
I find a house with a foundation that comes up high enough that I think we’ll be safe. Lindsay draws her bow and nocks an arrow before we climb the concrete steps to the porch. I pull back the screen door and try the door handle. The windows are boarded up and I immediately hope that they’re quarantine survivors. It’s plywood on the windows, so it looks like they abandoned the house when they were told to. Those who fortify tend to use boards that are harder to pry off. I step back and kick the door solid, above the locks and can’t hear the frame cracking over the cacophony of the storm around us. The door doesn’t budge, so I give it another kick and with the second blow, the door swings wide open. I half expect a gunman to be waiting on the other side, but there’s no one. Gripping my machete, I enter first.
The interior of the house is all but empty. It’s musty and dank smelling, but it looks like the house has been relatively untouched since the owners abandoned it. We silently search every room before we take the time to snoop around. I walk to the kitchen where there’s a note on the counter from the government, stating that hoarding of food is a federal offense and punishable. Sure enough, whoever lived here had foolishly complied. There’s not a box or a can of food in the pantry or the cupboards. I can hear Lindsay in the other rooms, rooting and rummaging for anything that might be of use.
I take an old towel from the oven’s handle and wipe my face and hair. Taking the time, I kick off my boots and then my socks. I take off my
harness and knife, dropping it onto the counter before stripping down to nothing and wiping my drenched body with the towel. It’s soaked and filthy when I throw it into the empty sink. Turning around, I see Lindsay in the doorway grinning.
“You have a problem?” I ask her.
“Just admiring the view,” she whistles a cat call at me. I smile.
I don’t give her the time to come up with something smart or witty to say. I cross the room and grab her, planting a kiss on her puffy, split lip. I pull away for a moment and look her in the eyes. She’s full of confusion, but she’s definitely into it. She smiles sweetly, encouraging me to come at her again. I tangle my fingers into her wet hair and kiss her softly again. “Don’t you ever risk yourself like that again,” I tell her firmly. Her sweet smile melts away as she realizes that I am concerned for her. “You are not some piece of ass I fuck, Lindsay. You’re not some girl that saved my life. Don’t you ever needlessly risk your life on account of me or my journey again.”
“The whole world’s a risk,” she says quietly. “Every god damn thing we do, Charlie.” She pulls me close and kisses me passionately, her tongue caressing mine with fiery desire. My hands run over her body and I embrace the kiss, feeling her body tight against mine. She pulls away for a moment. “I love you, Charlie,” she says as she takes a step back.
I feel my whole body hollow with fear and horror at what she’s just said. She refuses to meet my gaze as she takes another step back, looking at my chest and then slowly working her eyes up to mine. She meets my gaze and holds me there, helpless and useless for a moment. She knows that I can’t say the words back to her and she doesn’t expect me to. Her eyes are apologetic—not to me, but to herself. Why should she feel sorry for what I’ve done? She’s a smart girl, always has been. She’s rough and worn and experienced in ways that I will never know. She knows a losing battle when she sees one. As she turns to walk away, she starts unbuttoning her shirt and carries it with her, wherever she’s going.
LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series Page 29
