Things devolved quickly. There was a great deal of yelling and cursing and threatening by all involved. Into the midst of this Jillybean walked. Against her instructions, she had run around the building and now stood there with her hands held out in a calming manner, ending the confusion with her very presence, and quieting the room.
“It is dey angel,” Donna said, clutching her pistol to her breast.
Being called an angel caused the little girl to giggle again. She had come into the main part of the showroom and now turned to look at Donna. “I like the way you talk. Where are you from?”
“Nah-lins,” Donna answered. “What about you, Cherie? Ain’t a one of us dat seen childrins in all some time.”
Jillybean blinked, trying to understand the heavily accented words. “My name is Jillybean, not Sherry. And I’m from here, in Philadelphia. And I’ve never heard of Nah-lins. Is that in another country? I used to know all the states but I think I forgot some. Probably I must have missed a day of school.” She didn’t pause for Donna to reply to the questions, instead she went on, “And I’m the only kid I know of, unless you count kids who got turned into monsters. And they’re not real kids, right, Mister Ram?”
Now she paused for him to answer. “Not anymore, Jillybean.”
Ram knew she had expected the answer and had to wonder why she asked it. And her odd queries didn’t stop there. “Do you have kids, Mister Steve?” she asked the man at Ram’s feet.
“No,” he said easily, but there was a warning look in his eyes. It wasn’t a dangerous thing, just a suggestion not to continue this line of questions. As an added measure he also flicked his eyes to the man with the odd U shaped afro.
Jillybean didn’t need to ask. The man volunteered in a slow, sonorous voice: “I had me a son, but never knew how he ended up.”
“That is sad,” the little girl said, and just like that the spell of violence which had gripped the room dissipated.
Ram let out a long breath. Without people screaming and pointing guns his way it was easier for him to think. It was clear these people weren’t from Philadelphia. There wasn’t that instant hate like he had seen in Trey’s and Jermy’s eyes. These people were just fellow travelers.
“Here,” Ram said, putting out a hand to help Steve up. “Sorry about getting so rough, but things aren’t good in this city. If I were you I’d detour far around it.”
Over mandarin orange tea in the sewing room, he went on to explain about the sad race war and how he and Jillybean had come to be there.
“Oh, Cherie, dat is some fright,” Donna said and took Jillybean into her arms. That the little girl was completely relaxed there made Ram suddenly anxious. What if she wanted to go with them? Logically, it made sense for her to travel with them. There were three to his one. They were armed with guns while he had only his fists. Finally, they had a woman, a maternal figure who seemed enthralled with the girl. For some reason the idea losing her made his throat go tight.
“Where are you heading by the way?” Ram asked. Though he spoke to Steve, he was looking at Jillybean, hoping to catch her eye. He wanted her to come sit with him in the comforter, but she was playing with Donna’s yarn-like hair and didn’t notice.
“New York,” Steve answered. “There is a man who has a cure for the virus there. That’s what we heard at least.”
Ram nodded. “I heard the same thing. The only problem is that he charges a thousand bullets or an equivalent in canned goods or fuel. Do you have that?”
Steve dropped his eyes to the fire and shook his head. “There are other ways, though. That's what we heard. There are some people who are looking to take on indentured servants. They’ll pay for your virus shot, but you’ll owe them some time as their servant. It’s humbling even thinking about it.”
“How much time?” Ram asked. After his close call the day before the idea of being vaccinated against a scratch or a bite really appealed to him.
The black man’s eyes flicked from the fire briefly. “Ten years.”
It was a lie. Both of Steve’s friends had stiffened slightly at his answer. As a D.E.A. agent Ram had been lied to on a daily basis and now he was adept at not just spotting lies, but also hearing the nuance of partial truths. Steve had lied; the length of servitude was shorter than he was letting on. Of course this brought up the obvious question of why would he lie?
Was this his way of making sure that Ram wouldn’t try to tag along? Even after his scare, Ram considered giving up ten years of his life ridiculous. But if it wasn’t ten years, how long was it? Four years? Five? Five years seemed like a long time to be basically someone’s slave. But then again it took only one scratch to doom a person…unless they got lucky. Ram couldn’t count on luck a second time.
Could he do five years?
“Are there rules about this sort of thing?” Ram asked. “Like a contract? I wouldn’t want to spend so many years playing step-and-fetch for someone and get screwed in the end.”
After a sip of his tea Steve remarked, “Even if there is a contract, it may not be worth all that much. It’s not like you can take a guy to court these days. This all may be moot, right now it’s only a rumor, so I can’t say.”
Again he was being misleading. The concept of indentured servitude had to be more than a rumor. The vaccine itself certainly wasn’t. So, why the lies? Why try to steer him away from going? There had to be a logical explanation to keep an obviously capable man from joining their three person group. Anyone would think that in this time of zombies and race wars, the more friends you had around the better, however none of them was keen on him going.
He didn’t think it wasn’t about skin color; they weren’t a hateful group at all. And it wasn’t about personalities clashing, Ram had been genuine in his apologies and they had been accepted in the same manner. So why were they threatened by him? Then it clicked in Ram’s mind. How many of these servants spots could there realistically be? Just like in the old world, there were likely only to be so many “rich” people.
He was competition, which meant that if Ram wanted to travel to New York, he would have to travel alone. It wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate. “Without a binding contract, it’s probably not for me,” Ram said after a sigh. “I wish you luck in New York.”
Steve relaxed immediately. “So what are you going to do?” he asked, nodding slightly to Jillybean who was in an animated one way discussion with Donna.
Ram hadn’t thought at all what he was going to do with her. He couldn’t bring her back to her empty home and let her starve, and he didn’t like the idea of handing her over to the Whites of Philadelphia. Though they hadn’t seemed like bad people it didn’t mean they would stay that way, or that they would even survive. Cassie was breeding hate in the city. It was a cancer that would likely spread and destroy everyone around her.
And that left him with few choices. He had come north with revenge in his heart, but now with a little girl in tow he couldn’t exactly start killing people. Killing was exactly what it would take to get at Cassie now that she had turned her people against the world. He would have to hunt and torture and slay.
The idea was depressing.
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I haven’t even asked her what she wants to do.”
“She?” asked Jillybean immediately. “Does she mean me? If so, I want to stay with you Mister Ram. I heard you talking about New York and I don’t want to go to New York. Sorry Miss Donna, but they have bums there. Did you know that? We used to have them in Philadelphia, but now they’re all monster bums, which is worse. But in New York they had zillions of them. I saw it on TV once. All these bums. And now New York is probably filled with monster bums worse than anything.”
Hearing her chatter like a chipmunk was always refreshing to Ram. It was as though her life was an uncontainable fountain that bubbled out of her in words. “I could take you down to the CDC,” Ram suggested. “You could be a big sister to a beautiful baby girl down there.”
&
nbsp; This got her attention. “Is she your baby? Is Seedeesee far? Is it like Washington DC? Could we get there today? Do they have food there?”
The questions shot from her lips with bewildering rapidity, but Steve picked up on the last. He glanced his keen eyes around. “Where is all your stuff? Don’t you have any food or weapons?”
“We have more tea, if you’re thirsty,” Jillybean offered. “And there are still some fortune cookies left.” Like a proper hostess at a proper tea-party, she had already served two cookies per adult. There weren’t many left.
“Das all you have?” Donna asked in surprise. She began to dig in her pack, saying, “Oh, no. Dat will not do. Here, Cherie, take dis, it is shicken and dumplin’s. It is very good and will fill you right up. And take dees. It is tuna, like for cats. Dees is beans. Dey are good wit molasses.”
Steve looked nervous over how much she was offering, while Ram grew embarrassed. Jilly took it all, her stomach rumbling loudly with each can that was handed to her. “Thank you, Miss Donna,” she said politely when the woman had emptied her pack. “Can you explain this one again? What is shicken?”
Donna laughed. “Y’all know what a yard-bird is, cept you name it chicken,” she said, over-pronouncing the word. “Down to Nah-lins we speak our own speaks. We has a mash of English, French, Creole, and Cajun.”
“It’s a wonder anyone understands anyone else,” Steve said. He then stood and hoisted his pack on his shoulders before Donna could give away any more of their belongings. “I’d give you a gun, but we only have the three and very little ammo left. I’m sorry.”
Ram understood. It would be easier to give up his left hand than part with a gun. Even Donna didn’t volunteer hers and kept it purposely out of sight. Ram clapped Steve on the shoulder and said, “You’ve been more than generous with the food. If it was just me I would’ve been happy with a can of tuna, but Jilly, here hasn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks.”
Steve waved away his words and said his good-byes, as did the man with the odd afro. Donna offered hugs and kisses. “You keep dat angel safe, you hear?”
Ram heard and promised he would, but with all promises that had any meaning or consequence, it would prove to be very difficult and ultimately deadly.
Chapter 23
The Mid-Atlantic Seaboard
Jillybean
The rain would not let up, and neither would Ram. When she grew too tired to walk he tossed her across his shoulders and let her snooze, drooping forward over his head. When she complained of being too hungry to go on, he let her eat, while he only nibbled, keeping constant watch as he did.
They were two days out of Philadelphia and Ram had grown frustrated at their inability to find supplies or any useful transportation. A Volkswagen Jetta with a smidge of rusty gas had got them forty-eight miles into Delaware. A ten-speed bike sporting sagging, semi-flat tires had got them another thirty before the rubber gave out.
The car had smelled of dead opossum, while the bike ride was exhilarating. Jillybean had ridden on the handle bars as Ram dodged the monsters that would frequently pop up out of nowhere. It was like a video game for her.
The rest of the time they walked in the rain. Sadly this meant that Jillybean couldn’t wear her new dress. To keep warm, she was forced to wear the hideous Eagles sweatshirt and the too-long jeans that she kept pegged at her ankles with safety pins. Over all of this she wore a yellow rain slicker, which at least matched the yellow boots that Ram had found for her. These were perfect for splashing in puddles with, however Ram would look at her wearily when she did, so she kept it to a minimum, like when he was busy searching houses.
Technically she was supposed to be hiding while he did this, but she had Ipes with her. Ipes claimed that if a lion from the Serengeti couldn’t sneak up on him, a monster didn’t have a chance of getting close. Besides, like the rabbit, she never strayed far from her hiding spot and she always had an escape plan in mind in case it was compromised.
Ram had taught her that trick. Whenever they stopped to sleep or use the bathroom or simply to hunker down, hiding from the monsters, he always made sure there was a back exit. “Never trap yourself, Jillybean,” he told her.
He was very smart that way, and because he was so smart she wasn’t nervous at all that he had been gone for over an hour, and that the sun was deep in the west behind the dark clouds, and that the house he had left her in was creepy and making weird sounds.
Not nervous at all.
Above her something moved and her grip on Ipes became a guillotine choke. Let go. I can’t breathe, the zebra hissed. It’s not a monster. Mister Ram checked before he left, remember?
“Then what is it? A ghost?” The shadows in the house had grown with every passing minute and now she was beginning to see scary shapes where before there had only been a coat rack and an overturned chair.
Ipes snorted at her. What did Daddy say about ghosts? That there aren’t any such things. It’s probably just a rat.
She feared rats more than zombies which was why she was suddenly happy for her jeans and her boots, and why she did a quick twirling dance that was totally without grace. As she spun she stared all around the floor afraid to see a jillion rats surging at her. She then jumped up on the living room couch and sat on its tall back with her knees drawn up.
You squeaked,” Ipes said, laughing at her. I was just joking about it being a rat. I don’t think there are any left. Just like dogs, they’re all dead. If I had to bet, I’d say it was a cat.
This was a different story altogether.
“Should we give it some tuna?” she asked, already digging in her pack. Ram had found a new backpack for her. It said “I’m a Belieber” across the top and had a picture of some boy with tall hair. The whole thing was girly in its way. The coolest part about the pack was that it wasn’t just decorative. She carried actual food, and a can opener, and string, and her fancy white dress folded carefully and zipped up tight in a garment bag, and finally an extra shirt. Ram wanted her prepared just in case they got separated.
I don’t know if you should hand over tuna just like that. You don’t have a lot of food left, Ipes said.
Jillybean looked in her pack: three cans of tuna and one of beans. She didn’t like beans much, but figured a cat wouldn’t either. “You always find a way to snag up my plans,” she groused as if it was the zebra’s fault they didn’t have much food. “I think we should give it some tuna. Also I think you’re jealous that cats are cuter than zebras…”
She stopped and listened. Whatever was on the second floor had crept onto the stairs and was coming in their direction. By the amount of noise it was making it seemed larger than a cat.
Hide! hissed Ipes, all in a panic.
The little girl slunk behind the couch and watched as a shadow emerged from the stairwell—it was bigger than a cat. “What is it?” Ipes whispered. He had his face buried in Jillybean’s armpit and wouldn’t come out.
“It’s a raccoon,” she said a moment later, relaxing.
Run! cried Ipes. They have rabies.
She didn’t run. The raccoon was a pathetic looking thing, very skinny through the haunches. “Want a cookie?” she asked it. Jillybean had no idea what a raccoon ate, but in her mind she affiliated these sorts of striped and masked creatures with cookies. Ipes watched indignantly as she took a fortune cookie from her coat pocket, stripped it of its clear rapping and tossed it to the rodent.
You know I love cookies, Ipes said, grinding his nonexistent teeth.
So did the raccoon. It held the fortune cookie in its little paws and nibbled. It even ate the fortune.
“Oops,” Jillybean said as the slip of paper disappeared in the coon’s mouth. “I forgot about that. I’m sure it’ll be ok. It’ll be ok, right Ipes?”
I hope he chokes on it, Ipes griped.
She was about to explode in anger at the zebra, but Ram came in then, saving Ipes from a spell in the corner. The raccoon disappeared like smoke.
“Ther
e was a raccoon, Mister Ram,” she said eagerly. “It ate a fortune cookie and the little piece of paper inside it. It won’t choke on it will it?”
After glancing out into the thickening rain, Ram shut the door and then smiled at Jillybean as if just then noticing her. “A raccoon? No, they’re like goats; they’ll eat anything. Just don’t get too close, they carry diseases.”
I told you, Ipes whispered.
“This one didn’t,” Jillybean assured them both. “He was just skinny…hey, what is all that stuff?”
He had come in with a full pack and there was something metal and tubular strapped across the top. It was familiar, however she couldn’t place it. “I found us another bike," he said. "It’s outside. And this is a pump; and this is a tire patch kit, just in case we have another flat. I don’t really want to ride a bike all the way to Atlanta, but it’ll do for now.”
“And what’s that?” she asked with her eyes grown big all of a sudden and her mouth filling with saliva.
“Are you going to pretend you’ve never seen a Snickers candy bar before?” She shook her head at the question, and she did so with her mouth open, entranced. He went on, “It’s about time we ate the beans you’ve been turning your nose up at. If you eat your entire dinner you can have this.”
“Ok!”
True to her word she chowed down her beans faster than he could believe. The Snicker bar, on the other hand, was nibbled at and enjoyed for half the evening.
The next morning she took her place on the handle bars and allowed Ram to pedal her further south on route 13. After leaving Philadelphia, he had opted to go east around the Baltimore/Washington DC urban area, thinking he would skirt that nightmare by coming down Delaware and crossing the Chesapeake Bay at its narrowest point. This was when he figured it wouldn’t be a problem finding a car and a little gas.
It became a problem that they did not overcome. All day he struck out. Every car he passed sat idle, with their gas caps off, exposing their inner workings to the rain. The houses along the access roads were all open and looted, while most of the businesses were charred remains, as if someone had taken their anger out on them. Eventually Ram got off the main road altogether to give himself a chance at finding something. There was little to find. The further south he went, the less inhabited the peninsula became.
The Undead World (Book 2): The Apocalypse Survivors Page 20
