“Maybe that was me, I don't know,” he said and went to sit down next to her and thought of the untold number of nights he had come home alone from work. He would read, or work some more, and then in the morning he would go back to the office because that was his life.
“It was you,” she said rolling over on her side, completely unaware that she had exposed her left leg all the way to her hip. She was naked beneath the muumuu. The sight was intoxicating to his lonely brain and he glanced away. “Remember, I've been in your place. You were boring before all of this.”
“And now?” he asked turning back to her and gasping. She had rolled even more and now her buttock was showing. As casually as possible he tried to flick the muumuu to cover her again—and was unsuccessful.
“What are you doing?” she asked, quickly.
Neil's eyes and mouth came open wide and he spluttered, “You…your…back side was open…I mean it was uncovered. I was only trying to cover you up. I wasn't trying to do anything.”
Her eyes were narrow slits. “Anything? Like what? What would you do?”
“Like get frisky? Really I wasn't…”
She interrupted him, laughing herself breathless. “Frisky! You said frisky. Who the hell says fri…frisky?” She couldn't go on for many minutes and there were tears in her eyes when she finally stopped. “I know you wouldn't do anything. You're too nice of a guy.”
There it was once again. “That's me.” He stood and fished out a handful of Jolly Ranchers. “Look what I found us for lunch.”
“Maybe later,” she said with a big yawn, showing him her back teeth. “I think I'm going to take a nap. Would you mind staying in here with me?”
“I guess, but only until you fall asleep. Then I want to look around.” She was out in minutes, but since she had forced him to lie down and then settled into the pocket of his shoulder, complaining that the pillow smelled of old people, it was some time before she rolled over and freed him to go snoop about.
He did so, taking Sarah's rifle and a pair of rubber boots he found by the garage. The garage itself was another treasure trove: Fishing poles, tackle boxes, an axe, and a sledgehammer and best of all, a small two-person tent that could fit three in a pinch, especially if they snuggled. His mind blinked rapidly between Sarah in the river and Sadie on the bed.
“Maybe I'm not as nice as everyone thinks. Maybe I'm just a dirty old man,” he whispered, heading to the barn, wanting to clear his mind. There wasn't much to the red barn. Other than a hayloft, that was far too high up with only what appeared a very rickety ladder to service it, the only thing of real note was a dusty tractor and dozens of bales of long grasses that he assumed was hay or in the hay family. There really wasn't much more to the barn, save for a pitchfork, which he immediately leaned on, sticking a length of straw between his teeth.
He had just decided to show Sadie the new addition to his ridiculous outfit, which he was sure would garner another of her snort-filled laughs, when he noted that the day had turned suddenly gloomy, and there was a nip to the wind, and that there was a zombie shuffling toward the front door of the house, and that the front door stood open with only a flimsy screen door as protection to the sleeping women inside.
Lastly he noted that the zombie was well over six feet in height and was wearing an outfit similar to the one Neil had on. “Damn,” he whispered to himself. “Farmer Jones has come to get his clothes back.”
Now came the question of what to do about it. He had checked the status of the M16 when he had first picked it up—it had five rounds left. Too few to be wasting on a single zombie…but this was no ordinary zombie. It was practically a giant of its kind and the only zombie that Neil had proved himself against so far had been a skinny little child-zombie.
But what would Sarah and Sadie think if he managed to kill this fearful thing? He pictured himself tossing the huge head on the ground in front of them, while they cast adoring looks his way. He liked the idea and it bolstered the gossamer courage that flickered within him. Peaking around the corner of the barn he called out, “Yoo-hoo.”
Immediately he wanted to smack himself. What sort of zombie hunter said things like yoo-hoo? He tried again and at the upper limits of his vulgarity he yelled, “Hey turd face!” This was better—though it wasn't needed. The zombie was already hurrying across at a quick trot; much faster than Neil had expected.
Setting the gun down, Neil took up the pitchfork as a weapon and ran to hide behind a stack of hay. There he waited with a Jolly rancher in one hand and the pitchfork in the other, and when the zombie came in snuffling and grunting about, Neil threw the candy at the tractor.
His primitive plan worked like a charm, only to be ruined by the civilized planner. The zombie wandered to the tractor, turning his back on Neil long enough for the man to come up from behind and crack it over the skull with the pitchfork. He used plenty of strength…enough to render a man of that size unconscious. The problem arose in that he still considered this creature a man, not taking into account the fact that Zombies do not need an actual consciousness to kill.
Instead of falling to the ground, it spun and advanced on an utterly shocked Neil. He let out a noise that would have been more appropriate for turkey to have made and stabbed the zombie in the chest with even worse results. The beast ripped the makeshift weapon from Neil's small hands and rushed forward to kill.
He could do nothing but flee for his life losing both of his over-sized boots in the process. Now the farmer zombie was well fed and healthy for its kind and since it could not grow tired, in the end it would have run down Neil eventually. Luckily for him, there was a little feeder creek that ran along a narrow, but sharp-edged gulley, just off the first of the farmer's fields.
Neil leapt it, but the zombie went and became stuck in the mud. Upon seeing this, Neil knew what he had to do, though he wasn't happy about it. Gathering the largest rocks he could carry, he commenced to stone the zombie until the thing ceased to move.
Rain had begun during this chore and by the time Neil looked up he saw that the farmer wasn't the only zombie he would have to deal with. A few hundred yards away came another wave of the things, and so still bootless, Neil ran for the house where the locks on the doors had already been driven in long ago and the bay window sat as an enticement for some hungry undead beast.
Chapter 31
Ram
The Western Desert
With the M16 pointed at them from a mere thirty yards, Ram couldn't chance heroics of any sort. Slowly he raised his hands and asked Julia, “What makes you think she's the one in need of help? She's got the gun.”
“I studied to be a psychologist,” she said, looking more pale than normal. “Got a degree and everything. Though at the moment I wish I had gotten bullet proof glass instead of a degree.”
“Yep.” There wasn't much more to say as Cassie came up to the car with the gun still pointed. The girl stared with hard, black eyes and gritted white teeth. “Would you like a lift?” Ram said with a bit of smile.
“Why did you come for me?” she asked as the gun dropped from beneath her chin just a fraction of an inch.
Julia leaned close to Ram so that she could see Cassie's face and said, “So we could be together in this. Ram and I made a mistake in not including you last night.” Cassie and Ram looked at each other, both with raised eyebrows. Just then Julia realized her choice of words were poor so she added, “I should say we didn't include you in our plans and in our thoughts. It was a spur of the moment thing, but that does not excuse us from ignoring how it might have affected you.”
“Oh,” Ram said.
“Oh,” Cassie agreed, dropping the gun a few more inches lower. “But what good would it have done? You wants him. He wants you. Where do I fit in? Nowhere that's where.”
Cassie took a step back and Julia leaned even closer saying, “You can be with us in a platonic manner. As friends. As allies. You need people you can depend on and so do we. Otherwise none of us are going to make
it.”
“Well that's just it,” Cassie said, raising a finger. “You gots him already. You can depend on him now, but I can't. What if he gots to chose between you and me in a life or death situation? He gonna chose you. You see? It ain't fair or equal or none of that shit.”
“And if we cease having a physical relationship?” Julia asked.
Ram raised his hands to his ears as if the words pained him. He then climbed out of the car, ignoring Cassie as she threatened him with his own M16, and walked away, looking out at the nothing of the southwestern desert.
“And when do I get a say so in all of this?” he asked, still turned away. “Shouldn't I get to decide who I save, or not save or sleep with, or any of it?”
Julia got out of the car on her side and answered him, “Of course. We're just talking right now.”
“Then I'll tell you straight, Cassie. I won't be saving your ass, not because we are or aren't sleeping together, it's because you're immature. This is the second time you brought zombies down on us because you can't control yourself. And you,” he said to Julia, shaking his head. Wasn't this the same girl that he was just kissing so passionately a minute before? “I guess I was a bigger mistake than you counted on.”
“I don't look at it as a mistake, but I do see that my pleasure was at someone else's expense. Do you see? Right now we are all vulnerable and hurting. I don't want to be the cause of any more pain. I hope you can understand that, Ram. And I'm not saying we can't renew our relationship later. We don't know what the future holds or who we will meet on our road. Who knows, you might find someone you like more than me.”
Ram felt it in his bones that it was a mistake to bring Cassie back in.
He knew her type better than some psychology book ever could. Just like he knew that Julia wouldn't be dissuaded from this path; she had decided that this wasn't necessarily the best course of action, however in her mind it fell firmly on the “good” side of the moral equation. This was how her type usually went about deciding things.
He knew this about them because he was of the streets and yet not of them as well. He was a cross over, a bridge between America and the underbelly of America. His father had been a doctor, while his mother had been a migrant worker for most of her life. He could play poker in the basement of a brothel, where an inadvertent look could mean drawing a gun, or he could discuss theology or the political structure over brandy at The Hamilton near his alma mater Georgetown University.
His life had been spent in both worlds and it was why he had chosen the Drug Enforcement Agency after college. Despite that he had been educated to believe that all cultures were equal, he knew better. To him moral equivalency was for pussies. Anyone with any sense or who had spent any time in the barrio of East L.A. could not equate it to middle America. In truth the barrio could not even be equated to the Mexico of fifty years ago, where manners and a sense of right and wrong was the order of the day.
This was why he looked hard at Cassie, trying to delve into her motivations and her mind. Julia's motivations were all too clear: letting Cassie come back, even though she was a danger to everyone, was what a good person would do.
“Cassie is right,” Ram said finally. “If I had to make a choice, I would save you, Julia. That's not likely going to change.”
“That's cuz you trying to be all white,” Cassie stated. “It's true so don't try denying it. You might have fooled them bangers but you ain't never fooled me. But that's what I like about you, Ram. All men are dogs, but white boys are like them Labradors, all loyal and shit.”
“Thanks,” Ram said. He meant it sarcastically, but Cassie missed it. “So what are we going to do? Take a vote?” The three looked from one to the other until Ram added, “I think it's a mistake to include her. I vote no about her coming along, however I will abide if it's two to one.”
Cassie smirked and said, “That's funny since I gots this…” She was about to threaten them with the M16 again, but she had let it slip so that it was pointing at the ground. Ram pulled the .44 magnum before she could finish her sentence and he had the hammer half way back. “Damn, boy,” she said in admiration. “You is fast.”
She let the gun drop to the desert floor and Ram blew out angrily—it wasn't how you treated a weapon. Before he could gripe anymore, Julia spoke, “I vote she stays. Three people have better odds of surviving than two, though you would be wise to listen to Ram concerning certain matters of security.”
“Oh you think that wise?” Cassie asked with a bitterness that had Julia blinking and looking to Ram. Cassie dropped her eyes a moment later and said, “Sorry. I left without getting no water and now my head is pounding. I just need to know if I'm going to be treated as an equal before I say yes. Before it was all Cassie do this, Cassie do that.”
Ram didn't remember it quite like that, but Julia was quick to apologize for any unintended slight.
“And before I say yes. I wanna know where we going?” Cassie added.
“We're going to Atlanta,” Ram replied immediately, patting the inner pocket of his jacket where a glass vacutainer filled with blood sat in a plastic tube that had once held a fat cigar. “There's a lab called the CDC; the Center for Disease Control. Hopefully they either have a cure for the virus or they're working on one as we speak.” He certainly hoped they were. Ram had taken three vials of blood from the dead terrorist and had forwarded two to his supervisor. A nagging doubt made him hold back the last one, just in case.
“I could do that,” Cassie said agreeing.
Julia beamed at both the suggestion and Cassie's acceptance and then went out of her to give in to every little demand that Cassie made. Cassie rode in the front seat for the rest of the day. Cassie got the largest portions of food and extra water. And Cassie made sure to put herself between Ram and Julia at every opportunity.
“It'll die down.” Julia said in a whisper when they were exploring a motel in the dusty berg of Peach Springs, population three. At some point someone had tried to hold out there against the zombies. Every door and window was boarded up and there were bodies here and there shot through the head. The person had made a final stand in the far back of the kitchen where there was a walk-in freezer. The bodies were piled high and the stink so atrocious that Cassie had to leave.
In the freezer itself was only a single body, dead of asphyxia, which was sad, but also several large cans of tomato paste, olives, and anchovies, which wasn't great but would do.
Sadly there were no springs to the spring and they had to settle for using boiled water they hauled from a little place called Mud Creek. The same kitchen provided ten-gallon pots that they used over an open fire. These took forever to boil and as they waited, Julia slept in the shade while Ram stood guard.
It wasn't long before Cassie came up. “You aren't going to start in again,” Ram asked. “Didn't we just go through this?”
“I just want to talk some sense into you is all,” she said. “We can talk without being overheard.” He just stared until she went on, “You think she ever been with a latino dude before? Cuz I don't.”
“What's your point?” he demanded.
“Birds of a feather is my point,” she replied. “I betcha there ain't too many people look like us left. Black folks and you Mexicans lived in the city, and where's the first place this all break out in? The city. Where were all the Q-zones? The city. All the white folk in the middle of the country gots to go here and there, but not us.”
“Again, what's your point? Are you suggesting that Julia is going to dump me for the first white guy that we come across? I very much doubt it.”
“I very much doubt it,” Cassie mocked. “Then you don't know shit about history. And you don't know shit about the human mind or white people at all.”
“Then teach me,” Ram said. “Show me the terrible racism in Julia. She's the one who wanted you to stay, when I wanted you gone. What have you to say about that?”
“Easy, you a self hater. You kilt all those bangers no prob
lem cuz you hate your own race. The whites got you brain washed. And Julia kept me around only cuz of her guilt. It wasn't anything for me. It was cuz she felt bad that I was upset. You saw me workin her guilt today, right? Everything I asked for I got, because she feelin guilty about something.”
Ram couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You're real messed up in the head. You better straighten yourself out.”
“And you better get to learnin how they like it: yes, suh—no suh. Can I kiss your ass suh?”
He thought she was the one in need of learning a lesson but he was wrong. She would be the one teaching instead.
Chapter 32
Eric
Atlantic Ocean
After his adventure into New York City, it was clear that helicopters and Eric Reidy did not mix. Barf bags did however, and he had become well acquainted with them on the chopper ride from the CDC in Atlanta, Georgia to the deck of the USS Harry S Truman, a Nimitz class aircraft carrier.
The Truman was normally based out of Norfolk, Virginia, however Norfolk had gone black early, as had Jacksonville and every other major Naval facility. Basically the carrier was without a port and was turning circles in the middle of the ocean, waiting to find out what was going on, and where it would be safe to dock.
Eric didn't have a clue, which meant that his trip was a waste of his time and his breakfast. They were on short rations at the CDC already and he was sad to see his eggs and toast go into the brown bags. When they landed, Eric went on deck and just breathed the salt air for a minute, ignoring the officer who pulled at his sleeve and called him by the wrong title.
“Dr Reidy, the admiral is waiting and he hates to be kept waiting,” the Lieutenant said nervously. “It'll be better for both of us if we hurry.”
The Undead World (Book 1): The Apocalypse Page 22
