“You trust him?” Mary asked, moving over so Angela could sit beside her.
“It’s hard to trust someone in times like these—though I think it’s fair enough to say that I trust you four. But I am positive that there is some sort of facility out there. It’s just a matter of getting there, which was the only thing that kept me going until I met you guys.”
“Well you know that I’m for staying,” Angela said. “Somethin’ ain’t right with that guy. You should have seen the way he’s been looking at us girls. It’s like he’s undressing us in his mind.”
“Probably the drugs,” Matt said.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Angela replied shortly, raising her arms and her voice. “Don’t like him, don’t trust him. That’s that.”
“Can’t say that I disagree with you,” Matt said, watching the undead woman finally fall in. “Score one for the pit.” He retrieved his sword, which was resting beside him, freshly sharpened, and strode over to the fallen corpse.
The thing righted itself as he reached the pit. It reached out with desiccated hands and bent fingers, mouth agape, revealing a set of checkered teeth. Matt leaned down and scalped the creeper, watching as its brains toppled out onto the dirt flooring like spilled Jell-O. He returned to the porch and the conversation.
“Well, it sounds like Anna and Alex are going with him,” Mary finished saying.
“He’s in there working on Kristin now,” Angela said.
“You know,” Matt said, “not to overstep and speak for anyone else, but it seems that we’re all thinking about staying.” He looked to Jeff. “Even you, the one who has been with him the longest, sound like you’re having your doubts.”
He waited for Jeff to say something, and when he didn’t, Matt continued. “This place he speaks of sounds nice, and it may actually exist, but why would they risk contaminating it over us? Maybe they’d take him in, but I get the feeling that we’d be shot on sight, like Mary said. And that’s if we even make it there. I, for one, am up for waiting it out a little longer, like Jeff suggested earlier.” He looked around. “We just need to make better fortifications… turn this place into our own little community.”
“Sure as shit beats the road,” Cole said, Angela nodding in agreement.
“What if Tim and the others want to leave before us?” Mary asked.
“Then let them,” Jeff answered. “He knows, just like you all know, how bad it is out there.”
Matt didn’t mention this, but he wasn’t too fond of the idea of letting Alex go with Dr. Grant. He liked Kristin a little, and Anna was all right, depending on the day, but Alex, well he’d grown quite attached to the thirteen-year-old. Losing him would be like losing a little brother. The rest were adults and could make decisions for themselves. Out there in the wastelands, where the dead and demented ruled, Matt felt that Alex, however well his father might have trained him, would perish. He sighed at the thought.
“Either way,” Mary said, “we’re still in need of supplies.”
“You’ve got plenty of houses ‘round here, girl,” Angela said.
“And we want to keep it that way for a while,” Matt interjected. “The more we take from out there, the more we have here in case of an emergency.”
“Besides,” Cole chimed in, “what fun would that be?”
“We’ll head out the day after tomorrow, which leaves us tomorrow to prepare and tonight to break the news to the others.” Matt wiped the blade of his sword on the grass and sheathed it.
***
“It’s unfair for you to expect us to abandon everything at the first mention of something better,” Cole told Anna from her seat on the couch.
“I need something better, not just for me.” She caressed her belly.
“And that’s one of the reasons we’re not arguing that you go,” Mary sympathized, standing at the entry of the kitchen.
“What about Alex?” Anna looked at them with a shocked expression. “Who’s going to protect him?”
“It’s his decision,” Matt said from the recliner.
“What about us?” Kristin asked, seemingly intent on leaving too. She glanced beside her to Anna and raised a brow.
“You know what it’s like out there,” Matt said. “You can make your own decision. We’ve made ours. You’re more than welcome to change your mind.”
“Again, I don’t get you.” Kristin looked right at Matt, her face reddening. “You’ll go out into the streets to get us food, risking everything, yet you won’t go with us to a place that offers safe harbor?”
“We’re all doing the best we can, and I don’t feel it’s such a good decision to drop everything on a whim. You might feel comfortable doing that, but I don’t.” Matt turned to Tim. “No offense, Doc, but I don’t even know you. There is no way in hell that, when I’ve got a roof over my head and a pit surrounding me, I’m just going to up and leave. Maybe a couple days ago I would have said something to the contrary, but I’m thinking our odds, at least for now, are better here.”
“No offense taken, son,” Tim said. “I just wish you could see things the way I do.”
Matt shrugged.
“We’ll be heading out in a few days to get the supplies we didn’t acquire yesterday,” said Cole, stepping beside Tim in front of the television. “You’re all more than welcome to take what you need for your venture. I even spotted an SUV on our way back yesterday. We’ll do what we can to find the keys. It’ll probably be enough for you to travel in.”
“I’m afraid there’ll be no way for me to repay you for your sacrifice,” Tim said.
Cole placed a hand on Dr. Grant’s shoulder. “You can survive long enough to get that vaccine created, Doc. That’ll be enough.”
“I pray that I’ll be able to do such a thing.” Tim opened the bottle of pills and swallowed two, chasing them with a sip of bottled water.
***
She ran and ran, and then she ran some more…
Less than a day ago was when she’d heard those gunshots somewhere in the neighborhood. It was less than two days ago her father had turned, dying before her youthful eyes. She’d been hiding out in an old tool shed in the back of someone’s yard, hiding from Daddy, who had turned into one of those… those things, just like the person who had bitten him.
It was a cruel world, and this particular eight-year-old was now beginning to experience the business end of that merciless cruelty.
When those gunshots erupted, it sounded like one of Daddy’s old war movies. She had been sleeping beneath the only window in the shed, between the lawnmower and a few other tools she couldn’t quite name. One of them had a bad name; she’d often heard Daddy calling Mommy that name after she’d left with Mr. Tuttle. The first shot pulled her out of a dream where things were the way they once had been when they were a family.
Each echoing shot seemed so distant, so far, but they meant there were others, and the last thing Daddy had said before trying to attack her was, “Go… and find others, baby. They’ll… they’ll help you.”
It had still light been out when she decided to peek out the window. Daddy wasn’t in the yard anymore. He probably left during the gunfire, too. She was desperate, so she left, crying and running, praying that maybe her mom was out there waiting for her.
Mommy wasn’t.
The little girl took off, heading for the street, seeking nothing more than someone to tell her everything was going to be all right.
The first few people she found were like how Daddy had been after waking up. Their eyes were icky, just like their skin. Each moved like Granny before she went to live with God, so she was easily able to dash away from them. She even managed to keep Mr. Teddy safely in her grasp; it was a toy Mommy had given her before going away a few months back, and it was one of only things the little girl really cherished.
It wasn’t long before she had given up and had to rest. For a while she sat with legs and arms crossed, crying so loud it began to hurt her ears. She had no idea how lucky
she was. Fate allowed her to sit there, weeping, until the moon was well into the night sky.
She couldn’t understand what was going on. One day, everything was fine. The next, she and her father were hiding. The next day, they were running. For a number of days that had become uncountable to this little girl, they were on the run. It was like she was living in her nightmares.
Finally, the little girl got up—her tear ducts having simply run dry—and went knocking on a few doors. There were none of those crazy, slow people around, so she guessed it was all right. But no one answered. Eventually she got to a door that opened when she rapped on it, having not been completely closed. It was dark inside. When she called out, she got no reply and entered the house hesitantly. Leaving the tool shed had felt like days ago to her now, but the comfort of the heat inside the house washed away the memory.
She was in the middle of trying to figure out how to work the DVD player when the yelling man started his assault on the door. She screamed and hid in one of the lower closets, but the man just kept pounding and snarling. The little girl had no choice except to flee. She ran out the front door and into the early morning, clutching Mr. Teddy.
She’d been on the run for what seemed like forever, dodging crazy people that towered over her small body. Luckily, there weren’t any like the one that had been at the back door.
Eventually she got away from those sick people, and there were plenty of them. So many they were like an army. The last she’d seen had been hours ago. Hungry, tired, and thirsty, she slept outside in the woods, holding Mr. Teddy close.
When she awoke only a few hours later, she saw something she’d given up hope of finding. She watched from behind a tree as a man opened the back door to the house at the edge of the woods. He stepped outside and stretched.
She’d found someone. Someone who would help her, give her food and water and shelter, just like Daddy had said. She hadn’t eaten in so long. Her stomach and head were throbbing, yearning for the void to be filled.
The little girl absentmindedly rubbed her shoulder where Daddy had scratched her, wondering if she should go to the front door and knock or wait until someone else came outside.
CHAPTER 22
Jeff awoke early in the morning; it was a tradition that had stuck with him since boot camp.
These past few days had done a lot for him, he realized. Safety. The word hadn’t meant much since the outbreak—that is, up until he’d been rescued. Before, he’d been the one who hadn’t made the decisions. Before, Tim was like a superior, ordering him around. Being only twenty-five-years-old, it was easy for Jeff to allow the old man to cloud his decisions bit by tiny bit.
Now, finding others out there, regular old Dick and Jane common folk, he was able to wash away most of the good doctor’s blabbering of “this is our only chance,” “we’ve got no other choice,” and “the world depends on us.” The way Dr. Grant played out his ideas, he’d made it seem almost childish to argue—as if Jeff would be the one person in the world left out of the joke.
Out there Tim made sense, even as his addiction to OxyContin—or whatever the hell he was popping—grew. Here, though, with normal everyday survivors, Tim’s ideas grew less and less attractive by the minute.
Not once, it occurred to Jeff as he poured himself a cup of coffee, had he thought of simply finding a place like this and settling down. When you were already on the road, what were a few hundred more miles? Especially when a good amount of them had been passed flying in a Cessna? During their time on the ground, far too many had died—good folk and bad—and that became clearer each moment Jeff explored this odd feeling of safety. Here the living-to-dead ratio seemed low.
He sat at the table, coffee ready and steaming, and peeled an orange, thinking he wouldn’t try to stop the pregnant woman from going. Hell, he wouldn’t try to stop any of them.
Angela had said something yesterday that stuck with him, doing laps in his head: “We’re fucked either way, so why don’t we just enjoy our lives while we still can?” There was no denying this truth, only delaying it. He hadn’t had the luxury of an orange since before the infection spread, and now, after millions upon millions were dead, he was enjoying one. A smile crept across his face as he chewed on the delicacy.
Nope. He’d be staying here. Chances were that anyone following Tim would eventually die, and yet, somehow, Jeff knew Dr. Grant himself would survive. He had a way with those who were easily deceived. Nowadays, most people were as gullible as a child and as desperate as a man with a starving family. Except for Matt, Cole, and his girlfriend. Even Angela. They were staying. He liked those odds much better.
They would fortify this household more; possibly build breaching walls in the yard. There were plenty of guns out there for the taking. If they searched military outposts and police roadblocks, he was sure they could find enough ammunition to take down one of those Titans. A rocket launcher would be nice, and knock-off versions of explosives could be as effective as the real deal. They had already done so much here. Besides, he’d heard orders to shoot anyone on sight too many times when he was in D.C., and he wasn’t sure that Tim was entirely accurate when he’d promised salvation to the others.
Too many times had they met survivors when they were on the run for North Carolina, and often he’d watched Dr. Grant send them to their deaths—never directly though. He sent others elsewhere as a distraction, and it almost always ended up with those folks dying.
None of this had clicked out there. Jeff’s mental state had been shoot-and-survive. He realized now that Dr. Grant had been more order-and-survive, or deceive-and-survive. Worst of all, sacrifice-and-survive. Never had he tried turning on the soldier. But these three, the two girls and the boy who kept claiming he wasn’t a kid, they would die, almost certainly. At least that’s how Jeff saw it. They held no real value to the good doctor except as expendables.
With the orange finished and coffee no longer desired, Jeff stood, grabbed his Beretta, and made for the back door. From what he’d seen on the outside when he and the others had been brought here, the backyard must have an outstanding, peaceful view. It was something he needed this morning, to start the day off with beauty.
After tying his robe, he removed the three slats of two-by-sixes which had been mounted horizontally across the door, held in by wooden support blocks bolted into the drywall on either side.
“Whatchya doin’?” Alex said from behind him.
“‘Bout to take in the cool morning breeze,” Jeff replied, grabbing the handle.
“Want company?”
“Sure, bud, c’mon.” He noticed that even Alex was armed, carrying the .22 slung around his back. The kid first went into the kitchen and grabbed something. A brisk gust swept across Jeff as he stood before the opening, and he stepped out to enjoy it fully.
There were trees everywhere—it was like this house had been surrounded by nature for this very reason; screening this house from the world. The pit spanned the entire backyard, yet didn’t take away from the scenery. He imagined that when winter was in full effect this place would be quaint, perfect for bringing up a family. He wondered why some tech junkie had bought this house, but quickly brushed the thought aside as something in his peripheral vision caught his attention.
He looked to the right, barely moving his head; he didn’t want to telegraph the fact that he had seen anything. He thought he caught sight of a figure peeking out from one of the trees on the other side of the pit, but it disappeared as quickly as he glimpsed it.
“See something?”
Alex walked up to his side, carrying a hot cup of what looked like coffee; it smelled like hot chocolate. He no longer had his rifle.
“Not sure. You guys get a lot of deer ‘round these parts?”
“Nope.” Alex took a sip. “You see one?”
“Whatever I saw, it was only one.”
“Here, hold on.” Alex made a gesture for Jeff to hold his cup of whatever-it-was. “I’ll go get my gun. You’ll g
et a better view through the scope.”
“No. I’ve got one of the Berettas, if it comes to that.”
“What if it’s a deer? You’ll scare it away.”
“What would we do if it was? That little .22 won’t do anything against it.”
Alex knitted his brows.
“Besides,” Jeff continued. “I think it was a human figure. If it’s a zombie, we’ll just lead it to the pit and save the ammunition for when we go out on the raid.”
“You guys are going on another raid? Can I come?”
Jeff forgot that Alex had been sleeping during the conversation.
“Um,” he stammered, “you’ll have to ask Matt or Cole about that one, bud.” He nodded to the woods. “C’mon, we’ll just go up and say hi. It’ll be fun.” He used a little of Dr. Grant’s charm, harmlessly. In the worst case, what could one zombie possibly do?
“Should I get the gun, just in case?”
Jeff shook his head. “If it’s a survivor, you might scare them away.”
“What if they want to hurt us?”
“Then I’m sure they would have already done that.”
He took a few steps in the direction in which he’d seen the shadowy figure. Alex was a few feet behind him. When they reached the pit’s inner edge, Jeff called out, “Hello? Anyone there?”
There was a rustling of leaves off to the left, near a set of thick trees.
“We’re not here to hurt you if you’re alive.”
The leaves rustled some more, and before Jeff was able to get his hand on his pistol, a small figure came running out of the woods. A little girl with tattered clothing and a cherry-red complexion was crying as she looked over her shoulder.
“Look!” Alex exclaimed. “Behind her!”
The shadows of other figures materialized. He turned to Alex, but the kid was already on his way to the back door, presumably to warn the others. The girl was at the edge of the woods now, staring into the pit, which still held remnants of prior battles. He could see the fright and desperation in the girl’s eyes as they welled up with more tears. She turned around as if the woods were a better option. They weren’t, and the girl came to this same conclusion.
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