The Undead World (Book 2): The Apocalypse Survivors

by Meredith, Peter

  “Huh? What? Neil…It’s you,” Mark said finally when he could think clearly.

  “Yes it’s me. Who’d you think it would be?”

  “I dunno. I thought you were dead. What about Sadie? Is she…?”

  “As far as you’re concerned she’s dead,” Neil spat, feeling suddenly savage. “You can make any excuse you want, but you two are over. I won’t have a coward dating my daughter. In fact I have half a mind to kick you out and let you see how it feels to get chased by a thousand zombies.”

  Mark’s face went white. “No, please don’t. I’ll end it, I swear. Just…don’t make me go out there.”

  The man was so genuinely afraid that Neil’s anger went from boil to simmer. “I won’t. It would be murder, and I’m not a murderer. But you…I need, no I demand an explanation. We almost died out there and you could’ve helped. What was it? You wanted all this stuff to yourself? Or were you getting tired of Sadie and thought it would be an easy way out for you?”

  “No, it’s none of that,” Mark said quietly. “It’s just…I can’t…”

  There was something in the man’s voice that had Neil looking at him closer. In the dim light of the stars there was a glint to his cheeks. “Are you crying?” Neil asked in disbelief. “What the hell do you got to be crying about? Because you can’t date Sadie? Because you are a goddamned coward?” Neil was about to go on but Mark sniffled and nodded.

  “Huh?” Neil asked, not at all expecting the tiny bob of the man’s head. “Well, which is it? Are you a coward or is it Sadie?”

  “It's not Sadie.”

  Neil let the heavy pistol drop into his lap and sat back in disbelief. Mark wasn’t the kind of guy to admit being afraid, let alone being a straight up coward. Neil was that kind of guy.

  “Perhaps it was a onetime thing,” Neil said, softening. “I mean there was a freaking gob of them out there, right? If it was anyone but Sadie I don’t know if I would have gone out to…” He stopped. Mark was shaking his head. “What are you saying?” Neil asked. “It wasn’t a onetime thing? Please, you can’t be that much of a coward. No one who’s made it this far in a zombie apocalypse could possibly be all coward.”

  The tears were heavy now and the sniffling so constant that it turned Neil’s stomach a bit. “I’m that much of a coward,” Mark choked out. “I’m not like you. I’ve never killed a zombie without a gun. Or went out hunting them with only rock or any of that stuff Sadie says you did. I can’t even go out at night. I can’t. My heart starts going crazy and my chest hurts so much, I can barely breathe.”

  He was almost hyperventilating right there in the car.

  “Hey, calm down,” Neil said. “I’m not anyone’s hero. I’m just as afraid as the next guy. Hell, when all this started I couldn’t leave my house. I was too afraid.”

  “Oh yeah?” Mark said. He smiled bitterly then. It was filled with misery. “I couldn’t leave my house not even to save my mom. She died ten feet from my front door and I didn’t do anything but hide in the closet. What do you think about that? What kind of man lets their mom die without lifting a finger?”

  The best answer Neil could give was to lift his shoulders in the tiniest shrug.

  “Someone who’s not a man at all,” Mark answered his own question, wiping his eyes, aggressively as if he were trying to scrape them away. “I put on this show as a tough guy, but it’s all an act. That’s why I didn’t help save Sadie. I wanted to so bad. And I almost did. I even had my hand on the door handle, but I couldn’t bring myself to open it. Then it was too late. Stiffs were everywhere and you and Sadie were gone and then there weren’t any more gun shots.”

  Neil got a chill remembering how close they had come to being eaten alive. “But that’s all over with,” he said trying to make the situation better. “The good news is we got away. So no harm, no foul.”

  Mark looked out the window at the stars and asked, “What are you going to tell Sadie? About me?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” Neil confessed. “If we were in the old world I wouldn’t say anything. Courage was very over-rated back then. It tended to get you in trouble. But now? She has to know. Not knowing can get her hurt.”

  “She’ll hate me,” Mark said. “Especially when she compares me to you.”

  It was almost laughable to Neil that someone thought he was anything more than a chicken. Every day since the apocalypse began he had lived in a constant state of fear—hardly the mind set of someone courageous.

  “She won’t hate you,” Neil replied. “She’ll understand. It’s a phobia is all. Something she’ll want to help you get over. And we’ll start now. Let’s go rescue her.”

  Mark turned instantly grey. “Rescue?”

  “Yeah. It’ll be nothing. She’s up in a tree about half mile away. We ride over—you hop out and help her down, while I cover you. Mark! Don’t give me that look. It’ll be fine. I won’t let them near you.”

  “Why does anyone have to get out?” he asked in a whine.

  “Because she turned her ankle and can’t walk on it. Now take a deep breath and let’s do this. It’ll be your first step in kicking this phobia. Step one is to face your fears."

  Mark looked green and five minutes later Neil did as well.

  When they came roaring up, Sadie wasn’t climbing down as she was supposed to be. Neil cranked down his window. “Sadie? Come on!” Though he hissed these words quietly they were plenty loud enough to be heard, but there wasn’t an answer. “Mark, get out. Go up there and see what’s going on.”

  Besides a heavy panting, Mark didn’t budge.

  “Damn it!” Neil seethed. Jabbing the Raging Bull down the front of his jeans, he got out and raced around to the other side of the Rover. “Sadie?” he called as he began to mount the planks nailed into the tree. There was no answer and when he got to the platform a cold wave went down his back—it was empty. He had known it would be, but the sight chilled him nonetheless.

  “Sadie!” he cried out at the top of his lungs. He then paused trying to listen for any response but all he heard was the low moans of the advancing zombies. The tilled field was alive with them once again.

  Chapter 17

  Ram

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  Ram watched the little girl’s eyes fill with tears. “Don’t eat me,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to be eated. Ipes says I’m too skinny to eat and he should know.”

  “I don’t know if I have a choice,” he told her. The idea of eating human flesh started to do a number on his already weak stomach. Nausea built in him so fast that he barely had time to warn her. “I…uh…I think, I’m going to be sick. Don’t look.” With his hands tied behind his back and his stomach heaving violently, Ram lacked the strength to even attempt to stand. Instead he turned on his side and vomited onto the cement floor of the boiler room.

  Despite his warning, the girl watched and as she did she went from pale white to a light green. “Scuze me,” she said before hurrying behind the furthest boiler where she too vomited. She then sat back in the darkest corner and cried.

  “What’s your name?” Ram asked after a while, when his stomach had settled. Vomiting had helped and he felt the slightest bit better. Though having the hot stinking mess right next to him wasn’t helping; he rolled away from it and then fought himself into a sitting position.

  “Jillybean,” she answered. She came forward so that she wasn’t just an outline in the gloom. “And this is Ipes.” In her hand was a stuffed animal: a zebra. It wore blue shorts and a light blue shirt.

  Despite his sickness and his coming death, he couldn’t help but smile at the little girl. She was innocent and sweet and button-cute. “My name is Ram. I’d shake your hand if I could but, I’m sort of tied up. I’m sorry about all of this.”

  She came closer, making sure not to cast her eyes anywhere near where he had thrown up. She also made sure to stand just out of reach of him. “It’s nice to meet you, Mister Ram. Ipes thinks it’s nice to meet you t
oo, except he isn’t saying it. Because he doesn’t trust you.”

  This brought out a laugh. “That’s one smart zebra. I’m going to turn into a monster. It’s wise never to fully trust a monster.”

  Jillybean cocked her head for a moment and then said, “No, uh-uh. He thinks we shouldn’t trust you on account of you being tied up and punched on the head. What did you do to those men? It must have been awful bad.”

  “What I did?” Ram asked in disbelief. Explaining war to a six-year-old was hard enough but a race-war was so foolish even to him that he found he lacked the energy to even try. “It doesn’t matter now what I did or didn’t do. But I can promise you, I never hurt a little girl or a zebra before. You’re safe for now.”

  “Until you turn into a monster,” she said.

  “Or until you turn into a monster,” he countered. “But I hope it’s me. With my hands tied up, I doubt I’ll be able to get to my feet. Zombies are real klutzy.”

  “Klutzy?” she asked and again cocked her head as if listening. She then added, “Ooh. You mean they trip and fall a lot. There was this one monster Mrs. Bennet. She used to be this mean ole lady before she turned into a mean ole monster—Ipes says there wasn’t all that much to change with her…”

  Jillybean began a string of sentences that was as long as a freight train. Seemingly, she spoke without taking a breath or any real pause, and Ram secretly delighted in the sound of her little voice and the way her features grew animated and how she looked to her zebra to fill in any memory half-forgotten. He reveled in this moment of sweetness, figuring it would be his last good memory before he died.

  Finally she ended her monologue, though not from running out of words, these she seemed to have an endless supply of, instead it was because there came a sudden silence from outside the metal door. No longer did the giant zombie smash his fists into it trying to break it down. As well the moans of the other zombies retreated.

  In place of these noises, which had been the background of their short conversation, was an echoey thumping coming from further away. After a minute, this too ceased.

  “Hide,” Ram told Jillybean. He had a gut feeling that the zombies had been drawn off purposefully. “Go! If anyone comes, stay hidden unless I call you.”

  She began to scurry away, but then she paused again with her head cocked. Turning back, she gave him a suspicious look. “What if someone is coming to free me? You never didn’t tell me what you did.”

  “Now’s not the time Jillybean!” he hissed, pointing with his chin at the boilers. “Please hide.”

  “What did you do?” she insisted.

  Again he was stuck: how do you explain a race-war to a little girl, when he could hardly explain it to an adult. He decided to skip the race aspect—it made things only slightly easier. “Do you know what a war is?”

  “Kinda. Like with soldiers and jets, right?”

  “Yeah,” Ram said. “It’s when people fight. For some reason people here in Philadelphia are fighting each other and they think I’m their enemy.”

  “And you aren’t?” she asked with a quick eye, ready to judge the honesty of his answer.

  “No, I’m not. I used to be a cop, back in the old days. You know what cops did, right? They capture bad guys. Unfortunately, the leader of one of the groups here in Philadelphia is a murderer. She murdered someone I loved. That’s why I’m here. I want to stop her from hurting anyone else.”

  Jillybean nodded in a slow manner as she considered his words. Finally she said, “We believe you. But what are you…”

  It was then that Ram’s gut instinct proved true. The doorknob began to turn and Jillybean shot a way out of sight.

  In a second a seething black man stood framed in the doorway. It was Trey. He took in the room; the vomit, the bound man, and the boilers in a single sweeping glance. “Where’s the kid? I saw a boy save you.”

  “I told, uh, him to lock me in and run away,” Ram lied. “So who knows where he is? What do you want? Are you here to watch me turn into one of them? That’s pretty sick.”

  In Trey’s right hand was his pistol and in his left was a long knife that looked razor sharp. He dropped down to his knees in front of Ram and held the knife up so that the steel of it glinted. “I need to know for real,” he asked. “Are you sick?”

  “Yeah,” Ram replied.

  For some reason this infuriated the black man. Dropping the pistol he grabbed Ram by the shirt with a shaking hand and screamed into his face, “Don’t fuck with me! Are you really sick?” Now he brought the knife just under Ram’s eye where it dimpled the skin.

  “I’m not lying,” Ram answered. Despite the proximity of the knife he forced himself to speak in a calm easy voice, hoping Jillybean would hear and not be afraid “I was scratched this morning and have been getting sicker ever since.” He then lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “So if you want to use that knife to kill me, you’d be doing me a hell of a favor. Just make it quick.”

  Trey ignored the request.

  “But I feel fine. I feel good,” he said, even though there was sweat glistening across his forehead and a twitch next to his mouth that kept forcing him into a half smile. “And look at these scratches,” he cried, turning his hand around suddenly, nearly taking out Ram’s right eye with the knife. “They’re barely scratches. Maybe the virus didn’t take. I hear that sometimes it doesn’t. You ever hear that?”

  Ram had never heard of it before, but if it was a possibility he didn’t think Trey was going to be the one to get lucky. The cuts on his knuckles were deep, as Ram’s sore teeth could attest to. “I think you’re screwed,” Ram told him. “The scratches I got this morning barely broke the skin, and I washed them with rubbing alcohol within a minute. It didn’t matter a hill of beans. Sorry, but you’re screwed.” He wasn’t really sorry at all. He had done nothing to deserve the beating he had received. His apology was clearly less than heartfelt.

  “Sorry?” Trey cried in outrage as spittle flew. “You kill me with your dirty mouth and all you say is sorry? I’ll show you just how sorry you’re gonna be. You’re gonna be the sorriest zombie ever, by the time I get through with you.”

  The knife, a slice of glittering steel in the otherwise dim room, came up again to Ram’s face and was so close that it filled his vision. He didn’t see Jillybean come out of her hiding spot until it was too late.

  “Please don’t hurt Mister Ram,” she said in a squeaky voice that shook as much as she did. Her face had the green tinge once again, but if it was from fear or sickness, he didn’t know. Trey jumped at the sound of her voice and spun about holding the blade out, looking afraid and rather ridiculous cowering before such a tiny girl.

  “You’re a girl,” he told her. He seemed confused by either the concept of her sex or the fact that she was there at all, or maybe it was the bewildering turns his life had just taken.

  Her lips barely parted for her to say, “Yes.”

  Trey tried to glare at her, however his odd confusion wouldn’t allow it. He turned back to Ram, and asked, “Why would you bring a kid out here? Especially one of them? You had to know what would happen if a white girl got caught.”

  Again Ram forced calm into his voice: “I didn’t bring her out at all. You saw me; I came alone. I don’t know how she came to be here.”

  “I came through the tunnels,” Jillybean explained before correcting herself. “I mean I came through the storm sewers. It was very dark. I think I’m gonna be sick again.” With that announcement she went back behind the boilers and vomited. For some reason when she vomited it had a sad sound to it. When Ram vomited it was like he was trying to bring up his spleen.

  Trey’s confusion increased, but then something clicked. “Is she alright?” he asked. Ram gave him a significant look and shook his head, which Trey interpreted correctly. “Bit?” he whispered.

  “Scratched,” Ram said with a shrug, as if one answer was as good as another. “We don’t know which one of us is going to turn first
.”

  “It ain’t gonna be me, that’s for certain,” Trey said in a sudden whiny tone. “But I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. Do I watch you guys turn? Or do I just get it over with and pull the trigger on myself? What would you do if you had a gun?”

  Ram had planned on shooting himself, but that was before he found himself with two “companions” both of whom were going to turn. “I’d do the merciful thing,” he answered truthfully. “When the delirium commenced I’d use a properly weighted instrument to render the individual unconscious or use it to cause a cessation of breathing or brain functioning. If you understand me.”

  “Huh?” Trey asked. “What’s with the five-dollah words?”

  Again Ram jutted his chin to the back of the room where Jillybean was making the sound of a bullfrog as her stomach heaved up only air. “She doesn’t need to know what’s going to happen,” Ram whispered.

  The black man, looking suddenly weary, sat next to Ram. Leaning in he asked in a low voice, “You want me to kill her? Really?”

  “Not just yet, but when things start to get bad,” Ram said. “You’ve seen what happens to people. We all have. It would be a mercy.”

  “That’s some pretty messed up shit, killing a little girl. I don’t think I can do it,” Trey confessed. “Can you?”

  Just then Jillybean came back. From one hand Ipes dangled; the other she held to her stomach. She was sweaty, trembling, and so pale that her skin was almost translucent. He could see tiny blue-green rivers of blood standing out beneath it. She didn’t have long. “I can do it,” Ram told him. “You’ll have to cut my hands free…what? I can’t very well take care of her like this.”

  Trey sat back from him, and stared, trying to fathom if Ram was being honest. It was quiet in the room until Jillybean said, “I have to go bathroom real bad. Number two!”

  “This guy will help you,” Trey told her. He pushed Ram onto his side to expose his bound hands. He began to saw at the shoe laces with his knife and whispered, “You said you wanted to take care of her. Let’s see if you can handle this first.”