Dead End Stories From the End of the World

by P. S. Power

  “Thank you.” She said, her voice kinder and less afraid than before.

  Jake didn't shrug, that pulled at his arm and hurt so he was avoiding actions like that for now.

  “No problem, I've been trying to help out more as I could anyway. We all have to do our share, or things just won't work.”

  That got a gentle chuckle from Sammi. The girl stopped and looked at him as if he were a bit of a moron. Possible, but she smiled anyway, after a bit.

  “For their lives, silly. She meant 'thank you for not killing them'. Everyone knew that you were going to just shoot them, but no one wanted to order it done for theft. So they dumped it on 'Jake the killer' only you surprised everyone, didn't you? Keep this up and everyone will think you're an actual person someday.”

  Tracy gasped, but Jake shook his head and smiled at the girl.

  “Right. Until the next person goes off and can't stay quiet or tries to kill one of my friends, then it's back to the same-old-same-old. Half the people here think I like killing, but that's not true. I do it, but that doesn't mean I like it.”

  A low sound, a laugh, came from behind them, turning carefully Jake saw a short form in the door, backlit by candle light from the other room. Dave.

  “No, Jake's different than any of us. I like to kill. I always have. If it wasn't for this messed up situation I'd probably be killing cats and the neighbor's dog, gearing up for my serial murder career. Jake isn't like that at all. He actually cares about people.” The voice could have been derisive, but wasn't, it sounded a bit envious to tell the truth.

  “That's why he brought in the stray girl he found, and why you two get to live. The only thing is, people here treat him like crap. You all don't see it, not most of the time. Maybe Sammi does, but the rest of you shit on him, and abuse his good nature and think it's all right because he's just a sicko killer, but it's not true. He's a guardian, not an assassin. You may be afraid of what he'll do if you break the rules, but think about it, he never kills people just because he wants to, does he? Trust me, he has a lot of reason to be pissed. If people keep doing that we're going to lose him and then we're screwed. This thing won't work without Jake, but no one's going to listen to me about that. People think that Burt or Nate is the glue holding us together. They are, but only part of it.”

  Sammi sighed, a soft thing that would have been missed back before.

  “I know. I just don't know what to do about it yet.” She sounded horribly responsible just then. It was weird and made Jake tilt his head a bit. It didn't make a lot of sense. Why would the youngest person there feel like it was her part of things to fix his broken and messed up world? Shouldn't it be the other way around?

  No one spoke for a second. Probably because Dave had basically proclaimed himself a psychopath in front of a bunch of people that didn't already know. They'd probably stopped listening about then. Well, it was still nice to know that Dave and Sammi didn't think he was a monster at least. If it takes one to know one, then the guy could probably see the difference too.

  The boy continued.

  “Anyway, Yvonne and Tracy need to sleep in the first room with you tonight. Justine too. Otherwise some of the others are going to beat them. Just thought I'd give you a heads up. Sneaking around to do that is too cowardly for my blood. If they want to beat them, they could just take a vote and do it in the living room. Plus that would probably get loud. Maybe they could gag them first? It actually sounds kind of fun. We should keep it in mind if we have to punish anyone in the future. Maybe we could find some popcorn? Anyway...” Then he turned and walked away without finishing. The two women stiffened and Tracy looked half panicked. Sammi got them settled easily enough, just patting them each on the arm gently for a few seconds.

  “Piffle. Anyone trying that will be shot by Jake and they all know it. But it gets dark, so sleep with him tonight, then it will all be fine. No one will want to chance testing him. The last ones foolish enough to try both died, after all.”

  For some reason that made them all seem much calmer, though they didn't leave his side, not even to go to the bathroom before bed. They collected Justine on their way past. She was discussing cisterns with Burt and Marty. She still had her shotgun with her and had it pointed at the floor very carefully. They found Heather sitting on the stairs just waiting for them.

  “There's an extra mattress in the room at the end of the hall. A queen size one that man who shot you used. We can steal it, I think, if we're quick about it. No one else has taken it yet.”

  The raid was quick and silent enough that even carrying a mattress almost no one saw them. That was a piece of work, because there were bodies all over the floor already laid out in a human obstacle course. Heather led them through. They made it back without stepping on anyone and got things all situated tidily within about ten minutes. It took squeezing to get the new mattress into place, but that was fine. No one really seemed to care, not realizing that the “bad women” had moved in next door, less than a foot away in at least one case.

  Heather took the spot next to him again, and covered them both with a thin blanket.

  “I'll sleep next to you, so that everyone knows we're together. Um, is that all right? I mean, I can't... not yet, but it will be important later, I think. I don't want Justine to grab you up. That doesn't end well. I'm sorry about that, it has to be done though.”

  She moved close to him and put her arm over his gently. Almost protectively or like she was claiming ownership. Jake smiled a little into the dark. They were together? It wasn't confirmed and he didn't want to hope for too much, but his breath caught. He hugged her back a little. It was warm and close.

  She was asleep in a few minutes, breathing softly and irregularly. Jake fell asleep about an hour later. All the people around him made it uncomfortable suddenly. The girl cuddled to him left him hard and frustrated, unable to even go jerk off. They didn't have privacy there except on the toilet and you didn't want to take longer than you had to with seventy people sharing two bathrooms. It was frustrating, but since Heather seemed to actually like him, worth it. Waiting would be hard, but if she was willing to be that close to him...

  He fell asleep at last, wondering how many logs they'd need to make the underground nursery secure enough. About eighty he thought, maybe a hundred. Some of the spaces would have to be filled with smaller pieces cut to fit. It wouldn't do to let dirt fall through on babies.

  He woke in the night to find someone kissing him.

  That was a bit of a shock. At first he figured it to be Heather, but that didn't feel right. After a few more seconds he got it. A dream. The taste of rot in his mouth gave it away. A freaking zombie dream.

  Of course.

  He couldn't just have a dream about making out with a girl, could he? No, that would be too much to ask.

  Great.

  The lights turned on brightly, but without an actual source, so he could see that the woman kissing him, standing over him, was his Mom. Just like she'd been when he blew her brains out. Post bullets.

  “Hi Mom. Well, fucked up dream, huh?” He said conversationally, waiting for her to bite him or whatever the plan was.

  It better not be sex, he decided right then, that would just be too gross to consider. He reached under the bed and found a water gun waiting. Bright pink and empty to boot. No help there.

  Zombie Mom waved a hand at him like she used to do when he said something silly.

  “Very messed up dream, dear. So, these are your new friends? How are you fitting in? Are you keeping busy? You look like you've lost weight.”

  He shrugged, it didn't hurt, which showed it was even more of a dream, next to him Heather woke up and stared for a second. Jake pointed and explained.

  “My Mom. I had to kill her and Dad. On the second day after the announcement. I guess Dad turned first and bit her, but I was holed up, being a selfish little prick, so I didn't know about it before they changed. They'd told me about the announcement, but... even with the TV coverage
I didn't believe it.” Everyone knew what that meant now, no need to explain more. It was when the world changed and the government basically used the word zombie for the first time in public. Before then it had just been talk of some nameless disease.

  “Oh, is this your girlfriend? Such a nice looking girl, and pregnant too. When are you due?” The tone was conversational, not accusing.

  Heather smiled and brushed her hair, much longer and lighter in the dream out of her face, she sat up and patted her stomach.

  “I think I'm just at about five months. It's hard to know, I got raped a few times at first. I didn't tell anyone about it but Jake yet, but just about every man I met did for a while... made me have sex with them, until I learned to avoid them. So, the timing could be a little vague.”

  Zombie Mom stood over Jake and smiled her features starting to melt. Rot.

  “I don't have a lot of time honey, sorry about the way I look, but that's coming from your mind not mine. I just wanted to let you know that I'm all right, so is your father. He couldn't make it, but know this; we're both very proud of you and love you more than you know.” She spun on Heather and winked.

  “Nice meeting you dear, sorry about the hard time you had. My son will look out for you now, don't worry. He's a very good man. It's why I was allowed to come back. Not everyone is being allowed now. Look out for him too?”

  “Of course.” Heather spoke in a normal tone, well that didn't matter in a dream, did it? Besides the water pistol was empty, so shooting her with it wouldn't accomplish anything.

  The lights went off and Jake woke up with a bit of a start. He didn't gasp though, locking his teeth down to stifle that instinctively.

  What a strange dream.

  Well, it beat having his face eaten, so he'd take it as an improvement. Really he felt better now about the way his parents died. Not good, but that little ache faded just a bit. It felt like something deep inside that had been clenched for half a year relaxed just a little.

  Sleepily Heather hugged him close, “Your Mom seems nice. I know you're a very good man, and that you'll look after us, even after everything. I'm sorry, it's the only way. The nicer ones didn't work. I tried. I tried them all. I wish they would.”

  Then frustratingly she went back to sleep.

  Well, real or not, he had a few more hours until morning. He closed his eyes and didn't dream again that night.

  The next day came without warning, with other people actually up and moving before he was, bright light coming through the window as he staggered to his feet. He felt drunk, disoriented and hot. Too hot. Feverish. That couldn't stop him though, could it? Not if he didn't let it. Unless he died of course. Time for some moldy bread he decided.

  Penicillin the old fashioned way.

  Mary made it, she had a huge jar of the stuff now, and was constantly culturing more on whatever leftover scraps they had that couldn't be reused for another meal. Jake made his way down the stairs, clutching the banister, a stained wood thing that had probably been there for sixty or seventy years. He nearly fell halfway down, the world twisting about him, a sick feeling in his stomach. Holding the wall he walked slowly, carefully, no one stopping to talk to him, or help him. So, that part was normal. That's what always happened.

  Jerks.

  He made it to the kitchen before falling to his knees. Sinking slowly enough that the thump he made on the floor hardly seemed to hurt at all. Head spinning, he saw Lois first. The woman looked concerned, scared even and rushed to his side, holding him, her apron an old white piece of cloth, heavy and worn... smelled like soup. They weren't having any, but that's what he got from it. Clutching at her he tried to speak, tried to say what he thought was happening.

  The idea made him sick, well the actuality made him feel sick, but what it might be, if it wasn't just a regular infection. Yeah. Holsom would be the type of douche to do that, wasn't he?

  “Zombie infected bullets. Maybe. Infected wound maybe. Penicillin and quarantine.” He wretched, not losing any food, just a painful spasm that turned into cramps, locking his body in half, a tight, painful thing that didn't stop. Lois started yelling and people came then, carrying him off. Into the dark room. The place people went if they were turning. Or might be. He couldn't complain really, it had been his idea after all.

  They could only wait and see now. He had food, laced with the mold, the water was dosed too. If he got too sick to drink water he'd die, because no one would be opening the door until five days passed and he held a cogent conversation with someone for a while. OK, a few words. The last time he'd gotten out with, “I'm still me. I think.” So the bar wasn't that high.

  His head hurt and everything burned. Too hot, he stripped his clothing off and stuffed it under his head. He really should have put a mattress in the tiny room, Jake realized, even if the cool floor, linoleum, felt good to him right now. In a day it wouldn't be as nice. If he turned that wouldn't matter though, would it? They hadn't left him a gun even, so one of the others would have to kill him if that was the case. Dave probably. He'd take the least damage from it mentally, but no one else would see it that way. Tipper might get it, or, if what Dave said turned out to be accurate, Sammi. Why her? She was an odd kid, but still, just a little girl. Jake wondered about it as the cramping started again, distracting him. This time on both sides of his body. The pain didn't stop, just came in waves.

  Whee.

  Like an amusement park of suck.

  It went on like this, until he slept, drank more water, and slept again twice. He didn't eat, not for a long time. He hallucinated a lot, for entertainment. Fever dreams that were disjointed and negative. Angry or just bizarre. Nothing nice in any of them at all. Really, it would be better if he could just relive an old television episode or something. Maybe a sit-com? Something with a cute actress would be good. If he wanted to see things rending and tearing like that, he could just go into town.

  Finally he heard a knock on the door, polite at first, then a pounding.

  “What?” He croaked, still sick, lying on the floor, desperately hoping someone would come in and kill him finally. He tried again.

  “Who's there?”

  “Um, Jake, are you still you? Not a zombie Jake from Mars that can mimic a bit of human speech or something? If anyone could pull that off it would be you.” Dave then, the voice sounded funny stilted and slow, but he could make out the words if he tried. It took a lot of focus.

  “I just feel like crap. Should be all right. If someone will just pass a gun in, I can kill myself and end this. God this... sucks.” He cramped up again as the door opened, Tipper coming in first, no weapon pointed at him. He'd apparently passed the first test.

  Darn.

  “Five days, so you won't turn, but you look like hell. Really bad in fact.” She sounded like a person sugar coating her words, which didn't leave him with warm and fuzzy feelings for some reason. He still felt a bit pissed at her. Hidden under the... suck he felt right now, but still there.

  It did fit the way he felt at the moment so Jake decided not to call her on it. The phony voice she was using. Dave stood behind her, standing with Nate and Mary from the kitchen. The woman nodded to him firmly.

  “More penicillin. I don't know if it's going to help at all, but a full ten day course is better than half of one. Should we move him?” She said, sounding like that would be the kind thing to do.

  For his part, Jake couldn't care. Horribly uncomfortable and wishing for death right there was as good as being somewhere else. This way no one was gaping at him.

  His head still hurt, feeling like the inside of it had been set on fire and everyone was talking at two speeds, not an overlay, he heard them normally too but it felt like it took forever, their images danced and blurred as well, his eyes playing tricks having been in the dark too long? They talked about it forever, a minute maybe, and finally decided to close him back in only to check on him every few hours.

  Jake thought that sounded like a plan to him and nodded
, then regretted doing that as he felt bile rise into his throat and try to escape captivity by burrowing through his nasal passage to freedom. It took six more days before he could stand on his own again. Whatever he'd had left him weak and aching, but not dead and not craving human flesh, so that would have to serve.

  Then he clothed himself, filthy from the prior days of sweat and lying on the floor, but not wanting to streak through the whole house, and made his way out to the men's bathing area. He couldn't find his clothes, but Heather saw him and got him something to wear, a loose pair of blue jeans and a shirt that fairly bagged on him, obviously meant for a far heavier person. They tried to fall down a little as he walked slowly back into the house, wearing the boots she'd brought him, which fit just fine. His boots...

  Actually, looking at them closely, as different as the colors seemed to him, sharper and more defined, he realized that the clothes were his too. Well, he hadn't really needed to lose weight, but there it was.

  The wood pile had kept growing, and a log floor had already started being put in the pit next to the house. They were splitting flat chunks from the edges of other logs for some reason. He got it after a second, those were to be the walls. Like giant Lincoln logs. Cool. It looked like it wouldn't take nearly as long as he'd thought. Jake had to like that. Good to know that no one really needed him after all. He thought about it without even a hint of bitterness, because it really was good. For a while there he'd felt like one of the very few getting things done, but now a lot more were pulling out the stops while he sat around. Lay around. He'd have rather been working. It would have been a lot more pleasant.

  Well, he was definitely up now. After breakfast he helped with the dishes, since that didn't take a lot of strength and getting back into things slowly made more than a little sense. He felt, well, all right didn't exactly work, but not bad either. Everything hurt, and he felt stiff, but that could have just been the lack of activity and lying on a floor for two weeks with frequent and painful whole body cramping.