by Joseph Zuko
“Name’s Beth. This is my place. Well, was.” Beth spied the blood-soaked hallway. “I got the feeling I’ll be moving today. You’ve got two very brave young women there.”
The frog in Karen’s throat said, “Thank you for taking care of them.”
Beth huffed, “Don’t thank me. All I did was open the door. The lady upstairs carried the two of them all the way here. That swarm out there.” Beth pointed down the hall. “They were nipping at her butt when she landed at my porch. She’s the one you should be thanking. From what I gathered your relationship is mighty complex. It’s none of my business of course. I just thought you should know.”
Shawna stayed out of sight. Beth’s kind words were a good start, but she was too ashamed to make her way down from the attic. A few doors opened and closed outside. She stepped to the window to see. Brother Paul and Cooper stood in the center of the driveway looking up at her.
Chapter 15
Sara heard Ryder calling for her as she exited the house. Part of her wanted to set him free. The other half wanted to watch a zombie rip him to shreds. The way she left him. Was it justice or revenge? Was she going to sleep better knowing he was no longer a threat? She thought so.
She stepped onto the patio, moving silent as a shadow. She gripped the spear tightly as she inched across the yard. Not having Ryder hounding her all the way back to Desiree’s was nice, but being alone was mortifying.
The chirp of every bird, the spring breeze whooshing through the chimes, the creek of a rusted gates, the constant background noise of this neighborhood set her on edge.
Fear that a zombie was sneaking up on her caused her to whip her head around every few seconds.
The place was clear, so Sara decided to kick it into high gear and run to the next house.
She sped across the yard, squeezed through the busted fence, and made a hard left at the next fence. She raced between two houses toward the street.
She stopped at the corner of the house. Catching her breath, she peeked around the edge. The street was empty.
The battle royale they performed in the garage must have called every zombie on the block.
Sara studied the street signs and got her bearings.
Ryder said it was six blocks south, Sara thought to herself as she worked out her directions. The row of houses on her right were dark and she couldn’t tell if someone or something was lurking inside.
Across the street, on the next block, was a shrub that lined the sidewalk. It created a three-foot-high corridor between the street and the fences. It ran the length of the block and would keep her out of sight.
Sara dashed, eyes darting toward every hiding spot a zombie could be hiding. She reached the bushes and squatted. She realized that fear was causing her to hold her breath every time she sprinted.
If I keep that up I’m going to pass out, she told herself.
Sara duckwalked the full block. By the time she got to the end, her thighs were on fire.
She peeked around the corner and spotted three infected. They were busy feasting on a large dog in the center of the street. They had eaten so much of the thing, Sara couldn’t tell the thing’s breed.
There was a ton of open ground to cross before she could find another hiding spot.
On the curb directly in front of her was a big blue recycling bin, and next to it was a short green one for glass. It was brimming with wine and beer bottles.
Sara slowly inched her way to the blue bin and used it for cover. She gently lifted a wine bottle from the precarious mound of glass.
She gripped it by the neck, cocked her arm back and chucked the bottle as far as she could.
It flipped end over end, sailing toward a house in the middle of the block, about eighty feet from where she was crouching. It landed in the side yard’s soft grass with a thud.
The zombies didn’t even notice.
Sara rolled her eyes and lifted a second bottle from the stack. This time she peeked around the blue bin and aimed for a car in the middle of the block. The glass arced through the air and exploded against the windshield.
This got the zombies’ attention. They dropped their shards of meat and raced toward the noise. They smashed into the side of the vehicle, as if someone was inside the rig. They were distracted, and the ruckus masked any sound Sara made as she sprinted across the street, through the front yard and headed for the fenced in area behind the house.
Sara eased open the gate, slipped into the yard, and closed the gate behind her. Plants, trees, and outdoor décor filled the space. Someone spent a ton of money and time turning this place into a world class garden. Sara was caught up in the majesty of her surroundings and didn’t notice the woman until it was too late.
The woman was in her mid-fifties. An apron was wrapped around her torso and she wore dirt covered gloves.
As she pivoted, the dark red stains on her jaw, neck and chest became clear. She launched at Sara. Gloved hands reaching, red teeth glistening as it closed in on Sara.
Sara was too close to use the spear. Instead she used the handle to block its outstretched limbs, sidestepped and left a leg extended.
The zombie tripped and fell to its face. Sara pinned its skull to the perfectly cut lawn.
Sara spun, checking for more zombies. All she found was a man’s body laying on the patio with a set of hedge trimmers jammed into his eye sockets.
Sara spotted a concrete bench on the far wall of the fence. She jogged toward it and checked the alley. It was clear.
She hoisted her body up, got a leg onto the other side of the fence, and lowered herself into the dirt road. Once her feet hit the ground she ran.
Sara found an open gate to the next yard and checked it for infected. Zero biters. She cruised through the yard, skirted the side of the house and paused at the corner of the lot.
She huffed in mouthfuls of air, sweat was beading on her forehead. It was too warm for the jacket, but running around without sleeves to protect her limbs was too scary.
Sara steadied her breath as she inspected the next street.
It was clear as well.
She whispered to herself, “I must be close.”
Earlier today when they blasted the zombies in front of Desiree’s house, they had cleared the whole neighborhood of creeps.
There still could be a few out there, but Sara was sick of being alone.
If Ryder made it without running into any zombies, then so can I. Sara cleared her mind and got in the zone. She focused on long strides. Going hard while not burning herself out after one block.
For the last year she had been attempting to beat her mile time every few months. The last time she tried she finally finished under the seven-minute mark with a new record of six minutes and fifty-two seconds.
It dawned on her. That was last week, yet it seemed like years ago.
Her old life was becoming like a dream world. Some far away fantasy that never really happened.
She quieted her mind and channeled her energy. Four blocks to go.
Sara took off like a spooked deer. Graceful and nimble, she darted along the street. The backpack bounced around and threw off her pace. She tucked her thumb into the strap and held it tight to her spine. She pushed harder. Her legs turning faster.
One block whizzed by in a blur. Her ribs ached where Ryder kicked her, and she felt weak from dehydration.
She tuned out the pain and drove the balls of her feet into the asphalt.
Sara was close enough to see the roof of Desiree’s house. She had done it. She had bested Ryder, survived a horde of zombies and found her way back to her friends.
She pushed harder. Her body begged her to stop, but she wasn’t listening. Her drive to be safe kept her in motion. She had four hours of sleep, a few bites of food and a busted rib, but she didn’t quit.
Another block down.
The fence that led to Desiree’s backyard was less than twenty yards away. A swell of emotions rose up inside her. She longed to be on the bus
, heading into the mountains and away from this madness. Her body screamed for mercy as she took the final steps and slowed her tired legs as they crossed through the open gate.
Sara wheezed, “Guys?”
She bent at the waist and clutched her knees. Once she got her lungs under control she closed the gate behind her and shuffled toward the half finished grave in the center of the yard. Blood drops speckled the grass around the open earth.
Inside the burial place was Troy’s body impression where he landed after Ryder clocked him with the shovel.
“Guys?” Sara spotted the two wrapped bodies on the patio. Her heart skipped a beat when she found her SKS leaning against the bench where she left it. She slipped her head through the strap and secured it to her back.
She jogged into the house, shut the sliding glass door, and locked it. “Troy? Jim? Leon? Anyone?”
She searched the house. Desiree’s bedroom still smelled like death and canned flowers from when she sprayed the room freshener.
She raced to the living room.
The bus was gone.
“They must be out looking for me.”
Sara collapsed into the recliner, held her forehead and wiped the sweat from her brow. Her mind battled to make sense of everything.
Are they looking for me?
Why wouldn’t someone stay behind in case I escaped?
The crushing truth hit her square in her broken heart.
They figured Ryder was going to kill me, so they left. Her throat closed tight. The bitter pill turned sideways in her esophagus. Jim seemed like such a loyal friend. Troy, too. Did their kiss mean nothing? She was just getting to know Karen, but the woman was totally cool.
How could they do this to me? She wondered as she jumped to her feet.
“I must have missed something,” she said as she walked toward the kitchen. She searched the counter for a note. There was nothing. The cabinets were ransacked, but no indication as to where they might have gone.
Sara checked the dining table, then the coffee table, still nothing. She recalled them talking about going to the pharmacy. Jim needed medicine. That building was in downtown Battle Ground. The place was probably crawling with zombies.
“I’m not going there alone,” she mumbled to herself as she checked the bedroom again. She knew it was in vain. She circled the bed and just as she suspected there was nothing. Not a single clue to where they might have gone.
Sara turned to leave then paused at the entrance.
What was that?
Sara pivoted and went to the bathroom door. Blood coated the edge and the frame.
Sara mumbled, “I don’t remember any blood here before.”
This was the bathroom she used earlier after Desiree and her father died. Sara nudged the door open. The bath mat was wadded up and not how she left it. The window was wide open, and there was a dirty footprint on the counter. The shoe size was slightly larger than her own.
“Shawna!”
Sara couldn’t put the whole story together. There appeared to have been a fight in here and it looked like Shawna crawled out the window to escape. It could be the answer to why the bus was missing. Still, she was left with no idea where they had gone.
She wandered through the house and headed for the living room window. Sara stayed tucked behind the curtain as she scanned the street. Heaps of corpses were everywhere.
“This place is gonna stink like a butcher’s butthole by tomorrow.” Her gaze traveled along the street. A few cars were still in good condition. However, she didn’t have Leon’s hotwiring skills and she bet her chances of finding the correct key were slim. Even if she did get a car going, then what? How was she ever going to find them?
Wandering the wasteland with nothing but a spear and sixty rounds of ammo sure seemed like a death sentence.
She turned away from the window and checked the living room once more for a scrap of info. In the corner sat a cabinet full of books. On top of it all was a bowl. Poking above the rim was a key. Sara moved across the floor and picked up the ring of keys. One of them was marked, Ford.
“Desiree said she couldn’t drive because of a DUI.”
Sara jingled the keys as her mind turned.
She headed for the garage and opened the door. The windows were blacked out and the power was off. She stepped into the room with her arm extended. After a few steps, her palm contacted a smooth, cold metal surface. Her fingers searched for and located grooves in the metal. It didn’t take long for her to find the door handle. She gave it a tug and the interior lights of a mid-nineties Mustang illuminated the dark room. She angled her spear and got it to fit in the passenger seat. Sara slid behind the wheel and closed the door. She put the key in the ignition and locked the doors. A few seconds later the light kicked off. She wasn’t ready to hit the road. In fact, she still had to open the garage door manually before she could leave. She just wanted the safe feeling of being inside a locked car.
Sara clicked the key one notch and the dashboard lit up. The clock said it was almost four. “I’ll give them an hour. If they’re not back by then… well.” She wasn’t sure, but she had an hour to figure it out.
Ryder watched the second hand on the clock. It passed the nine and on its way to the ten. Once it hit the twelve, the alarm was going to ring. This was the proverbial dinner bell. They say a watched pot never boils. Well, it’s not true when you are facing your own death. This was the fastest fifteen minutes of Ryder’s life. He had lost all feeling in his hands and feet. He couldn’t wiggle a finger or toe. A pool of sweat gathered on the floor underneath him. His pants and underwear were left around his knees. In between staring at the clock, he watched the blood run from his nicked penis head, down his thigh and onto the floor, where it mixed with his perspiration.
He thought he hated Red before. Come to find out that was just a mild loathing. Ryder couldn’t believe the rage bubbling inside him. He begged Satan to free him. Ryder pledged his soul to eternal hellfire if it meant finding Red and tearing her apart. He prayed to Jesus after that, but it was pointless. No heavenly body was going to rescue him.
Ten more seconds until the bell chimed. Then every zombie in its range would come a running, to feast on the Ryder Buffet.
He thought about everyone he’d ever hurt. Ryder loved verbal insults. Calling people gay, fat, ugly and dumb or telling people darker than himself to go back to their own country was pure joy.
He regretted none of it. In fact, if he would have known how short his life was going to be, he would have doubled his efforts. Maybe even spent time researching new ways to break a person down.
Five seconds to go.
Ryder recalled a time in his life when he got his girlfriend pregnant. She wanted to keep it, get married and settle down. He told her that he did too, and to meet him at the Justice of the Peace so they could make it official. He was lying through his teeth. He wore a disguise and watched the building until she came out bawling like a baby. Then he skipped town.
“Good times.”
Ryder smiled as he watched the second hand hit twelve.
The little hammer perched on the top of the clock slammed between the two bells. The noise rung out. The sound alone drove Ryder crazy. There are few things worse than a ringing alarm clock you can’t silence.
A minute ticked by and the clock continued to ring. Ryder thought waiting for it to ring was bad, but waiting for a bloody set of teeth to come around the corner and feed on his flesh was a far worse experience.
Another minute passed. The ringing was chipping away at his will to live.
If it keeps going, I’ll want someone to end me. Thought Ryder as he closed his eyes and tried to tune out the relentless noise.
His eyes snapped open. The floor was rumbling under him.
Footsteps coming this way!
This is it!
He was at the end of the line. He hated when he’d blubbered like a baby as Red threatened to take his manhood. This time he promised himself he
would stay strong and curse his way to the other side.
The steps were getting closer.
Ryder couldn’t help but blurt out, “Take your sweet fucking time, why don’t you!”
The steps quickened.
Now he wished he had kept his dumb mouth shut.
A body moved through the doorway.
Ryder held a ferocious gaze.
A hand reached out.
It tapped the top of the clock and silenced the alarm.
A soft voice asked, “What happened to you?”
Chapter 16
Cane tallied boxes of canned food and marked them down on his clipboard. The paperwork was incredibly neat and detailed. Columns and rows listed types and amounts of everything the people were unloading from the trailer. The busy work helped, but nothing could soothe his troubled mind.
Sixteen cans of green beans. He logged the amount on his paper.
What the hell is happening to the Earth?
Forty-two cans of tuna. Cane made a new column.
How is it even possible for a dead person to keep moving?
One hundred and sixty packets of seasoning.
I hit that man in the chest with my axe and he kept coming…
Cane wasn’t raised religious and never needed religion before. Spending twenty-four hours in this building, surrounded by massive works of art depicting the Lord at his most memorable moments moved him.
This might be the time to crack one of those Bibles and see what all the hype is about. Cane thought to himself.
He finished counting a stack of fruit cocktails and decided to take a break.
Cane never went to a doctor to get a label put on it, but he always suspected he suffered from A.D.D. His Mom used to complain, ‘Hell, boy, can’t you do something for more than five minutes before you jump ship?’
The answer was no. After a while of doing anything, he would get bored, lose interest, and find something else to occupy his time. It made it a challenge to keep a job. Most nine to fives were the same bullshit, day in day out. He would go crazy and end up quitting or getting fired.
