“Where are the others?” the Second Man shouts down.
“I don’t know, I’m alone,” I shout up at him. “Are Lexi and Val Duwain here? I’m their father.”
“Say one more god damn word and you’re dead, mother fucker,” the Watchman shouts at me at the top of his lungs. “What don’t you get about that, shit bird?”
Shit bird? That’s one that I haven’t heard for a while. I look at the two men, who strike me as the kind of men who shoot first and ask questions later. Maybe they need a sign of good favor. I listen as they mutter and mumble to each other. The ocean breeze picks up and there’s no way I can make out a single thing that they’re saying. The Second Man disappears and I’m left with Captain Trigger-Happy.
“I’ve got water, gas, and a truck full of MREs if you’re interested,” I say to the man. “I’m just looking for my daughters and I was told that they’re here.”
“I don’t give a shit who your daughters are,” the Watchman shouts again at me. “You say another god damn word and I’m going to put a bullet in your chest. You understand, asshole? Or do I need to speak slower?”
So close. I look at the man and feel what little blood I still have in my body start to boil. I’m so close my girls and I can’t get to them because this son of a bitch won’t listen to me. I wish I had my flare gun. I should have taken it out of the glove box. Then I could have shot this asshole in the face and found my girls later.
Truthfully, I can see why he’s so nervous. I’ve been through my own fair share of adversity and trials over the past months. I’ve seen things that have made me paranoid, hateful, and cruel. I ran over a man because I thought he might be trying to trick me and rob me. I’ve burnt an entire city down all around my enemies, killing an unknown number of innocents. Well, innocents might have been the wrong word for them, but if anyone understands, it’s that guy. I know the fear that plagues the hearts of men.
Suddenly, I can hear footsteps up on the deck and know that there are a lot of people out of sight. The Second Man approaches the railing with the Watchman. He’s taken off his helmet and is sporting a very messy comb-over. He looks down at me for a second.
“What did you say your name was, old man?” the Second Man shouts at me, climbing back down from the deck. Old man? Fuck you, kid. I’m not old. I can feel my blood boiling even more. If I was sweating, steam would be coming off my skin right now.
“Moses,” I shout with a sarcastic grin on my face. They’re not here. I understand now. I understand completely. I’ve made a mistake. Somewhere I made a mistake. The girls aren’t here. They’re at another house, but it looks like I’m not getting out of here. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll pass out and wake up again with this whole place infested with Zombies. “Look, I have food and water. Clearly, I’m at the wrong house. I’ll give you some of my supplies and I’ll be on my way. Just get that gun off of me.” I take a step toward the back of the truck, giving the Watchman an excellent opportunity to open fire on me. Grabbing the bullet-shredded flap, I throw it back to show them just how much I have and can share with them. That’s when I hear the gunshot.
The bullet knocks me against the truck with a loud bang and I feel the warmth spilling out over my chest. Fuck. It’s all I can think of right now as I slowly slide down the truck, feeling the warmth of the blood on my back as well. The asshole shot me. He really fucking shot me. My ass hits the sandy gravel and I look up at the deck. The Second Man is shoving the Watchman, shouting at him while a dozen people rush down the stairs. I can hear screams all around me and I hold up my hand. I’m unarmed. Don’t hurt me. I’m unarmed, you assholes. I can feel hands clawing all over me and I’m suddenly on my back, but I’m not lying on the ground. They’re carrying me. I look up and see that Tiffany is one of the people carrying me. No, not Tiffany. I’m dying. I’m imagining things.
“Lexi?” I mumble.
“I’m here, Daddy.” I feel her hand on my face and my heart fills with warmth. I can feel the tears burning in my eyelids, welling up, and my whole body shakes. I reach up and take her wrist, holding her and crying like the day she was born, sobbing in joy and absolute delight. Fuck it. Fuck it all. I made it. I made it to my Promised Land. I look at Lexi and feel them carrying me up the stairs. “Daddy, stay with us,” she orders me with a stern voice. There are tears in her eyes. “Make some room, damn it!” she screams angrily at everyone around her.
They set me on some kind of table and before I know it, someone is hugging me. I turn my head a little and take in a deep breath. Whoever is hugging me is sobbing hysterically, and as I breathe in the scent of the person who is holding me, I recognize it instantly. “Val,” I mutter through bloody lips. “Val, my baby. Val, I’ve missed you so much.”
“Daddy, you made it.” She leans back and I look into that precious, angelic face that I remember from the first time I held her. My heart is breaking. I can feel it. It’s shattering into a thousand broken shards and all the blood is flooding out. I am dying, but I am here. I have made it. “Daddy, I love you so much.”
“I know,” I smile faintly. “I love you too.”
“Daddy, it’s going to be alright,” Lexi speaks up as others are tearing at my clothes. They’re ripping at my shirt and trying to get to the bullet hole. They need pliers. They need lighter fluid. “Daddy, you’re going to be just fine.”
“Lexi, Val,” I push the hands away weakly. “My pack. There’s a map. Go to Dayton. Go to Jason’s house.” They look at me with tears running down their cheeks. Lexi is holding my ruined stump, glancing from it to me. I love them so much. I hold Val’s hand tightly, making sure that they hear me. They look at me with sad, horrified faces that this is what it’s come to. “Get everyone and go. Go to Dayton, find Jason’s house. He knew how to save us. He knew how to save the world. Girls, don’t give up. Save the world. You can do it.”
“Dayton, Daddy,” Val nods encouragingly, tears flowing down her cheeks as she leans in and kisses my cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you both,” I tell them. “I loved you more than anything.”
“I love you, Dad.” Lexi leans in and kisses my forehead.
I can feel death. The real death. The elusive bastard is near. I can feel God. I can feel whatever it is that controls the cosmos and the universe. I don’t care anymore. I don’t hate him or her or it. All I know is that I made it. I got to see my girls one last time before the end. I got to see them and hold their hands. I got to tell them about Dayton and Jason. God, I hope that they make it. I hope that they find the house and save the world. The world needs them. I look at their sweet, distraught faces again. I cannot imagine the sorrow and the despair. What have I done to them? I have shown up with enough food and gas to take them anywhere, only to die on their doorstep. I look at their darkening faces one last time, taking them in, drinking them in. They are so precious to me. So beautiful. They were worth every last agonizing second. They were worth it all. They were worth the years of loneliness and sadness. They were worth the march across the wasteland. They were worth the lives I’ve taken. If that earns me a place in hell, then so be it. But I don’t think God works like that. I don’t think he’s an asshole. I close my eyes.
Tiffany.
I’m home.
-End
LEFT ALIVE
Book Four
Chapter One
A relic from a world we all thought was gone lay bleeding on my dining room table, dying slowly from the bullet hole in his stomach. His eyes looked up at the ceiling, blinking and letting the emotion fade with every second. Honestly, I don’t know exactly what he saw. I don’t think anyone knows what the dying truly see.
I look at him, praying that sheer willpower is enough to keep the soul from leaving the body. I squeeze his hand, looking at his face, the face that looks like a grotesque caricature of the man I knew and loved so dearly. Everything had changed and for a second, everything was normal again. Seeing him had been enough for all the darkness to strip back
and the memories to become something more than absent thoughts, but tangible, real again. His grip is fading and I feel all that hope, all that love, slipping with him.
As his hand falls from mine, my father dies, for the second time in less than a year.
Devon doesn’t give up. I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but CPR won’t do a thing for a bullet wound to the stomach. I feel helpless. I feel like everything I’ve learned has left me right here to feel the sting of helplessness at its most bitter moment. Three years training to be a veterinarian. Three years of learning how to save lives and I’m left without a single thing to help my father.
It’s hell, standing here, watching Devon frantically trying to breathe life into a man who is already dead. Skye has her hands clamped down on my father’s stomach, where the bullet wound has slowed its relentless bleeding. I look at him, not sure how I’m supposed to feel right now. How am I supposed to feel about seeing a dead man? How am I supposed to feel about watching a dead man die again?
“I’m so sorry,” Henry whispers again and again. “I’m so sorry, girls. I’m sorry. Oh God, please forgive me. Please, forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
I barely hear a word that he’s saying. I barely hear anything other than my own pounding heart. It’s not fast, just powerful. Each thump resonates inside of me as I look at my father’s face. It’s not the face I remember. It’s not the smiling, strong, happy face that I used to remember. The quiet sadness in his eyes is gone. It’s dried up, evaporated. Everything about him is gone. I look at him, trying to remember what it was he’d said.
“I’m sorry, girls,” Henry cries again.
There’s blood all over the table. Henry didn’t put a bullet in him. He put a bullet through him. My father was a dead man before he even slammed into the side of his truck, before he even felt the bullet pass through him. I look across the room, at the other side of the table where Lexi is dealing with the situation the same way she deals with every situation. I can barely hear her screams, her shrieking in rage as she fights against Noah who has his arms wrapped around her, holding her back.
There’s blood all over her hands, smeared across her face as she screams for our father to wake up, to open his eyes. I’m suddenly very aware of how cold I feel, of the drying blood on my hands. It hits me that this is the blood of my father. This is my father’s blood all over my hands. I blink and suddenly I’m hurtled back into the fray of the situation.
Lexi screams and shrieks at Henry, Noah shouts for her to calm down. Katrina in the distance is muttering a prayer while Marko wraps his arm around her. Greg is standing next to me, stunned, baffled by what’s just happened here. Henry, muttering his incessant apologies, begins pacing back and forth, shaking his head. Devon shouts at my father’s corpse, to hang on, not to die on him. Skye slowly starts to come to the realization that I came to well before now. My father is dead. There’s nothing we can do about it. He’s gone. I step toward my father, his eyes half open on a table soiled with his blood. I give Devon a gentle push, strong enough to get him to quit, but soft enough not to offend him.
I look down at my father’s face. His worn, tired face. Bending down, with tears in my eyes, I kiss his cheek. It’s cold, weathered, like saddle leather. Gently, I close his eyes and listen as the madness all around me continues. I’m a buoy, drifting on the current of so much emotion that it’s making me nauseous.
This morning I woke up, used to the world around me. Used to what we call normal now. I never expected this. I never even asked for this. Pretty much everyone else in this house had prayed fervently for God to give them back their families, their friends, their girlfriends or boyfriends. Everyone had muttered that prayer except for me.
My father was always a strong man. He had to be. It wasn’t in his nature to be weak or to cower under the pressure of the world around him. I remember quietly sneaking up the stairs when I was little and seeing him sitting on the bed, his back to me as I crept. I was going to surprise him, sneak up on him and shout “Surprise!” just to see his face. But as I crept closer and closer to his room, I noticed that his back was shaking, that he was crying. His face was in his hands, broken and miserable. My father hated life. It was a curse, a shackle that tore him away from Mom. I understood that then. I understood what was the true strength of my father, watching him cry when he thought no one was looking. So much hurt, so much sorrow, and yet, every morning he put on a smile and made us pancakes that looked like Mickey Mouse or scrambled eggs and sausage. That was the kind of man my father was. What he was doing here, on my table, was beyond me. I don’t think he would even have an answer for this, not one that I or any child could understand. It would have to be an answer that only parents could comprehend.
I look over at Lexi while she’s screaming for our father to rise up, to push himself off the table and to come back to the world of the living. Lexi was always the rebellious one. She was always the one who my father had to keep his eye on. But even as long as he had kept an eye on her, I was keeping it on her longer.
He didn’t know about the shadow dance she played with all of us. He was blind to the sneaking out, the parties, the making out with boyfriends in the backyard while we were all supposed to be asleep. I love Lexi, but she treated our father like an unwanted sentinel. As she screams now, tears burning down her face, I can’t help but wonder where was this emotion when he was alive. Her face is streaked red with blood, like some sort of Apache raider or Nordic pirate. Noah, her current and probably last fling, is fighting an uphill battle trying to get her emotions under control.
Noah isn’t going to last. Not just due to the circumstances globally, but because my sister has a habit of chewing up and spitting out nice guys because she doesn’t have a clue who she is. She found Noah with more Red Bull in his system than water, behind a video game monitor at some party she shouldn’t have been at and now they’re together. I look at him, holding her as she fights against him with everything she has and I can’t help but see in his panicked eyes that he’s good. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, even if he does try to hide it.
“I’m so sorry, Valerie.” Henry tries to put a hand on my shoulder.
I swat it away immediately.
I won’t let him touch me. I won’t even let him speak to me. I look over my shoulder, glaring at him. We put that rifle in his hand, put him up on the balcony in the riot gear because we thought we could trust him. We’ve had a standing policy with anyone who finds us that we don’t shoot until necessary. It’s the difference between us and the millions of psychopaths that are roaming the world right now, killing for supplies. We made that pact and Henry had broken it. I look at him and wonder why we even brought him with us. He has absolutely nothing in common with the rest of us, never did. His face is red, boiling with emotion as he takes a step back from me, his hand still put out like he’s consoling some sort of ghost.
“Come on, babe,” Greg says, taking my bloodstained hand. “You don’t need to see this.”
My rock. My sanity. My anchor. I look at Greg. It’s the first time in three years I’ve seen Greg with hair longer than a millimeter. It’s grown out long enough now that he’s pulled it back in a knot. I asked him why he didn’t just do a ponytail, but he tells me that it looks cooler. He said he feels like a samurai. I look at his eyes, full of concern and worry and I wonder who he thinks he’s talking to. There are no tears in my eyes anymore. It was harder when he was alive. It was harder seeing him suffer, witnessing the love he had for me and my sister shining through like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. That was just like my father. He was always like that. I look at Greg though, and I wonder if he thinks I’m like Lexi, shattered and broken by this. I’m not. I don’t know what I am.
“That’s my father,” I tell him.
He looks at me somberly, nodding as if he understands.
“No,” I say sternly, “you don’t get it.” I tell him, “That’s my father, Greg.”
“I know,” Greg says
. He was there. He was next to Henry, trying to get everyone on the same page before Henry went crazy and blew a hole through my father’s stomach. From what Henry has been incoherently babbling about for the past twenty minutes, my father had been shouting at them, telling them that he was our father, that he wanted to know if we were here. From what Greg says, he said that he was willing to leave supplies with us and go about his business if we weren’t here. I shake my head. That’s my father, the negotiator, the rational man of the apocalypse.
When he started going to the back of the truck, that’s when Henry had shot him. He put a hole through him, slamming him against the truck, where he slid down into the mud, just as I was coming out of the house. Thinking back, why the hell didn’t I stop what I was doing the moment Greg called for us? Why did I play skeptic, looking at him with a perplexed expression on my face? Why didn’t I just go? Why was I so baffled and bewildered that he’d pull such a stupid, strange prank on me? When did Greg ever do something like that? But when I saw him, it took a moment to comprehend everything that was happening at once. My father was returning to me, into my life like some sort of mythical figure, but dying in the process. I was simultaneously reclaiming and losing everything I had in my past. All because Henry was too fucking trigger-happy.
“No, Greg,” I say to him. Lexi is still shrieking and I turn, staring at her with a cold, unforgiving expression on my face. “Shut up, Lexi,” I shout over her screams. She stops almost immediately, looking at me with venom in her cerulean eyes. “Enough,” I say more gently this time. “He’s gone.” She stares at me with a horrified, disgusted expression on her face and I can barely stand the sight of it. How dare she look at me like I’ve just turned my back on my father? I look away from her and stare at Greg. “My father was in Michigan, Greg. The last time I spoke to my father, he was heading straight for Lake Huron. How in the hell did my father end up on my doorstep?” I turn and look at Henry with fire and malice in my eyes. “And why in the hell did you kill him?”
LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series Page 49
