by AJ Powers
“Naomi, I… I...” Tessa said, struggling to find the right words.
“Let me guess. You just did what you had to do, right?” Naomi said callously.
It was Tessa now giving the icy glare. “That’s uncalled for, Naomi,” she said with a mixture of fury and grief. “Do you think it was easy for me to do that? Do you think it’s been easy for me to lie to my kids about what happened to their father?” she asked, her body shaking from a torrent of emotions.
Naomi leaned over the railing and looked down at the greenish-brown water below. She avoided Tessa’s eyes like a pack of infected, keeping her response to herself.
“I pray you never know what that’s like, Naomi. To have to face that sort of decision. I have been through so much—so much pain. Guilt. More than most people go through in two lifetimes. Every. Single. Day I had to make decisions that determined if people lived or died. And then I had to come home and swallow my pride and pretend that my husband—the man who was supposed to love me—wasn’t betraying me in the worst possible way.” Tessa immediately regretted giving voice to the truth, but she was too worked up and the fire in her heart too hot to tame, so she continued. “Then, when I was finally able to trust him again—when I finally forced myself to love him again—I had to watch him turn into one of those fucking monsters,” Tessa said, gesturing wildly at the banks of the river. Tears fell freely as she whispered her admittance of guilt. “I had to kill him, Naomi. I had to. What else could I have done?”
Naomi remained silent as her own tears fell, splashing into the river below.
“This,” Tessa said, gesturing toward Naomi. “This is why I didn’t tell you. Trust me, I wanted to, but I couldn’t bear the thought of adding one more ounce of sorrow in my life. To yours. Do you know how hard this has been for me? How many times I just wanted to give up? To quit this life? How many times I considered chasing down a handful of pills with some vodka?” she said, once again remorseful she shared such information with her teenaged daughter, but the dam had already burst, and there was no taking it back now.
“But I couldn’t, Naomi. Because I love you. And I love TJ. And I couldn’t bear to think about you surviving on your own.” Tessa took a deep breath as she leaned against the rail next to her daughter. “So, yeah, I did what I had to. Just like I did with TJ back at the restaurant, and like I did by inviting a stranger to come with us on this trip. I did what I had to do to keep you and your brother safe. I lied to you. And it absolutely killed me to do it. But you know what? I’d do it all over again if it would spare you this grief,” Tessa said before offering up her parting shot. “It’s called parenthood, kiddo. It’s full of shitty choices. All you can do is live with the ones you make.”
Naomi’s eyes closed for several long seconds. Her knuckles turned white as her fingers strangled the metal railing. Slowly, her arms began to quiver. She dropped her shoulders and let out a deep breath. Watching Naomi work through her emotions was chilling, and Tessa prepared for the worst.
And Naomi delivered.
“Go to hell, Tessa,” she hissed before crossing her arms across her chest and walking away.
Chapter Nineteen
19 – Carrollton, Kentucky – May 27th
Malcom stared up at the faded blue sign on the side of the road:
WELCOME TO CARROLLTON, KENTUCKY. POPULATION 3,938.
Being in the Middle of Nowhere, Kentucky, Malcom was surprised by the fourth digit in the population. It gave him hope that the town was big enough to have a few stores that would have what he was looking for. Or, at the very least, enough of what he was looking for to fund another day’s worth of travel so he could try again at another town further downriver.
As he came up to an elementary school just off US-42, Malcom was unnerved by the stillness of the little town. He ducked into a school bus on the side of the road and peered out the window, silently observing from afar. He expected something to catch his eye, but nothing did. The absence of any movement was strange, almost as if the town had been abandoned before the outbreak.
Malcom stayed in the yellow tuna can for several minutes, his eyes still scanning the area like a typewriter carriage, before he finally decided to move on. He kept his rifle at a low-ready position as he climbed out of the bus, hoping it would stay that way. He was a long way from the boat. If he was forced to use his gun, he’d likely have to sprint his way back with nothing to show for it.
Stopping at a gas station just off the road, Malcom found a package of powdered donuts amidst the trash on the floor. It was barely worth the time it took to search. He then bounced across the street to a corner pharmacy, immediately realizing that anything of significant value was long gone. Though Tessa had a bag of stolen medical supplies back on the boat, in her haste to grab the less easily attainable items such as morphine and sedatives, she forgot the basic over-the-counter stuff like pain relievers and antacids, both of which Malcom chewed like candy.
It was obvious, even from the other side of the store, that the prescription meds were wiped out, and Malcom didn’t even bother to confirm it. With the condition the rest of the pharmacy was in, there was no way there’d be anything worthwhile in the back. Instead, he spent his time searching the rest of the store, which quickly paid off. Underneath one of the tipped-over shelves, he found a box of tiny energy drinks that tasted like children’s cough syrup. He had tossed back more than a few of them over the years, especially when he had to wake up early for Mackenzie’s soccer games the morning after working a double. It got to the point where the energy drinks became virtually ineffective on him, so he stopped wasting his money. It had been a year or two since he’d last had one, so he hoped their potency would once again jumpstart his fatigued brain when the time came.
He also found a bag of pork rinds, which he was less excited about. Malcom hated the salty snack. He’d always said if he was going to chew on crunchy pork, it better be bacon. He still lived by that mantra and felt a pool of saliva collecting in his mouth as he thought back to that hickory-smoked greatness he fried up at the condo downtown. Still, it was food—more or less—and he stuck it into the bag. It would be the first thing he’d drop if he needed to make room.
On his way out, he made a detour to the feminine hygiene aisle, which still displayed several options. Malcom didn’t have the first clue about which brands or types were best. Almost every box claimed they were the ones women preferred. But if Naomi needed them, or Tessa for that matter, life would be much simpler with a couple boxes on hand.
Malcom grabbed a box of tampons and a box of pads by the company that charged the most and dumped the contents into his pack. They didn’t take up all that much space, and there was virtually no difference in weight, so he zipped up his backpack and left the darkened store behind.
“Don’t move, bitch,” Malcom heard a voice say from behind.
Malcom stopped in his tracks and let his FAL hang from its sling. He slowly raised his hands before turning around to face a pair of thugs with guns trained on him. The one man, who was tall with short, blond hair, couldn’t have been more than a hundred pounds and seemed to struggle to support the weight of the double-barrel twelve-gauge in his hands. The other man, who was a man of considerably more width, held a snub-nose .38 special.
“Listen, I was just passing—”
“Ain’t no one asked you to talk, city slicker,” the big man with the revolver said, cutting him off. “So just shut the fuck up and listen, ’cuz I’m gonna get straight to it. If you’re cuttin’ through our town, you gotta pay the toll,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I don’t have anything to offer.”
“Well, that rifle there is a good place to start,” the big guy said before his eyes moved to the Glock. “And that gat on your belt will do just fine, too.”
Malcom looked down at his FAL then back up at Tons of Fun. “And if I say no?”
Both men laughed derisively. “Well, if you do, you better be a helluva lot faster than my boy here,�
�� he said, nodding toward the skinny man to his side. “You look like you’re pretty familiar with guns, so I’ll assume you know it don’t take much to dump both them barrels. And at this distance,” he paused and twisted his face, “well, it’s kinda hard to miss.”
Malcom’s jaw clenched as he considered calling their bluff. Killing infected was one thing but killing another man in cold blood still took a twisted level of thinking that many men lacked, despite the big game they talked. And while his gut told him these two were all bark, he wasn’t in the position to risk it.
“So, you wanna see who’s quicker on the draw?” the big man asked.
Malcom sighed heavily with a look of disdain as he gave a subtle shake of his head.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He nodded at the rifle and said, “Why don’t you take that rifle off—slowly—and toss it to the ground.”
Malcom complied.
“All right now, if you so much as flinch, I’ll have Jonas here blow your damn head off, understand me?”
Yeah, he’ll blow my head off along with your ugly-ass hillbilly face, Malcom wanted to reply. Instead, he gave a simple nod.
The big man walked over, keeping his distance from Malcom’s body. He got as close as he needed to pull the Glock out of the Kydex holster hanging from Malcom’s belt. For a moment, Malcom thought about making a move, but the man easily had a hundred pounds on him, making it difficult for him to pull off what he had in mind. Instead, he continued to give both men a vindictive glare that said, “I’ll kill you both as soon as I get the chance.” He just hoped they understood.
The big man let out a low whistle as he looked at the pistol. “Sure is a nice piece ya got here. I’ve always wanted one of these but they—”
Skinny Man’s head suddenly whipped back as the back of his skull erupted with a gruesome mixture of bone fragments and gray matter. Confusion filled the moment before the sharp crack of a single rifle shot echoed through the city and the big man finally realized what just happened.
“Jonas!” he screamed in horror as his friend fell to the ground.
“Holy shit!” Malcom said, his bulging eyes taking in every graphic detail.
“You son of a bitch!” the fat man said, pointing the Glock at Malcom.
Malcom reached behind his back for his 1911 when, suddenly, Fat Man’s body shook as bullets stitched across his chest. He dropped to his knees, terror stretching across his face as he was forced to accept his fate. With a grotesque gurgle, the man fell forward, his face crushing into the asphalt. He let out his last breath, then silence.
Malcom slowly raised his arms in submission, letting his 1911 hang from his trigger finger. He was banking on the fact that the mystery sniper wasn’t planning to kill him on account that he wasn’t already dead. Remaining perfectly still, Malcom waited for several tense minutes before he heard gravel crunching beneath a pair of boots…
No. Two pairs of boots.
“As long as you don’t try nothin’ stupid, you’ll leave with the same number of holes you came with,” a woman with a thick Appalachian accent said as she came into view from Malcom’s side, cradling an AR-10 in her arms. She wore dark-tan pants and a black tank top with a tree-branch-camo beanie covering her black hair. She was thick, but not in a bad way. Her skin was unnaturally tan, and she had perhaps the nicest set of teeth in the entire Bluegrass State.
“That’s right,” her partner said with a slightly tamer accent as he walked past Malcom to investigate the wrecked bodies in the middle of the parking lot. He sported digital camo fatigues with a plate carrier over his torso and a reversed ballcap. He had a suppressed M4 carbine in his hands and a Remington 700 slung over his back. “Damn, Brandie, you split the uprights on that one,” he said as he looked down at the decimated skull of the skinny man on the ground.
“You say that as if you’d been expectin’ anything less,” she replied before looking over at Malcom, parting her lips to shine her bright, white teeth. “As you probably guessed, I’m Brandie. That’s Shepherd over there,” she said with a nod. “And you are?”
“Malcom.”
“Nice to meet you, Malcom. You can put your arms down. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re not from around these parts, are ya?”
Malcom, still reeling from everything that just happened, nodded briefly before the words finally reached his mouth. “Uh, no, we’re from Cincinnati,” he said as he looked over at Shepherd, who was grabbing anything of use off the two dead men’s bodies.
“We?” Brandie asked.
“Yeah. A friend of mine and her kids are back on a boat just off shore a few miles up Forty-two,” Malcom said, immediately chiding himself for giving up such information voluntarily.
Brandie looked past Malcom for a moment. “Is it them?”
Shepherd nodded. “Sure is.”
“’Bout damn time we got the rat bastards,” she said before looking back at Malcom, continuing where they’d left off. “So, how’s Cincinnati lookin’ these days?”
“It’s gone.”
“Damn. That many of them up there?”
“No, I mean gone as in a line of B-52s leveled the whole place.”
“Fuck me,” Brandie replied, shaking her head. “You know shit’s gone south when they call in the BUFFs.”
“Fuckin’ A,” Shepherd said.
“So, if y’all have a boat, what made you decide to stop in little ol’ Carrollton, Kentucky?”
“Food. Supplies. Gas,” Malcom said.
Brandie chuckled. “You ain’t gonna find none of that here in town, except for maybe the gas,” she said, gesturing to one of the many stalled cars on the road. “Our group has pretty well cleaned everything out.”
“Your group?” Malcom asked.
“Yep,” she said, not willing to divulge any more information on the subject. “Anyway, there are a couple of them bigger stores a few miles down Two-twenty-seven,” she said, pointing at the road next to the pharmacy. “It’s not nearly as secure as this place since it’s pretty close to the highway, but if you’re willing to risk it, you might have better luck out that way.”
“Appreciate the tip,” Malcom replied.
Having taken everything off the big man’s body, Shepherd walked over, placing himself almost directly between Malcom and Brandie. “Well, I’ve actually been meaning to make a run out that way anyhow. I’ll come with, if ya want. Two guns are always better than one, I say,” he said, holding out the Glock 17 in his hand.
Shepherd was right, two guns were better than one. After holstering his Scorpion, Malcom took the Glock from Shepherd and dropped it into his holster before picking his FAL off the ground and tossing the sling back over his neck. “That sounds good to me. Lead the way.”
Chapter Twenty
20 – Carrollton, Kentucky – May 27th
“So, what was that about? Did you guys know those two assholes back there?” Malcom asked as he walked alongside Shepherd on the road.
“No, not really,” he said with a shrug. “They started hanging out around here last summer, rolling into town with their pimped-out Cutlass as they peddled cotton candy to any junkie with a few bucks.”
Malcom grunted. “I hate that shit.”
“You’re telling me, brother. Lost two of my cousins to meth a few years back, and Brandie’s sister is permanently fucked in the head from it, too. The poor girl might as well be one of those crazy-ass cannibals running around the streets.” Shepherd sighed as he adjusted his rifle sling. “Once those inbred fucks started robbing people from our group, Brandie and me took it upon ourselves to shut that shit down. We’ve been tracking them for the last couple of weeks, but they always seemed to know when we were setting up a trap. But, thanks to you,” he said, a smile sweeping across his face, “they were at the right place at the very wrong time.”
“Well, glad I could help,” Malcom said dryly.
Shepherd slowed his pace, eventually coming to a stop in the middle of the road. His eyes lo
cked to the woods off to their right, scrutinizing every inch in front of him.
“You see something?” Malcom whispered.
Without saying a word, Shepherd lifted his rifle and took aim, his finger curling around the trigger. The rifle kicked in his arms as a single, muffled pop filled the otherwise still, morning air around them. “Lights out, sweetheart,” he said as the infected man dropped to the forest floor. Pulling his cheek away from the rest on the stock, he continued walking down the road as if he’d simply stopped to tie his shoes.
“That’s a pretty sweet setup you’ve got there,” Malcom said, nodding toward the M4. “You steal that from the Marines or something?”
Shepherd laughed. “This thing’s a toy compared to the 240 Bravo I used to carry in the Army.”
“Hooah,” Malcom replied.
Shepherd gave an approving nod. “Hooah. You serve?”
Malcom shook his head. “Nah. Was going to, but my eighteen-year-old pregnant wife gave me that ‘I will murder you’ look the moment I mentioned it. I suppose floating the idea while she was ralphing up her breakfast wasn’t the best time to bring it up.”
“Yeah, rookie mistake, there. Funny thing is, I actually knocked my girl up a year younger than that, and still signed up.” Shepherd let out a sharp laugh. “Didn’t make no difference anyhow. Six months after she popped the kid out, she convinced her parents to take care of Ryleigh and followed me out to that godforsaken oven called Afghanistan.”
“That’s loyalty there,” Malcom said.
“Yeah, that’s one way of puttin’ it,” he chuckled. “For better or worse, I think I’m stuck with that girl.”
Though he talked a big game, Malcom could see in his eyes that the man wasn’t too torn up about the situation. “So, am I correct to assume we’re talking about Brandie?” he asked.
“The one and only,” Shepherd said, shaking his head with a smirk on his face. “That girl is crazier than a loon, and sometimes I think she firmly believes the sun comes up just to hear her crow. But boy, I’ll tell ya what, she can suck the chrome off a trailer hitch and keyhole a quarter at a hundred yards. So, ya gotta take the bad with the good.”
