Could things be better? Of course. But they could also be so much worse. At least we’ve figured out a way to keep them at a distance. At least the cabin’s safe. Even now, when I try to sleep, I can’t forget that long first night: the scratch of their fingers against the glass. Their moans as they pounded at the doors for us.
As the memories well inside, I feel my chest collapsing in on itself, the familiar fear beginning to choke me. My knuckles burn white I grip the ladder so hard. Robert must notice because he brushes his hand across mine as he drops down to the porch.
“Look,” he tells Lainey. “We agreed that our best move was to stay here.”
A look of desperation crosses her face. “But that was before,” she argues. “When we still thought there was a chance we’d be rescued.”
“We still could be,” Henry offers.
Lainey shakes her head, spinning to face him. “Don’t you think they’d have sent help if they could? It’s not like they wouldn’t be able to find us with all this smoke we’re sending up.”
Once again her question hangs in the air. “You’re acting like we have some sort of choice here,” she adds, almost in a plea. “Well, we don’t. We’re running out of fuel and that means we’re running out of time.” She chokes back a sob, tears already spilling freely. “I’m tired of being the only one who cares if we live or die.” She drops the shotgun and flees into the house.
Robert shoves his hands into his hair in frustration, clasping his fingers behind his head as he leans his forehead against what’s left of the porch wall. More than anything I want to reach out and place a hand against his back. Let my palm rest between his shoulder blades and my fingertips press into him, measuring the rhythm of his heart.
But instead I stand there, looking between him and Henry. Feeling helpless and scared. “She’s right, isn’t she?” I ask them. “We’re screwed.”
“Not yet.” Robert says it so softly that I wonder if he even intends me to hear it.
It’s the “yet” that causes my chest to squeeze. I step toward him, thinking that I should just do it. Just reach for him the way I’ve imagined doing a hundred times. Push him back against what’s left of the wall and let instinct take over.
Who cares about consequences when it’s the end of the world?
But then he turns and I’m standing awkwardly close and I wish he’d grab me. Hold me. Kiss me. Anything.
My cheeks flame and I drop my eyes, unable to look at him with thoughts of our bodies twisting together flooding my mind. I grab the easiest excuse to escape: “I’ll go talk to her.”
Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that the only way we have a chance of surviving is if we work together. Which is why I’d been the one to pick up the pieces after Robert and Lainey’s breakup the day before. She’d sobbed on my shoulder in the guest room while railing about what an asshole Robert was for breaking up with her with everything else that was going on.
When I find her upstairs today, she’s more angry than upset. She paces the room, hands clenched into fists. As soon as she sees me, she starts in. “I can’t believe I let him talk me into staying,” she complains. “I’d already decided to go with Ruth. She begged me but I didn’t because of Robert.”
Technically it’s my shift to sleep and hers to keep lookout but she doesn’t seem to care about details like that. So as she continues her diatribe I keep an eye out the window and start mentally counting. For most of yesterday the number of dead crowding through the woods was pretty constant. But now there seem to be more. I have no idea where they’re coming from or what it means, except that the sight of them all makes my lungs go tight and I have to focus on breathing so I don’t hyperventilate.
Then I realize that Lainey’s been silent and I look up to find her staring at me, as though truly noticing me for the first time. She’s waiting for something and I realize she’s just asked me a question. “Why didn’t you go with Ruth and Andy?” she repeats.
I shuffle my feet, uncomfortable. I’m the fifth wheel of the group—the tagalong added to the trip at the last minute when Henry’s little brother dropped out. When I don’t answer fast enough, Lainey narrows her eyes at me and I swallow, wondering if she’s finally put the pieces together.
Apparently, she has. She smiles, but it’s not friendly. “You stayed for Robert, too.”
My eyes go wide as my heart thumps harder against my ribs. She has my full attention.
She laughs. “I’d say your secret’s safe with me, but it’s not much of a secret.”
I wince, and she waves a hand in the air dismissively. “If I had a dollar for every frosh who fell for my boyfriend, we’d have rented a much sweeter cabin than this one.”
“You mean ex-boyfriend,” I correct, hating the way my voice cracks.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “This breakup will be as temporary as all the others.” Her smile is indulgent when she adds, “It’s the end of the world. No one wants to die alone. Including Robert.”
It feels like I’ve been sucker punched even though she hasn’t laid a hand on me. Her calm assurance that Robert will always choose her and they’ll be together while I’m the one dying alone.
And I forget that the most important thing is for us all to work together. I just want her to hurt the way I do. Before I know what I’m doing I blurt, “Ruth didn’t make it out.”
Her eyes go wide, and for a moment it’s obvious she doesn’t understand.
It’s too late for me to take it back so I barrel forward instead, trying to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing by telling her. “I saw her this morning.” I point to the window. “On the other side of the fire with the others.” And then, because I’m still not sure she understands, I add, “Ruth’s dead.”
Lainey opens her mouth but the only sound that comes out is a strangled, “What?” She stares at me, waiting for me to take it back or tell her I was kidding and when I don’t she curls in on herself, as though shattering in slow motion.
I hate myself for doing this to her. But before I can tell her I’m sorry or try to comfort her, I hear screaming from outside.
There’s a split second when my eyes meet Lainey’s. For the barest moment, she lets the fear shine through and everything broken between us clears away. I know the terror stinging her heart just then because I feel it, too. And we’re both desperately wondering if the screaming is Robert or Henry and what it means.
I bolt for the bedroom door, but she’s closer and beats me to it. Together we thunder down the stairs and out onto the porch. The screams are coming from the side of the house and I jump the railing, ignoring the twinge of pain in my ankle at the landing. I round the corner and pull up short, my entire body freezing.
Instead of fire, there’s just smoke. Great black billowing clouds of it. It chokes the air, turning it thick and hazy. In the midst of it eddies dance and swirl, curling in patterns that would be mesmerizingly beautiful if it weren’t for the awful realization of what’s causing them: the dead have broken through.
The fire wall’s collapsed.
My brain locks, too many thoughts vying for dominance. I should add more wood to the fire; fix the perimeter. But there’s hardly anything left, certainly not enough to keep the flames high enough. I should grab a torch to beat back the dead, but what good will that do if there’s no fire wall to keep them at bay?
I should retreat into the cabin and barricade myself inside but there aren’t any walls left downstairs. There’s nothing to barricade.
This is it, I realize. This is all that’s left.
But I’m not ready.
Frantically I search for Robert, but I can’t see him. The smoke is too thick, it turns the shambling bodies into nothing but outlines, streaks of solid amidst the swirling blackness.
It’s impossible to tell the living from the dead.
Except for the screaming. Because the only sound the dead make is a grating, constant groan.
“Robert!” I cry.
“Henry!”
I hear a moan, a wet sickly thudding sound that ends with a crack, like bone snapping. A body falls at my feet, spilling free of the smoke, and I stare at it. At the way the head is crushed, bowed inward like a deflated ball. Then I recognize the jacket. My jacket. And I realize that the body is Ruth’s.
Looming behind her stands Robert, a length of two-by-four clutched in his hands like a club, the end of it bathed in blood. He glances my way but I don’t even think he sees me. There’s something feral in his expression—in the way he bares his teeth and the intensity of his focus. He steps over Ruth’s body, feet on either side of her hips, and he swings the length of wood, muscles in his arms straining as he brings it down on Ruth’s head as hard as he can. Again. And then again.
What’s left of her face implodes, scattering bits of blood and bone and other stuff I don’t even want to think about. I feel the wet heat of it slapping against my bare shins. I thought I was immune to the violence by that point. Immune to the dead. But I was wrong.
Because intellectually I know that Ruth was one of them. I know she was dead. She was a monster who would stop at nothing to destroy us. And I know that Robert had no choice. That the only way to stop them is to destroy the head.
He was protecting us. Protecting me.
And yet watching it—watching this person I’ve daydreamed about for months so viciously attack a creature who has no realistic way of defending herself. Of fighting back. It causes something inside me to revolt and I heave.
When I look up, Robert still hovers over Ruth’s body, staring down at her with eyes like hardened glass. Then he blinks. And all it takes is that split-second hesitation. Because behind him I watch as another body looms. This one a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a gaping hole in his neck.
“Robert!” In my head it’s a scream but it comes out as a choked gurgle.
He looks up, right at me. And so I see the helpless horror that passes across his features when he feels the man’s fingers grab at his shoulder. When he realizes what’s about to happen.
Everything about Robert is laid bare in that moment.
The instinct that eluded me earlier kicks in, overriding any sense of self-preservation. I lunge forward, no weapons but my bare hands and my white-hot rage. Robert’s already twisting against the man’s grip when I reach them. I throw myself at the man, shoving him as hard as I can.
Even as he stumbles backward, the man reaches for me. Grabs me. I feel his fingers slip down my arms. The dig of his nails scraping against my flesh. I try to yank away, but his momentum is too great. His grip strangely strong. He falls to the ground, dragging me down on top of him.
And then we’re a tangle of limbs. He’s ravenous, uncontrollable, every bit of him straining to consume me. He claws at my hair, at my shirt. Mouth open, groaning with his teeth bared.
Scratching at him is useless. As is punching and kicking. There’s no amount of pain I can inflict that will deter his onslaught. I wedge my forearm against his throat, pinning his head to the ground to keep his teeth from my flesh. But that leaves his hands free to drag me dangerously close and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep any distance between us.
At that point I’m nothing but pure panic. I look around, desperate for help. But in the choking smoke, everything is confusion and shadow. The others are engaged in their own battles: Robert fighting off a young woman in a nightgown while Henry struggles against two figures in firefighter uniforms.
And then Lainey is there, running toward us with the gun raised. She pulls the trigger again and again. Almost wildly. One of the firefighters collapses and Lainey swings the gun on the other.
Below me, the man writhes and I feel the strength in my arms weakening. We’re only a few feet from the edge of the fire-line and I don’t think. I just act. There’s a length of burning chair leg within reach and I grab it. Not caring that I have to plunge my hand into the fire to do so.
I roll from the man, swinging the torch toward his face, slamming it against his skull. I’m not strong enough to break bone, but it’s enough to get me free of him. I scramble back and strike him again. And again.
The flames catch his hair first, then lick at his clothes, swooping along the formerly fine lines of his suit. But it doesn’t stop him. Even on fire, he rolls and pushes to his feet, flailing.
He staggers a step toward me, his desire unrelenting. That, more than anything else, causes the dread in my chest to solidify into something solid and heavy and yet somehow empty.
Because it is then that I truly understand. There is nothing human left in these creatures. There will be no stopping them. No reasoning or bargaining. Only delay. We shall push them off again and again until our strength or our will fails, and we succumb to the inevitability.
There is no if, but when.
The realization causes something so black and fathomless to open inside me that I just sit there, watching the flaming man stagger toward me. Wondering, suddenly, about the life he lived before. He had a name, once. A family. A job. He had dreams and nightmares and aspirations and struggles. And he will never be known for any of that.
He will be known only for this.
And someday the same will be true for me.
All the things I’ve left undone. All the things I’ve left unsaid. All the wants I’ve swallowed back. All the times I’ve been afraid. Or embarrassed. Or hesitant. None of that will matter.
It makes me realize just how wasteful I’ve been with all those days and hours and minutes leading to this moment. I want them back.
So I fight.
I push to my feet and kick at the man, sending him sprawling. The flames have eaten away enough of him that his muscles begin to fail, and though he struggles to stand, it’s impossible. He collapses in a burning heap.
I start toward him, flaming chair leg clutched above my head, but something grabs at me, holding me back. I spin without thinking, swinging wildly. Somehow I miss and arms wrap around me from behind, forcing the chair leg free and pinning my wrists across my chest.
I buck wildly when I feel a mouth at my ear, teeth skimming the tender edge of my flesh. But then I hear words and I realize that whoever’s holding me is also talking to me, which means they aren’t dead.
“Shhhh, Carson, it’s okay,” the voice tells me again and again, until the meaning of the words penetrates deep enough for me to understand. I stop struggling, but still the arms hold me tight.
I don’t ever want him to let me go and not because it’s Robert, but because I can feel the way his chest jerks as he tries to breathe and I know he’s experiencing the same terror as me. And that reminds me that I’m not alone.
I blink, taking in our surroundings. Bodies of the dead litter the ground, most of them with their heads crushed or beaten. Henry stands among them, a bloody length of wood still clutched in his hand. Behind him Lainey leans against the side of the house, body trembling as she lowers the gun to her side.
But the flow of dead has stopped. The man I’d set fire to collapsed across the break in our fire-line, completing it. His body continues to burn, buying us more time.
“Fuel,” I murmur.
Behind me, Robert nods. “An unending supply of it.”
And I can’t believe it, but I laugh. Because it seems so absurd that the very thing that’s been threatening us is now what might save us. So long as the dead keep coming, we’ll be safe.
“It’s okay,” Robert tells me again, voice soft as a breath against my ear. And I realize that I’m not so much laughing as crying. At the horror of it. And the relief.
With his arms still wrapped around me, he gently turns my wrist so he can look at my hand. He sucks in a breath and I wince at the sight of it. The chair leg I grabbed to fend off the undead man had still been burning and the flesh along my palm and fingers bubbles an angry red. I don’t feel the pain yet, but I know it will come.
And that’s okay because at least I’m alive to feel the pain.
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Henry moves to one of the bodies and grabs its feet, dragging it toward the fire. My instinct is to look away—to think of them as nothing more than fuel. It would be so much easier that way. But it would also be unfair. Because I feel like I owe it to them to remember that they were once people, too, with names and wishes and hopes.
Just like me. But I still have time to act on mine.
Robert’s arms begin to loosen, but before he lets go I turn. I’m still cocooned by his embrace, the entire front of my body pressing against his. His heartbeat shudders through me and I feel his sharp intake of breath as I push up onto my toes, using my good hand to pull his head toward mine. Without pausing or hesitating, I draw my lips across his.
There’s fear in the kiss. And longing.
I pull back to find surprise and a bit of confusion in his eyes as he looks down at me. I feel the heat, then, infusing my cheeks. But I don’t let myself look away. At least not for a few more seconds.
The sound of Lainey’s voice cuts through the moment. She stands with her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised as she glares at us. “Seriously?”
I hold my breath, waiting for Robert’s response. Because he didn’t exactly kiss me back, nor did he push me away. I didn’t really give him the time for either.
He looks at me a moment longer and there’s a small tug at the corner of his mouth that slowly blooms into a smile. He shrugs a bit self-consciously.
Henry rolls his eyes as Lainey tosses a hand in the air with a clearly annoyed “Whatever,” and moves to help with the fire. Already the flames have risen higher, sending waves of heat wafting across the clearing. The dead have fallen back once more, keeping their distance.
“You know this changes nothing, right?” I realize Lainey’s talking to me. She kicks a body onto the fire. “Everything I said earlier is still true.”
I think about her telling me that Robert will always come back to her in the end. That this breakup will be no different. I struggle to keep the brightness of my earlier excitement from dulling, but it’s difficult.
Nights of the Living Dead Page 17
