by Briana Rain
I stuck the bat in between my legs and used both hands to slowly, carefully, and quietly pull the handle so that it would click open.
But before I could foolishly swing the door open and half-stumble out of the car, as a fool like me would do, something interrupted me.
An odd sight— two senior citizens rolled up on bicycles. Almost too odd. Like I couldn’t believe two sixty-year-olds pedaling at warp speed on bicycles that were at least as old as the twins, but the whole zombie thing fit just fine in this timeline.
The woman was… well, what a grandma would look like. A grandma who loved gardening and sun hats, with her gray hair in a braid thrown over her shoulder. She was missing that sun hat, though. The man— he too looked like a stereotypical grandpa— was balding, round, with thin-framed glasses. He looked like he used to build things, or something smart along the lines of that.
They didn’t reminded me of my late grandparents at all, and for that I was grateful. Otherwise, I would’ve wanted to keep them.
They rolled past the car, towards my mom (and Clyde and Harrison), ignoring where I was, for now. They stopped about two feet away from the end of the hood.
Once again, thank god for tinted windows.
I had already clicked the handle, so, naturally, I edged the door open just a tiny bit. To see what was happening and if I was needed. They looked like a cute, old, harmless couple, but Mauston taught me better than that.
No one could be trusted.
“Who are you?” Harrison said.
Guns were drawn from all three of my guys, which was a bit hostile, but also practical in this Apocalypse.
The man hopped off of his bike, then reached a hand over to help the woman, who seemed to struggle with swinging her leg over the seat. After they were both off and standing next to each other, the man spoke.
“We’re just glad to see other people. Lord knows it's been awhile. How long has it been, Gloria?”
He sounded happy. Almost downright jolly. Like nothing was wrong and he wasn't scared of anything.
“Oh, at least two days. Does that sound about right, Dear?” Gloria matched the man's, presumably her husband’s, tone.
“Oh, I wouldn't know. Say, do you think that you folks can spare us any water? The two of us have been on these things for quite a while, and we’re just parched. Isn't that right Glor?”
I didn't like that they were asking for stuff.
“That's—“
Her eerily cheery response was interrupted by a nasty coughing fit, one where you not only feel concerned for the person, but also yourself for being close enough to witness it.
There was a sound behind me, and I looked back to see that Lucky had woken up, and was staring out of the windshield, shaking.
“Lucky, listen to me.”
He darted his eyes to me without moving his head off of the seat.
“Close your eyes, okay? Just close them.”
He buried his head in the seat.
I looked back at the couple, only to see that the situation and taken a turn for the worse. They both had handguns out, the woman was pointing it at my mother, Harrison, and Clyde, while the man was pointing his at Addeline through the windshield, but looking ahead at my mom.
“Now folks, all we wanted was just a little something to wet our whistles. That's not much, now, is it?” The cheeriness in the man’s voice had become menacing.
“No, I don't think so at all, Dear.”
I felt like I had to do something. Their hands weren't shaking and their voices weren't wavering and I think that they meant business. The Wall Street kind.
“Listen, we really don't have anything.” Mom’s voice cracked. “Please, just leave us alone.” Mom tried to plead with them as her hands quivered. Clyde and Harrison looked at each other, unsure of what to do. They looked like they were trying to make a plan, but the pro to con ratio was just not in their favor, no matter what they did.
“You have this here vehicle, don't cha?” The man reached over and patted the not-so-shiny black hood. I imagined him smiling sincerely.
I opened the door.
“Oh, it is a nice car, Georgie. American made, too.” I opened the door just enough so that I get out. Reaching back and getting my bat through the crack was the most stressful game of Operation I’d ever played in my life. But I did it, without hitting anything, and without making noise. I shut the door, but didn't shut it. Just rested the metal against the frame without pushing it in.
I was sweating now. My hands were slippery. I was in the open now. Anything could happen to me. There was nothing protecting me.
I was crouched throughout this whole door situation, but now I stood up. The couple’s backs were still to me.
I… I knew what I had to do. I'd seen enough movies to know. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to accept it. But if my guys took the risk of taking out the couple, then there was the tiniest chance that one of them will have a quicker trigger finger. We could not lose my mother, Addeline, Clyde, or Harrison. Even though I didn’t know Harrison whatsoever, he seemed like a nice guy, and knew how to properly stitch someone up, which is a useful thing when all of the doctors are dead and gone.
“Please. We have a group. We have kids.”
Good job Mom. Keep them talking. Sympathize. Please for the love of everything just keep stalling.
I did Clyde's criss-cross walk, doing it correctly for the first time in my life, closing the short distance painfully slowly. I felt like I should've wiped my hands on my jeans but the fear that I would drop my bat or make a sound was too great.
I could’ve cut the tension with a toy knife.
“Listen, I'm going to count to five, and you three will put your guns down. Then Gloria and I will be on our merry way. Alrighty then?”
I met Clyde's eyes. I couldn't see Mom’s or Harrison's faces, because of where Gloria and Georgie were standing, but I could see Clyde. And damn, did he look scared.
“One...... two.....”
Grips were tightened on all weapons from all sides. The situation had escalated dramatically within the last five minutes to a full out standoff. These people were old, with nothing to lose except for each other.
Someone was going to die here.
And it wasn’t going to be any of us.
I closed those last feet between me and the man with my bat held high, and brought it down, mercilessly, into the back of his cranium.
“Georgie!” The woman screamed her husband's name, then came both a gunshot and a hit to my skull so hard that I stumbled backwards into the Jeep. That car was the only thing that kept me from falling.
It took a moment, but eventually I pieced together what had just happened. A lot of things were going on in not a lot of time.
I hit the man, Georgie, on the back of the head just as he was counting to three. Both he, and the gun pointed at Addeline, hit the ground like a sack o’ taters. Splat and clatter.
Immediately reacting to her husband's pain, the woman, Gloria, did the quickest thing her mind could process, which was to knock me upside the head with her gun.
Then, a gunshot rang out from Harrison's gun, hitting the woman and knocking her on the ground, possibly killing her. I had dropped my bat as my hand went to my face.
That old bat had an arm.
Clyde and Mom ran to me, as Harrison walked over and put an extra bullet through the head of the woman. Double checking was good.
“Ophelia.” My mom got to me first and shook my shoulders.
Harrison did the same thing to the man.
I flinched.
“Ophelia!” Mom repeated.
I leaned most of my weight from the Jeep to her, and proceeded to puke my guts out once again. I was thankful that none of it got onto my mother. Or myself, for that matter.
A wild variety of thoughts were swimming through my head at this point in time.
The first one was gross, because of the whole puking deal.
The second one was ou
ch, because that old broad had an arm.
The third one… the one that overwhelmed the other thoughts and by extension, me… was that man. It wasn't like he was a Crazy, or even directly attacking us. He posed a threat and I… I just… acted. I was an animal. A savage, wild, untamed life form that'd rather kill than wait or negotiate.
I felt regret. A lot of it.
“We gotta go!” Harrison had just finished finishing off a Crazy. He was yelling but I wasn't listening.
I looked away from the corpse of the man that I helped slaughter, and realized that nearly everyone was out of the car, save James, who may or may not have still been sleeping— or just in too much pain to move. Vi had flattened herself against the Jeep, gently holding her hurt arm, eyes wide, looking at the remains of the horror show that just took place.
“Everybody in the car!” Mom yelled.
She picked up my bat and took out an incoming Crazy. I watched as she tossed it to Harrison, who took out one on his side. I didn't feel like I was there.
I blamed my possible concussion.
Things were happening too fast for me to know what was happening. I was still stuck on Georgie, and was slowly being able to process Gloria.
The twins climbed into the passenger seat, insisting on sharing it. I, personally, didn't even see Addeline get out of the car, let alone Lucky. Clyde shoved me into the Jeep so that he could jump in behind me.
Because, of course, the gunshots had attracted Crazies, and Crazies had never failed to attract more of their kind.
In short, it was time to blow this popsicle stand.
Hmm… Popsicles… I wouldn’t say no to one right about now…
Harrison took out one last crazy with my bat before diving in, and closing the door right before an undead slammed against the window, and clawed at its missed meal.
I looked past Clyde and out of the right window, where everything had gone down. A group of Crazies had appeared out of nowhere and crowded around the dead body of Georgie, but not his wife.
Mom started the car, attracting all those not able to get in on the feasting action. One of them kicked my attacker’s body with such vigor that she was rolled over, her body facing the sun. Her head lolled towards me, giving me one last vision to invade my future nightmares.
And that one last thing was her piercing, ugly, red eyes.
Chapter 29: The I-94
So, I wasn’t really sure if I fell asleep, or passed out. Not sure in the slightest. Whatever it was, it was filled with nothingness. No dreaming or sense of time.
Was I out for five minutes? Thirty? An hour or two? The entire day?
Who knows.
Well, the rest of the car probably knew. Speaking of the rest of the car, I wasn’t totally sure that they were there. With a nice sized headache, I didn't really rush to open my eyes and jump right back into reality. I selfishly wanted to take a minute, and enjoy not having a staring contest with death for once.
Alas, this moment didn't last long, no matter how hard I willed it too. I was startled because what my head was resting against, which I assumed was the seat, moved, proving to me that it was not the seat that I was laying on, but a person.
I jumped and opened my eyes as I straightened up in my middle seat and looked over at Clyde.
Needless to say, I handled the situation pretty smoothly. And by smoothly, I mean I crawled over the other seat and stumbled out of the Jeep, all the while incoherent mumbling and tired groaning was dribbling out of my face hole.
It was dusk, or, just before. The sun was almost done setting.
How long had I been out?
I looked around at the field and hills stretching out before me, but saw none of my group.
I pushed the door closed with a click, still scanning the horizon for Mom, but paused my search when my hand came back red, and sticky.
The Jeep was covered in blood. Absolutely soaked in the stuff. I'm talking submerge and let marinate for one and a half to two hours. There was a nice sized puddle of red saturated grass around our vehicle, too.
Lovely.
I began to Ultra Panic and walked to the back of the car, hoping to at least grab my bag and bat if I was going to go and search the unknown for my family and friends. When I stepped out from the side of the Jeep, I saw them. The Ultra Panic downgraded to just Mild Panic.
Thank god.
“Mom!” I jogged over to her, not believing how much relief I felt from seeing her, and how quickly I had assumed the worst had happened.
“Wha… what happened here?” That short jog left me out of breath, just like going up a flight of stairs at school would. Boy, did I feel unfit, even after all the stuff I'd done these past couple of days.
Mom started saying something, but Harrison jumped in to give his account of the events.
“Minneapolis was a bitch. And your mom's a badass.” He was smiling just a bit while dabbing James’ side, which was still stitched up, with a cloth.
I looked from Harrison, to Mom, to Harrison, and back again, wanting an explanation as to why exactly she was labeled a badass.
She sighed, a hint of a smile on her face too, “Part of the horde that stopped us earlier crossed paths with us again in Minneapolis, but I didn't stop this time.”
She shrugged, like it was no big deal, but I could see that smile she wasn't trying to hide now.
“Are you kidding? It was awesome! She slammed on the gas and plowed through the entire horde! Like they weren't even there!” Harrison was… uncharacteristically excited.
But— okay. Okay, cool. It was better than being in a stern, solemn mood. So… everyone’s… okay. We were… not being… attacked? We weren’t running. Weren’t in danger.
It was an odd feeling. Like, somehow, my body gotten used to that feeling of constant adrenaline. I'd adapted. I'd accepted everything that was going on.
I let that suspicious feeling go, hugged my mother, and then walked toward Harrison, Addeline and James. They were sitting against a fence that surrounded a huge water tower. Many of the red letters were long ago faded, but the mature part of my mind told me that the word Dickinson was painted across.
I sat down next to James and Harrison, leaning against the fence with them, while Mom moved behind us, towards the tower, where a pile of empty and full bottles of water awaited.
“I'll go help her.” Addeline volunteered as soon as I sat down. I couldn't help but wonder if the two were related.
“I'll go, too.” Harrison volunteered, as soon as Addeline took her first step. I couldn't help but wonder if the two were related.
“You know, this is the third time I've been stitched up today.” James complained, and leaned his head back on the metal links. I think he was trying to seem tough.
I think that he forgot that I put pressure on his bullet wound while he uncontrollably cried. Not that there was anything wrong with crying, but it wasn’t necessarily “tough”. Not in this case.
“Third time's the charm, right?” I didn't know what else to say. I didn't smile, but my tone was lighthearted enough that it earned a chuckle from him.
The conversation stopped there.
We watched Lucky and Vi, who were playing with the ball, though Vi seemed less enthusiastic about the game than her brother.
The sun was about to punch out for the day, making the hilly fields of dead and dying dry grass look golden and almost alive.
It was… a sight. A good one, for once.
“Hey, James? Why do you call the infected Swisses?”
The dead flora looked so lively. Golden. Absolutely glowing with life. The untamed field danced in the breeze. I think it was a waltz.
“Because of their holes. You know, the ones they get in their skin after a while. The first time we saw one, the first thing he…” James took deep breaths, “It was Marcus, actually, who saw them first. They reminded him of Swiss cheese. Marcus was the kid we were with. The one who… who's gone now.”
Oh boy.
He
had tears in his eyes, and the sun in his face only made it worse. It highlighted them, amongst other features of his face.
I looked away, but not before I noticed what he was holding in his hand as he turned it over and over again.
It was that little green army soldier. The one that belonged to him. To Marcus.
“James—“ I was about to tell him about the Crazy I encountered in the woods. The first one that was a child— a child that I hesitated to take out, but take out I did. The child Crazy with the fire truck shirt that would forever be ingrained in my mind. I felt like I owed him that. I owed him that closure as a friend, and as someone who's saved his life and vice versa.
But, before I could get terrible said thing off of my chest, I was interrupted by the distinct sound of an engine. It was in the distance, sure, but it was there.
I scrambled up awkwardly, and was rewarded by a wave of dizziness for getting up too quickly combined with not eating or drinking anything today.
And my hits to the skull didn’t do me any favors, either.
After two seconds, when that passed, I noticed James struggling to stand. I guessed the position of his stitches and the way he was sitting together was what made it such a struggle.
I grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet. In hindsight, I should've helped him up gently instead, but the sound of that engine was nearing, and my panic was rising. His hand was warm and sweaty, like mine, and unlike Clyde's cold ones.
I made a grab for my bat that I had rested against the fence beside me, only to find that the end of the handle was lodged through the links. I idiotically yanked on it several times in a panic, like pulling on a car door while you waited for it to be unlocked, but once I got a grip, and decided that I couldn't get the bat out based on shear force alone, I stopped, maneuvered the handle, and got the stupid thing out.
Everyone was scrambling. Mom told the kids to get in the car, while she, Harrison, and Addeline carried the bottles feverishly to the trunk, as James opened it. The commotion woke Clyde, who sleepily staggered out of the Jeep with the blanket half in the car, half hanging off of his shoulder. He flung it away, and cringed as he noticed that he stood in the blood pool.
