Michael slides a backpack to me. “Do you think you can carry that one?”
I nod yes, but when I try to put it on, it’s much heavier than I expected and pulls on my gunshot. It’s healing nicely, and much quicker than I anticipated, but I still don’t want to put too much weight on it. I shake my head. “It’s too heavy,” I mumble, feeling like a baby for not being able to carry it.
He takes it back and opens it up, pulling out some of the heavier items and distributing them between everyone else’s bags while nervously looking over his shoulder as the smell of rotten meat gets closer. He hands the backpack back to me and I’m glad that it feels a shitload lighter. I try it on, and while it’s uncomfortable, it’s manageable.
“That’s better, I can do that,” I say, and shift the position of the backpack so I can still get to my sword with ease. I have my gun at my waist in a holster, but I’m a terrible shot.
“We’ve got company,” Nova whoops with a smile and jumps down from the truck, pointing to the deaders that are rounding the corner and heading our way.
We head around to the front of the truck and climb up onto the hood one after another. I reach across to the fire exit ladders and start to climb, with Nova going first since she seems like a great shot and we don’t know what to expect once we get to the roof. The deaders reach us quicker than expected and the smell of them wafts up to me, making me want to rain barf down on top of them in retaliation. I won’t, though—that would be a waste of barf, and these creeps wouldn’t give a shit anyway.
It’s only a three-story mall, more wide than tall, so it doesn’t take too long to climb all the way up. Even so, the higher I get, the more of a death grip I get on the metal rungs of the ladder. I’m not afraid of heights—living in the treetop houses put that fear to bed—but a large horde of the dead are underneath us now, and we have no idea what’s up at the top. I’m trapped between a rock and a hard place.
Nova reaches the top and peers over. She’s quiet for a few seconds as she scans the area, but finally looks down at us with a smile.
“All good,” she says with a wiggle of her eyebrows, and climbs over the top wall.
One by one we follow her over the side, glad to be away from the reaching deaders. She’s right that everything is clear, but it’s not a pretty sight by any means. There are blood smears all over the ground, with several piles of bones. There’s a small gray door, which must lead back inside the mall, covered in smears of dried blood. There’s no way that whatever was up here could get back in, so it’s either still up here or it went over the side. I look at the piles of emaciated bodies and brittle bones, realizing that it could very well be one of those.
Michael stands guard with his gun as Rachel applies a charge down the hinge side of the door. I wander off to the edge of the building to check on our truck. There’s a shit-ton of the damn things down there now, all scrambling around the truck. I frown and tut as I see their smears of gore over the hood.
“’Sup?” Nova says from next to me. She peers over the side and then looks at me questioningly.
“They’re fucking up the truck,” I pout.
She looks back over and then back to me. “It’ll wash.” She shrugs and reaches into her pocket. With a grin, she pulls out a stick of gum. “You want?”
“Yes!” I grin back and reach for it.
She pulls it out of my reach just before I grab it, and I frown again. “What the fuck?” I snap.
“Nearly ready,” Rachel yells to us, stretching out a long fuse.
“I need you to get something for me when we’re in there,” Nova says, all traces of humor gone. In fact, this is the most serious I’ve ever seen her.
“Well, I’m curious enough to ask what it is, but that doesn’t mean I’ll do it,” I retort, trying my damndest not to look at the stick of gum and give away how desperate I am for it.
Nova runs her tongue across her lips before replying, quickly checking that the other two are far enough away from us. “I need you to find me…” She looks away shiftily, her face flushing a little.
“What?” I whisper, fearing the worst.
“I want you to find me a motherfucking Baby Ruth bar.”
I gasp, and then realize that it isn’t dramatic in any way. “What? That’s it? Why can’t you find it yourself?” I frown and reach for the gum again. She’s clearly playing a joke of some sort.
“Because I always look, but I never find one,” she pouts.
My hand grasps the gum and she looks me in the eye and lets it go. My mouth is already watering for it, and I quickly unwrap it and fold the little stick into my mouth, groaning as flavors explode on my tongue.
“I need you to look for one more thing,” she says, while I’m mid-chew. I nod and gesture for her to keep going, not wanting to stop chewing for a second. “I need you to find me a pregnancy test.”
I cough on all the extra saliva that’s built up in my mouth and nearly swallow my gum. “A what?” I gasp. Yep, totally appropriate time for gasping now.
“You heard me.” She watches me for a second, and I see the hint of vulnerability there. I nod an okay and she smiles. “Thank you.”
I stand there struck numb for a minute; I didn’t even know she was with anyone, never mind pregnant. Jesus, what will she do if she is? What kind of world is this to bring a child into? I can’t imagine anything worse.
“Fire in the hole,” Rachel yells.
I look across at her as she clambers up from her knees and jogs some distance away, and I look for a suitable place to take cover.
“Get down, in five, four, three…” Rachel shouts over to us and coves her ears. I mimic her but don’t look away. “…two, one.”
There’s a loud explosion, and a ball of orange and yellow blows from the bottom of the door where the charge was, and gray smoke quickly follows.
“Stand clear,” Rachel’s voice carries over the ringing in my ears.
A minute or so passes before I see anyone getting up and moving toward the door. I do the same, and am surprised to see that the door is still perfectly intact, but the lock has been blown clean off, leaving the door swinging in the breeze.
Nova laughs, raises her gun, and heads into the gloom without another word. Michael follows her with a wide grin. Jesus, these people are bat-shit crazy. I pull out my sword, excited and nervous to get inside. I glance at Rachel over my shoulder as she throws everything back into her backpack and slings it over her shoulders quickly. She follows me down, and I feel the security of the gun in her hand behind me.
As we reach the first landing, we head into a long gray corridor and I realize that this must be an employee area. It’s ridiculously dark, but one by one we grab our flashlights and light the way. I scan the walls and floor with my limited amount of light, trying to see if there is any sign of blood and gore; I guess I’m looking for any sign of deaders. It’s only a short corridor, with one small door leading off from it on the left and one door at the end. We stop by the door on the left and count to three, and Nova yanks the handle and pushes it open wide. It swings with a creak and I hold my breath, waiting for the usual groan, but nothing happens.
Michael swings his flashlight around the dingy-looking staff room, but other than a couple of overturned chairs, nothing seems out of place. Michael closes it back up and we head toward the end of the corridor, reaching the end sooner than I’d like. Sure, this dark hallway is creepy as shit, but I’m comfortable in the knowledge that there’s nothing in here with us—unlike out there.
Nova and I stand either side of the door while Michael and Rachel stand in front. On a whispered count of three, Rachel opens the door and we rush out, weapons drawn and hearts beating so hard they might just pop right out of our chests.
I crouch down low and swivel left and right, waiting for the surge of dead, but other than a distant smell of dirty laundry and bad breath, things seem pretty normal for a shopping mall. I straighten my spine and shoot a questioning look to Rachel. She shru
gs, points left without saying anything, and moves off. I keep my ears keen as we move along the top balcony of the once busy mall, but I can’t stop my eyes from straying to the mannequins in the window, all dressed in their best Spring/Summer collection.
The place is silent apart from our booted feet making their way from storefront to storefront. I edge over to the side to look down on the lower level, but don’t see anything down there—no humans, no deaders. I frown; this doesn’t seem right at all.
I move closer to Nova, giving her a poke in the back. She turns her head a fraction and raises an eyebrow.
“This is weird, right?” I whisper as quietly as possible, but even as quiet as I am, it seems incredibly loud.
Michael puts a finger to his lips but doesn’t actually make a shushing sound at me. We all stop, heads craned to one side as we listen intently. Nothing. Could it be we’ve stumbled upon an untapped resource? Surely we’re not that lucky. Surely I’m not that lucky.
Chapter 35
Hilary & Deacon.
“I can’t, Deacon, I can’t go any further,” I sob, tears burning hot streaks down my dirty face.
Deacon grips my hand tighter, his eyes looking from me to my ever-growing bump. “You have to, baby,” he says cringing at his own bad choice of words, and continues pulling me through the forest. His words hold more meaning than just telling me to suck it up and get a move on.
His words mean that I have to hurry up, that I have to dig deep, that this responsibility—this life growing inside of me—is ours, but it’s me that must not give up, because against all odds, this baby is coming.
The trees are still stripped bare of foliage, stark against the cold gray sky with only the hint of blue underneath. I swallow down my rising panic as the groans of the dead echo behind us. I’m used to the call of zombies; they scare me of course, but they scare me more now that I have something to lose. My hand clutches around my bump protectively.
I stumble over a tree trunk, my shoes sliding on the damp wood. Deacon is there to catch me, though, as always.
“Need to get you some new shoes.” He smiles affectionately.
I know he’s saying it to make me feel better, to put me at ease and stop me from panicking. I used to love shopping for shoes, and previously would never have been seen dead in these ugly, worn-down things; but beggars can’t be choosers, and if you make it to the end of the world, fancy footwear is not a priority.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I try to joke back, nearly choking on a mixture of tears and fake laughter.
“We’ll get you some real pretty ones soon,” he says between panting breaths. His hands circle my waist and he lifts me over a small dip in the ground. “Promise.”
The baby kicks hard, making me gasp, and I have to pant through the pain. Deacon steps over the gap and stares at me, his brow furrowing with worry. I put a hand up and bend over to catch my breath. I feel his strong hand lightly touching the base of my back. When the pain subsides I look back up at him and force out a smile, letting him know I’m okay.
“Promise?” I ask.
Deacon looks confused for a minute and then remembers what we were talking about and nods. “Promise.”
“What’s the occasion?” I ask as we keep moving. “For the new shoes,” I add on. “Gotta be a reason for shoes—we don’t have the money to squander on luxury items these days.” I chuckle to hide my anxiety.
We have to get somewhere safe before nightfall. The house was overrun, there was no food left, and we were freezing to death in there. Literally freezing to death. This isn’t any better an option for us—being on the run while being pregnant—but we had no other choice but to leave.
“Your birthday is coming up. I’ll take you shopping for some new birthday shoes.” He smiles, but it falls from his face as quickly as it came.
My birthday. I haven’t celebrated a birthday since the day this all started. I don’t even know when it is anymore, I just know that I blame all this on me—the apocalypse. And that’s stupid, I know, because it had nothing to do with me. But I can’t help but feel like I’m the one to blame because it all started on my happy occasion.
I lost everything that day: my son, my daughter, all of my family and friends. Nothing will ever be the same again.
“I’m sorry,” he says, trapped in his own grief, and I fight back the guilty tears once again.
They were our children, and they were our friends, and now they’re all gone and I’ll never stop blaming myself. My birthday seems like the focal point for when everything went wrong, even though I know that’s stupid. It wasn’t my fault, no matter how much I blame myself for it.
“It’s okay, D,” I say through a tight throat.
He nods, but doesn’t believe me. We’ve come to a small brown wooden fence, which opens up onto an old farming field. I can see a town in the distance, which could be either a blessing or a curse; but whatever it means, it’s better than being chased through the forest by zombies.
Deacon lifts me up and over the fence with ease; even with his diminished weight, he’s still my big strong firefighter—he just doesn’t have any fires to put out anymore. That’s one less thing I have to worry about, I guess. I always used to fret when I knew he was on the job, working a fire and saving lives. I dread to think what would have happened if he hadn’t taken the day off to celebrate my birthday with me.
He climbs up and over the fence, and takes my hand again as his feet splash in the mud. “Come on.”
We crouch at the tree line, scouting the field for the zombies. Behind us, I can hear the other ones still looking for us. As long as they don’t see or smell us, we’ll be fine. I reach down and grab a handful of the sloppy mud and rub it over my face—maybe it’ll mask my scent, maybe it won’t. Deacon watches me and then does the same.
There are one or two zombies in the field, but not many, and we might even be able to keep out of sight from them long enough to get across and to safety. Safety. Now that’s laughable. I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe again. And this child growing in me definitely won’t ever be safe, not in this world.
The government is looking for a cure, but there is no cure. Dead is dead, and there is no end to that, no stopping it. I should know: I helped start all of this.
Chapter 36
Nina.
Sometimes being a total smartass is a bad thing—to know all the answers and get to say I told you so. Today is one of those days.
“I think we’re good here,” Nova whispers, a little less whispery than I would prefer.
I shake my head. “No, something’s not right.”
Nova nudges me with the tip of her gun and tuts. Rachel chuckles, seemingly feeling as relaxed about all of this as Nova.
“Dude, don’t poke me with that thing,” I snap, and move out of her way, bumping Rachel.
“This is my weirdo-poking gun. I poke weirdos with it.” Nova pokes me again and grins.
“Seriously, fuck off with that,” I snap, a little louder this time.
She shrugs. “Can’t. It’s my gun’s job. Poking weirdos is its dream, I won’t sabotage its dream.” She pokes me again, and I yelp and move far away, practically hiding next to Michael.
“Help me out here. You can’t think that this is all okay,” I plead with Michael as Nova stretches her gun over to me again. “That’s really dangerous!” I half laugh at her as she makes a weird face at me.
“It’s fine, there’s fuck-all in here. We totally have the run of the show.” Nova laughs and makes the same weird face again. “Now cheer up and don’t make me poke you again.”
I hold my hands up in defense. “Okay, okay.” I hold my hands up again. I still don’t feel comfortable. I know something isn’t right here, but I don’t want to get poked by Nova’s gun again, so it’s easier to just agree with her.
Nova pulls out her cigarettes and lights one up. “Time to go shopping, ladies.” She barges past us all, purposefully pushing Michael more than me and Ra
chel, and flashes him a teasing look, and I can’t help it, I have to laugh. She has the biggest balls I’ve ever known on a person. Michael scowls and we all follow her. Our guns are still ready to fire, but it’s a lazy hold at best.
As we trail the mall, passing shop after shop filled with luxury things that I haven’t seen in too long to remember, even my nerves decide to give me a little reprieve and I can’t help but grin and feel excited at the prospect of getting new things. Like a kid in a candy store, my fingers are eager to grab and stuff items into my pockets before running home to look at my spoils. I can’t help but go through a mental checklist of items I want, compared to things that I need, and yeah, of course we need to get shit for everyone else—supplies and whatnot—but I’m allowing myself a little selfishness in all of this. I fucking deserve it.
I stop, gazing in a window at a pretty, white summer dress with yellow daisies on it, and a ridiculously high price tag that I wouldn’t have thought twice about paying previously. Of course I don’t think anything of the price tag now, either, but for wholly different reasons. I mean, there’s jack-all point in me wearing something like that. Even when summer swings around again, what would be the point? To look pretty while killing deaders? Hmmm, I think not.
Today’s fashion trend focuses more on the practical side rather than which celebrity is wearing what label—especially since the celebrity world blends into the undead world these days. No one gives a shit what they wear, not unless they’re wearing practically nothing. You’d be surprised how often that’s actually the case, for whatever reason.
“Pretty,” Rachel says next to me.
I snort a laugh. “You didn’t take me for a floral kind of girl.”
“I’m not—wasn’t, whatever—but that would look really pretty on you, though. You should get it.” She smiles sweetly.
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