Dead Lez Walking

by G. Benson

  “Great, thanks.”

  He went to the sink to wash his hands again, and Taren slipped out the front door.

  The cooler night air hit her, and she sucked it in. The whirring of helicopters made her look up. Several were flying overhead, beams tracing in all directions. One ran straight over her street, down the middle, and over a speaker, a tinny voice rang out.

  “Stay inside your homes. Do not leave.”

  She froze on her front step, half expecting to be shot at for standing there, the sound of it in her ear, like it had been when they’d shot at Joy, Xin, and her in the staff room. The way the cement near their heads had exploded. She clutched the keys, unable to move, heart pounding—but the light kept moving down the street, the tinny voice repeating, and soon it was gone, the sound of helicopters further away.

  Left in the aftermath, Taren shivered, suddenly sweaty. Pain registered in her palm, and she relaxed her grip on the sharp keys.

  Medications.

  Xin.

  She grabbed the bag quickly, locking the car behind her.

  On the street, the sounds of doors opening and closing rebounded in the wake of the helicopter.

  Voices shouted over a fence, and Taren wanted to shush them. To warn them of what could happen if that helicopter came back.

  “You said exploded?” one of the voices hissed.

  “Yeah, like boom. Neighbours behind us have a radio they mess about with. A whole bunch of people are on it—truckers, survivalists. The hospital not far from us went up. Something about the virus.”

  “No shit? So they’re lying, there is a reason to bloody panic.”

  She had to stop herself running back inside, feeling as if a target were on her back and that someone had their sights trained on it.

  She went quickly anyway, their words trailing behind her and the bag clutched to her front.

  Joy

  2135

  The smell of onion was cloying, and Joy just wanted to go home. To lie on her bed, pull the blanket over herself, wake up tomorrow, and realise she’d had an incredibly vivid, horrendous nightmare. Maybe make herself a therapy appointment because none of this was okay.

  But instead, she felt too real, too connected to reality. The chair was painfully hard under her, the smells too vivid, Scott and Raj’s bonding over cooking too loud. Raj had pushed their offer of fixing up his nose until after the food was ready. Joy had just left him to it; he was clearly wanting to keep busy.

  Ro cocked their head at her. “You okay?”

  The practically-a-child was checking on her. Clearly Joy’s entire spiral was painted all over her face.

  “Fine. And you?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” They scratched at the bandage on their arm. “It’s starting to sting again.”

  “All the adrenaline’s worn off. We can get you some more pain relief.”

  “I guess.”

  Their gaze roamed around the room, watched Scott and Raj cook, flicking to the fridge next to them. It was covered in photos of Taren and the woman who must be her cousin, of trips and selfies and moments in their lives. All of that felt very far away. Lola and Taren looked a lot alike. Lola had a large white patch of skin over her nose and cheek, and Joy wondered if that was the only way anyone could tell them apart as kids. Taren had mentioned on their date that people had often thought they were twins when they were growing up. That their fathers were twins, who’d emigrated from Zimbabwe together. Who’d both married Danish-Australian cousins. Apparently, Lola and Taren would tell everyone at school they were sisters.

  Joy had thought it all adorable. Had wanted to meet Lola.

  For Taren, Joy desperately hoped Lola was okay.

  Ro’s roaming gaze fell back to Joy. “Do you think it’s really over?”

  “Yes.” Joy said the word without thinking. Without letting that question sink any deeper. With no consideration. Because there was no alternative. There couldn’t be. “I do.”

  “You’re so sure? You were arguing for bringing the supplies in case it wasn’t over.”

  Taren appeared and Joy watched her snatch the keys from Scott in mid-air, watched her walk outside. The urge to follow her almost had Joy rising to her feet.

  “Joy?” Joy snapped her head back around to look at Ro. “You’re so sure?”

  No. But she needed to pretend she was right then.

  “Yes.”

  “But…how? How are you so sure? The outbreak didn’t start in the hospital. And wasn’t contained to just the lab guys, people turned on the wards. What if it had already spread? How do we know?”

  They didn’t.

  “We don’t know how it spread in the hospital. We don’t know anything. But they were on top of it before it even reached the hospital.” Joy’s fingers clenched around the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. Scott and Raj kept cooking, murmuring to each other, paying them no attention. Joy suddenly wished she had followed Taren out. “I’m sure it’s fine. We’ll be on lockdown or something for a few days and then life will go back to normal.”

  Ro pressed their lips together, watching her for a second. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Will your family be worried?”

  Ro swallowed then, gaze flitting restlessly around the room. “No. I’ve been on my own for a while.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “It is what it is.” They brightened. “I have a sister though, in foster care. I get to see her a bit.” Their face fell. “I just hope she’s okay.”

  Joy wasn’t good at comforting. Instead, she simply said, “Me too.”

  “What about your family?”

  “They’re all from up north, near Broome. They should be fine.”

  Guilt roiled in her gut. How long since she’d called her mum and dad? Her sister? When she’d first moved to Perth, they’d chatted several times a week. Over the years, they all adjusted to the fact that Joy lived far away, and contact was less. When they all got together, it was like no time had passed. But she should have tried more.

  What if—

  No.

  “I think I’ll take that shower, since no one’s in Taren’s.” The chair scraped as she stood up, fingers shaking. No thinking. A shower. That’s what she needed.

  She wandered down the hall, the sounds outside scarcely reaching her—a car engine, a door slamming. Helicopters. She didn’t want to think about all that, right then. She wanted a shower.

  Glancing into the lounge room, she saw Taren was back inside and had her back to her, drawing up morphine for Xin. She’d already set up an IV, a bag of fluids hanging on a coat rack Taren had dragged over. Xin was sitting up, pale, and gave her a tiny smile as Joy wiggled her fingers at her and kept walking. The sound of the shower filtered through a closed door—Natalie must still be in it. Then she took the door on the left and found herself in Taren’s room.

  It was so ordinary. A bedroom. Clean, mostly organised. Some leggings thrown over a chair in the corner, the entire room smelling of Taren. A picture hung along one wall, a long panorama of a lush, green forest. She stepped closer to it, curious, and was right: Walpole, the Valley of the Giants. The green transfixed her for a long moment, the lushness of it overwhelming after the day she’d had. All the red.

  Blinking, she pushed that all away again. None of that.

  Turning on her heel, her gaze swept the room again. Comfortable bed. Huge. And there, opposite her, a bathroom. The scent of Taren’s perfume was even stronger there, and Joy shut the door softly behind her, staring at herself in the mirror, the light in here harsh and far too bright.

  There were streaks of rusted blood on her cheeks, her eyes were red-rimmed, and there were hollows under them like she’d get after a long night on call, or back in her days at uni when she’d study all night rather than sleep. Her clothes were rank, and she peeled them off, kicking them into a ball in the corner. A basket under the sink held clean towels. She turned the spray on,
and either Natalie was out of the other shower now, or this house was blessed with the world’s best water pressure. It started steaming, and Joy stepped under the blast of it, tugging the glass door closed.

  It was bliss.

  Hot and with a pressure that stung her skin. She soaked her hair, the water tinged pink as it ran down the drain. The whiteness of the bottom of the shower made it brighter. That’s not what she wanted to see. She ran shampoo through her hair—twice. Rinsing it out and covering herself in soap until the water was clear.

  Only white on the bottom of the shower, now. She scrubbed her hands.

  Squeezed her eyes shut.

  The metal in her hand swinging at poor Alan.

  Her foot hitting a chest.

  The red, everywhere.

  She opened her eyes.

  It was over. It had to be over, or at least close to it. They’d all made it out. They were safe at Taren’s. The mess was being taken care of.

  She blinked at the wall.

  They’d all made it out.

  Not all. She sucked in a sharp breath at the thought. So many people left behind. Alan. Steve.

  There was a soft tapping at the door.

  “Joy?” Taren’s voice, super quiet. “You okay?”

  How did you even answer that? Was there even an answer? There wasn’t. Not for this.

  “I’m—I’m coming in.”

  The door creaked open, and through the steam, Taren appeared, the door closing behind her. Her gaze was on the ground.

  Joy stared straight at her.

  “Are you okay?” Taren asked the floor, her glasses steaming up.

  Again, Joy really didn’t know how to answer that. So she opened the door, stepped out, the air cool on her overheated skin, and stepped up to Taren. Whose eyes jumped up to hers, wide and staring, lips parting. Joy rested her hands on Taren’s hips, fingers bunching the tank top that was as dirty as Joy’s had been.

  “Can I?” she murmured.

  Taren nodded, gaze still locked on Joy’s.

  Joy tugged it over her head, then Taren’s hands were cupping her cheeks, pulling her forward and Taren was kissing her. It was softer than in the morgue, but just as desperate, as pulling. Compelling. Something in the kisses that wasn’t there the first night they’d spent together.

  What a waste of a few weeks she could have been kissing Taren.

  Joy’s fingers fumbled with her bra, and Taren tore away from her to tug down her pants and underwear, and Joy was pulling her into the shower, Taren dropping her glasses behind her on the sink.

  Normally, Joy didn’t like showering with someone. She liked the space of a shower, the time to decompress. But that time right now had only brought bad memories. With Taren here, Joy felt connected to now, and not hours ago.

  Joy could think about the way Taren’s lips parted and how she groaned when Joy massaged the shampoo Taren handed her into her hair. The way the water ran pink for her, too, and Joy ran soap over her body until it didn’t anymore. Instead of closing her eyes and hearing the sick sound of metal hitting skin, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to Taren’s throat, teeth grazing over the pounding of her pulse, lips sucking gently over her collarbone.

  Nails scratched gently but not so down Joy’s back before Taren was pushing Joy against the cool tile of the wall and pressing into her, wet skin sliding against her own, thigh sliding between hers with a thrust so well timed that Joy’s head threw back of its own accord and she hit her head on the wall in a most satisfying way. When this happened, Joy didn’t think of the dead reanimating or Owen’s last breaths and the way he’d pressed against the window at the door in that break room.

  She thought about the panting echoing off the wall and Taren’s hand over her mouth to quieten her. About the pressure building between her legs and coiling in her stomach, and the way Taren’s forehead pressed against her own, the smile on her lips bordering on a smirk.

  Thinking of the two of them, in this tiny space, was all-encompassing and when they finally turned the shower off and wrapped themselves in towels, Joy felt like an entirely different person had entered that shower before.

  “Want to talk?” Taren asked, leaning against the sink and wrapped only in a towel. She’d grumbled that her hair wouldn’t be dry for hours, now.

  “Not particularly,” Joy said, leaning next to her so they were pressed together along one side. “But we can, if you need to. About today.”

  Taren made a face so disgusted Joy barked a laugh. At the sound, Taren’s face transformed into a smile. Their faces were inches from each other, and Taren leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Joy’s lips in the softest of ways.

  “I didn’t mean talk about today,” Taren murmured. “I meant about this.”

  Joy’s own expression twisted and Taren laughed this time.

  “Or not,” Taren said.

  The tone of her voice was breezy, but her gaze slid away and panic crept up Joy’s spine. Her hand shot up and before she knew it, her fingers were against Taren’s chin, gently pulling her gaze back.

  “We can talk about that,” Joy said earnestly.

  Taren blinked at her, lips tugging up. “Okay. So, is this a…a thing?” She made a face again, the muscles tugging under Joy’s fingers. “We just survived a horror show and I’m asking if you want to go steady.”

  Joy chuckled, then froze. “That’s what you’re asking?”

  Taren swallowed audibly in the too-quiet bathroom. “I mean, yes and no. You disappeared. And then today it’s very obvious there’s still something here.”

  “I w-was an idiot. And I was scared and I’m so stubbornly independent I had to figure out how to deal with it and couldn’t cope with the idea of someone needing me, or me needing someone.”

  “Joy. Joy.” Taren raised her eyebrows. “I’m a nurse and you thought I’d be freaked out about type one diabetes?”

  “It’s not that, at all. It was…me, being scared to need someone. That if you helped me figure it all out, that I’d be reliant on you. And then what if you left? Or we fell apart? And I was relying on you.”

  “Wow,” Taren said. Joy’s thumb brushed against the corner of her lips. “You think a lot.”

  Joy huffed a laugh, and Taren’s lips pressed against her thumb, sending an echoing thrill down her back reminiscent of what they’d done in the shower. “I’ve been told that.”

  “Well, now we’re bonded after our traumatising and adrenaline-filled experience.” Taren smiled. “So you’re stuck with me.”

  “Aren’t relationships formed during those times doomed to fail, since the relationship can never replicate the catalyst?”

  “Ah, except you forget. We started before. So, we’re in with a shot.”

  Brushing her thumb gently over Taren’s cheek, the skin soft and warm, Joy murmured, “I think you may be right.”

  “I usually am.”

  Joy snorted again.

  Scott

  Something’s happening

  They ate spaghetti, crammed in Taren’s lounge room. Xin managed to wake up enough to get some down, and she looked up at Scott with a smile and told him it was delicious, and he didn’t want to say that Raj was the one who’d made it taste so great.

  But he said it anyway, and Raj shook his head from the other side of the room, nose in some kind of splint Natalie had helped him with, the plasters and gauze bright white.

  They could have fit more comfortably spread between the kitchen and here, but it seemed like none of them really wanted to be separated at the moment. Joy and Taren joined them later, and Natalie rolled her eyes at them. Scott’s cheeks warmed and he looked down at the plate balanced on his knees.

  They’d all managed to grab a shower in the time it had taken the two of them to come out.

  Subtle.

  The sound of helicopters wasn’t abating. With the spaghetti sauce bubbling away on the stove and Raj off for a shower, Scott had exami
ned the street through the kitchen window. The road was not still anymore. Lights had been on, people crossing the street to their neighbours’ houses.

  “There’re more bloody helicopters each time,” Natalie muttered, twirling her fork in her spaghetti. She was in a pair of trackies and a hoody of Taren’s cousin’s.

  Scott stretched his back out, wishing he could have left his binder on. Being surrounded by so many people he didn’t really know made him a bit twitchy, but he’d been wearing it since six a.m. and his ribs needed a break.

  “Sounds like there’re at least three now,” he muttered.

  They all stared up at the ceiling as if they could see through it, hands frozen over plates or on their way to their mouths as they listened intently.

  “Is that engines? Cars and the like?” Natalie asked.

  Standing, Scott dumped his half-finished plate on the coffee table and went to the window, pulling the curtain back to stare outside. It wasn’t hectic, nothing like people rioting or leaving en masse. But some houses had people piling more belongings into cars. A car pulled out and drove down the road, parents in front, two kids in the back. One of the kids, eyes wide, stared out the car window to watch Scott the entire time they drove past until all he could see was the back of the car, then the indicator as they turned at the end of the road. “People are going places.”

  Taren grabbed a remote from the coffee table and turned the TV on that hung on the wall.

  The same message. No change.

  “But that’s definitely cars moving.” Ro’s leg was bouncing on the spot, hand flapping at their side. “They’re not meant to be.”

  “When I was out there earlier, someone was shouting about hearing about the hospital being bombed to a neighbour.” Taren moved her fork around her plate, shifting the food about and staring down at it.

  “How’d they hear about it?” Scott turned away, keeping the curtain pulled open.

  People could have heard the bombs, definitely. But to know specifics?

  “They said their neighbour had a radio, and there was a network going on with information.”