Grace Lost (The Grace Series)

by Lewis, M. Lauryl

  I nodded again, still fighting the tears.

  “Ok, let’s go. Stay away from the windows.” He stood up, and held a hand out to me.

  I took his hand and stood.

  “Jesus, Zoe. You’re bleeding.” He was looking down at my pants. He knelt down to inspect where blood from my hip had stained my jeans.

  “It’ll be fine,” I said, sniffling. I didn’t want him to know just how much it was starting to hurt.

  “We’ll need to look at it upstairs. No arguing.”

  He walked to the far end of the room, toward the stairway, and I followed. We climbed the steps, Boggs in front. The landing that divided the staircase half-way up squeaked as we reached it, causing us to pause. Now directly in front of the main door to the house, we heard unearthly moans coming from outside. As Boggs stepped closer to the door to check the deadbolt, I took a step back.

  “Boggs, your parents are still in Arizona, right?” I whispered.

  “Ya, why?”

  “I thought I heard something upstairs.”

  Boggs took his place in front of me again, hushing his own voice now. “Stay here, Zoe.”

  Before I could argue, he let go of my hand and was halfway up the last set of steps. I felt my stomach drop, the bitter taste of bile rising in my throat. Sick with fear, I threw up on the next step down from the landing. I used the bottom of my t-shirt to wipe my mouth. I listened for some sign from Boggs, but only heard the horrible moaning coming from outside. I dared to look through the small pane of glass in the door that allowed for peeking at visitors. In the street I could see the car that had crashed, turned on its side with smoke coming from under the hood. It was down about half a block, halfway in the yard of an elderly couple that had lived there since before I could remember. The Robinson’s house sat across the street, next to my own. There was a woman lying face down on the lawn. She was wearing little white shorts, now stained red with blood, and a green and white flowered bikini top. By her flaming red hair I knew it was Nicole Park, the middle aged woman who had moved in last year. I could tell she was dead by her deeply pale skin and the massive amounts of blood surrounding her. Her left arm was missing, the stump sporting torn muscle and ligaments. The neighborhood ended in a cul-de-sac, which was only partly in my line of sight. I could see several figures kneeling around something. They moved in unnatural ways. Not far from them I could see a bicycle lying on the ground, its rear wheel still spinning, and a pair of legs that were not attached to a torso. There was so much blood. I must have been in shock, because I reacted by giggling. No one in their right mind would giggle at such a horrific sight.

  “Zoe?” called Boggs. “You ok?”

  I held my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the chuckling that I knew had no appropriateness right now. My laughs turned to sobs, still muffled by my own hand.

  “Zoe, shhhh. There’s no one upstairs. I checked everywhere.” He walked down the steps two at a time and joined me on the landing. He took my free hand in his and guided me up the stairs. In the back waistband of his jeans was his dad’s Kahr .45 caliber pistol. I had always hated that his family kept guns. Now, though, I found the sight of the firearm comforting.

  Once in the living room, Boggs walked to an end table and picked up his cell phone. I watched as he punched a few buttons and listened. “No service, Zo. Let’s grab what we can and get out of here.”

  “I’m not sure I can do this, Boggs. This can’t be real.” I could hear hysteria building in my own voice.

  He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. “We’ll do this together, Zoe. Just hold it together for me?” He kissed me on the forehead.

  “There are more of them out there,” I said in a strained voice. “I saw them, out front.”

  He nodded, and then kissed my forehead again. “Let’s get to the kitchen and look at your leg.”

  We walked to the kitchen together. The room was lit by a picture window that overlooked the greenbelt from which we had just come. I stood looking out that window, watching tree leaves dancing from a light breeze.

  “Zoe, take your jeans off.” At any other time I’d make a joke. Instead, I unbuttoned, unzipped, and slid them off without saying a word as Boggs walked to the pantry.

  “My mom keeps a first aid kit in here. Let’s be sure to take it with us.” He walked toward the sink. “Can you hop up here so I can look it over and clean it, Zo?”

  “Ya, I think so.” I walked to the sink and put my hands on the counter behind me, and hoisted myself up, wincing from the pain.

  “It’s hurting pretty bad?” asked Boggs.

  “Not too bad,” I lied.

  He bent down to look at the wound on my hip more closely. “It’s not big but it looks deep.”

  “Great.”

  “Have you had a tetanus shot?”

  “Ya, last year when I stepped on a nail.”

  He opened a little flat square package and removed a small alcohol wipe. “Hold still Zoe, it might sting.” He used the cold wipe to clean the wound, causing me to hold my breath and make fists.

  Boggs sighed. “Sorry, Zo. I know that hurt. It looks like a puncture. I’m just going to put some Neosporin and a band aid on it, ok?”

  I nodded, but remained silent. I knew if I tried to talk I’d start crying.

  Once I was slathered in antibiotic ointment and patched up with a band aid, Boggs helped me down and I sat at the kitchen table while he looked for empty boxes. It didn’t take him long to come back from the garage with two sturdy shipping boxes. He busied himself filling them with cans from his mother’s pantry.

  “Mrs. Park is dead. She’s lying on the Robinson’s lawn.” My voice was lacking in emotion, which must have been what caused Boggs to stop and look at me.

  “I have a feeling a lot of people are dead, Zoe. Let’s stay focused till we get out of here, ok?”

  “’Kay.” I returned to looking out at the greenbelt.

  “Zoe.” Boggs’ voice calling my name was faint. I ignored it and kept looking out the window. “Zoe Kate.” I looked at him. “Go in the drawer under the microwave and grab the can opener? Please?”

  In answer, I walked to the bank of kitchen drawers and quickly found the small hand appliance. I walked it over to the box where Boggs was busy packing supplies and dropped it in.

  “Are there any peaches?” I asked. It seemed like a mindless question.

  “Yes.”

  We worked together until two boxes were filled with canned goods and boxes of crackers and cereal. Silently, Boggs left the room while I searched the cabinets for any hidden treasures. I found a bag of brown sugar and tucked it into an empty spot between green beans and canned pork. I wondered to myself if anyone really eats canned pork. Boggs reentered the kitchen, holding a large blue and white Coleman ice chest that was familiar to me from camping trips our families had taken together in years past. For the first time, it made me think about my own parents. I felt guilty for feeling grateful they had died three years ago. They wouldn’t have to face the horrors we were now witnessing.

  I looked at Boggs to break my train of thought. “Do you want me to fill the cooler?” I asked him.

  He nodded yes in reply. “While you do that I’m going to the garage to get the rig ready. If you need me, if anything happens, I’m just down the hall.” He picked up one of the boxes of food and carried it with him. I opened the freezer first, and picked through what I thought might benefit us the most. I tossed in four packages of frozen bratwurst, and all the ice that was in the bin. I figured we could eat the brats cold since they were pre cooked. I left the popsicles and ice cream, already melting, behind. Boggs must have been eating well while his folks were out of town because pickings were slim. The refrigerator wasn’t much better, but I found a tub of margarine, nine eggs, some Swiss cheese slices, a head of lettuce, three onions, and cranberry juice. There was a twelve-pack of Coors Light tucked into the bottom crisper drawer, and I topped the cooler off with eight and secured the lid. I set
three more on the counter and popped the tab on the last remaining can. I drank from it, only stopping once to breathe. The feel of the cold beverage in my stomach made it grumble loudly in protest from not eating. I decided to get the mint chocolate chip out, and a spoon. I sat at the kitchen table, spooning the melting treat into my mouth. Boggs walked back in and cracked a small smile.

  “I have gear packed. Sleeping bags and a two man tent. We can add the cooler and rest of the food last. Can I have some?” He gestured toward the ice cream.

  “Ya, it’s melting. Grab a spoon.”

  Boggs took the spoon out of my hand, something that was like him to do. He grinned and shoved a scoop of green into his mouth. “Thanks.”

  Usually I’d smack his arm and smile, but not today. We finished the partial container of ice cream in silence, taking turns with the spoon. I set the empty carton and the spoon in the sink. Boggs had popped open his own beer and was nursing it. Things had quieted a bit outside, but we still heard the occasional moan and growl. I sighed a bit louder than I meant to, and walked back to the window.

  “Where will we go?” I asked.

  “I think we should head south. Then take Highway 2 east toward the mountains. I guess it depends on what we can find out about what the hell is happening.”

  “I guess we should head out then, huh?” I said, trying to sound brave. The thought of leaving the house was scaring the daylights out of me. I turned back from the window to face the inevitable. “What else do we need?”

  “We need to fill some bottles with water. I’ll do that. Can you run upstairs and grab some towels and toilet paper?” He looked at me a bit quizzically, not sure if it seemed prudent or not.

  “Good idea.”

  “I haven’t pulled the shades up there. Keep away from the windows, ok?”

  “Kay.”

  “And Zoe…”

  I looked back at him. “Hmm?”

  “Hurry? I want to get out of here.”

  “I will.”

  I redid my messy ponytail, and quickly ascended the last short staircase in the tri-level home. Once at the top, I made my way down a short hallway toward the bathroom that sat at the back of the house. It had a small window covered in a sheer beige lace curtain. It wasn’t very large, so searching didn’t take long. I opened the small under-the-sink cabinet and scavenged seven rolls of generic brand toilet paper. I hadn’t thought about how to carry it all, so I left the rolls of soft paper on the floor by the door and walked across the hall to Boggs’ bedroom. I thought it was silly that in his twenties he still slept in a twin-sized bed with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. I walked to the bed and took his pillow in my hands. I slipped the case off to use as a sack for what I had pillaged. Thinking twice, I took the pillow with me as well. On his desk sat a 5x7 photo of his parents and him when he graduated from high school. The sun was shining in the picture, and his parents both had grins full of pride at their only child getting his diploma. I slipped it, frame and all, into the empty pillow case and returned to the hallway to gather the toilet paper. I tucked the rolls into the make-shift sack, and arranged the frame between the quilted squares for protection. I knew deep down I wouldn’t have a chance to return to the comfort of my own home. There would be no photos for me, nothing but the faded memories in my mind.

  Feeling as if I was intruding, I continued down the hall to Mr. and Mrs. Boggs’ bedroom. I was only looking for one more pillow, but they all sat on the bed under a large window that overlooked the street. I dared risk going for it, dropping to my knees. I crawled the few feet to the king sized bed covered in down and satin. Boggs had always said his mother was unnecessarily extravagant. I took a smallish pillow from a pile of about ten, and dared to peek outside through the window. The car fire down the street had begun to fade. I glanced toward the Robinson’s house and saw that Nicole Park had moved. She was no longer lying in the grass, but was now sitting next to a fire hydrant. One of her legs was bent at an unnatural angle and underneath her. In her remaining hand she held part of a cat. It laid limp, blood dripping from what remained of its carcass. She chewed sloppily, the bloody mess splattering. I turned away, beer and ice cream fighting to see the light of day once again.

  Still clinging to the pillow, I crawled along the floor until I was safely out of sight and in the hallway. I returned to the bathroom and rifled through the medicine cabinet. I added acetaminophen and ibuprofen to the pillow case, as well as a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I studied my own image in the mirror, barely recognizing myself. My hair was snarled, my face dirty, and I looked afraid.

  I used my hair tie to close the pillow case and made one last trip to Boggs’ room, where I found a pair of running shorts and slipped them on. I cinched the waist with the built in tie common to such shorts, and walked back downstairs to join Boggs.

  When I walked into the kitchen, Boggs was studying an atlas. He looked up.

  “Nice shorts, Zoe.”

  “Hope you don’t mind,” was all I said as I set the stuffed pillow case and both pillows on the table next to the first aid kit.

  “I’ll throw those in the car. And no, I don’t mind.” He got up and carried the load to the garage. While he was gone I used the kitchen sink to wet a hand towel, and wiped my face and arms. I braided my dirty hair behind my head, and tied it with a rubber band from a collection that Mrs. Boggs kept in a small drawer below the microwave.

  Boggs returned from his task in the garage. “It’s all packed.”

  We sat together at the kitchen table drinking the Coors I had left on the counter. We hunched over the atlas, mapping a route. The plan was to head south, using smaller roads to shadow the Interstate. If Highway 2 was clear, we’d follow it east toward the foothills. I had never been good with using maps, and Boggs was well aware of that from past road trips we had ventured on. I would drive while he navigated, even before I was old enough to legally sit behind the wheel. He plotted the course with a black Sharpie pen, and then downed the last gulp of his beer. As he set the empty can on the table we heard the loud shattering of glass breaking somewhere below us. Instinctively we both stood, and my wooden kitchen chair fell over with a thud.

  “Get to the garage, Zoe, NOW!” yelled Boggs as he grabbed the atlas from the table.

  I was frozen in place from fear, and he gave me a shove toward the cold concrete room that housed our mode of escape. The sound of the dead grew louder, moans rising from the basement. The accompanying stench filled the house, causing us to move faster to the waiting vehicle. Boggs directly behind me, I stumbled on the carpet that was fraying at the threshold to the garage. We tumbled to the concrete floor in a heap, the sound of danger close behind. The guttural moans were terrifying. Boggs was on his feet before I could gain my own footing, so he grabbed me by the arm and hoisted me upright. Boggs had readied his handgun as I ran for the closest car door, the passenger side, and slid in. I could see in the side mirror that the first of the creatures had reached the door from inside the house. The sound of the Kahr expelling a bullet was deafening, and the corpse was launched backward into three more of the creatures. I covered my ears with my hands and screamed. I felt a whoosh of air as Boggs scrambled into the driver’s seat, and felt the car shake from his weight. I kept my ears covered and my eyes shut, trying to crawl into an internal black hole.

  The engine roared to life as the creatures slammed into the rear of the car in pursuit of us. I felt the SUV lurch forward and closed my eyes tighter as I felt the impact of metal against metal when Boggs drove into the large aluminum door his parents had installed only a couple of years back. We were nearly blinded by sunlight, our eyes having become accustomed to the darkness inside the house.

  Chapter 2

  “Zoe, take the gun.” My hands were still over my ears. Boggs was hurriedly driving down the gentle slope of the driveway, and became irritated. He smacked my left shoulder and yelled. “God damn it, Zoe! Take the gun!”

  I looked at him, in shock by both his tone w
ith me and from the unreal events of the morning. He reached over and set the gun in my lap, and I placed my left hand over it. Tears were streaming down my face. Boggs slammed his fist against the steering wheel with a sound of frustration deep in his throat.

  Turning to the right, away from the earlier car crash, Boggs headed down the road while I sat useless. I was trying to hold in my sobs before I lost all control. I wiped my eyes with an old tissue that was shoved between the center console and the driver’s seat. Boggs slammed his fist into the steering wheel again, causing fresh tears on my part. I wasn’t familiar with this side of him and it scared me.

  “Zo, don’t cry. I just need to think. I need to get you out of here safely.”

  I reached forward to turn the radio on, but was met with a broken knob.

  “The damn radio’s broken,” said Boggs in a frustrated tone. “Only the CD player works. Fuck. We need to know what the hell is going on. Damn it.” He beat the steering wheel with his fist again.

  I dabbed at my tears some more, and turned away from him to look out the window as we drove. We had cleared our small neighborhood and were headed south along a roadway that served a handful of farms. The road was oddly absent of vehicles, and our path was clear. To the east was a hay field that had recently been harvested. Rolled bales covered in white plastic dotted the hillside. We continued to drive in silence, the shock of events causing me to tune out Boggs as he mumbled under his breath.

  Not wanting to face him, I kept watching the countryside pass by. A large pasture came to view. A Black Angus calf lay in the distance while the rest of the herd was in a far corner. I could see four human figures crouched over the animal’s body, ripping into its hide with bare and bloodied hands. They were cramming chunks of flesh into their mouths and feasting while the dying calf flailed in pain and protest.

  I looked away and wiped my runny nose with a bare arm, leaving a trail of slime and tears. In a monotonous tone and now looking out the windshield I spoke to Boggs. “They eat animals.”