“Yes.”
“Then trust when I say it’s not safe back at home. It’s normally a long, two-day trip to Nan and Pop’s, but with the way the world is right now, it’s probably going to take us longer. I need you to trust me on this trip because it’s really important that we stay safe…you with me?”
Noah looked equal parts nervous and disappointed. “I’m with you.”
“If I say run, you run, if I say duck, you duck. You need to listen to me and do as I say. Okay?”
She only hesitated a moment before nodding.
“Promise me,” I urged her, knowing how important a promise was to Noah. She would never willingly break one.
“I promise, Shy.”
“Good girl.”
The silence that filled the car was weighted with confusion, fear and worry. That stifling anxiety threatened to drag me into its depths. Fumbling to hold the steering wheel with one hand, I reached for my back pocket and pulled out my cigarettes. Tapping the top open, I counted two. I should probably save them for emergencies, but to be quite frank, I was living in one, great, big fucking emergency. Every minute counted as a cigarette break. There was a tin in my backpack with four rolled joints, but I was going to save them for shit-has-hit-the-fan-walls-and-floor type emergencies. Using the car lighter, I lit up and rolled down the window. I noticed Noah crack her window too. She hated me smoking, but right now, if I didn’t get my fix of nicotine I was likely to come undone. We didn’t have the luxury of me losing my shit. Fumbling for my iPhone, I opened my zombie playlist and scrolled through. Finding something that felt perfect for the moment, I pressed play. Without conscious thought my hand picked up the beat, tapping against the steering wheel. While cigarettes helped keep me calm and focused, music did the same for Noah. By the chorus Noah grinned. It was the kind of smile that filled her cheeks and reached her eyes, I would give anything to keep it on her face.
Track Three: Rihanna, Shut Up And Drive
CHAPTER 3
“I can see someone in there.”
Noah’s head hung out her window, her gaze fixed on the building before us. We needed gas, the tank on my parent’s SUV had only been a quarter full when we left Bakersfield. I was guessing electricity would soon be gone, which I assumed meant pumps would no longer be able to pump gas, which meant I needed to fill up now and keep topping up for as long as possible. The gas station wasn’t one of those giant, commercialized beasts. It was small, with four pump stations, and a humble building that looked old, but tidy. We were parked beside the furthest pump as I warily watched the clerk behind the glass inside. He looked bored, his gaze hadn’t even lifted from the magazine he was reading. He didn’t look like a raving, sick zombie. He looked…normal. Looks could be deceiving though, and he could be infected but not showing symptoms yet. The need for gas and cigarettes outweighed my cautious mind, and I climbed from the SUV. When Noah’s door opened, I abruptly turned and ordered her back in the car.
“I need to pee,” she said with a deadpan, serious face.
“You just peed like three hours ago!” I huffed out in exasperation.
Noah just rolled her eyes and remained half in and half out of the car.
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
“Not on your own, you wait for me.”
Another eye roll accompanied her dramatically climbing the rest of the way out of the car and spinning around to lean against the door frame. Lifting the nozzle on the dispenser, I waited for the attendant inside to press whatever button he pressed to allow me to start pumping. And I waited, and waited. Glancing back through the glass windows I found him still sitting at the counter, still reading. I didn’t have time for this shit.
“Hey, you wanna get things moving?” I yelled.
He ignored me, and my gut rolled. Something wasn’t right. He looked normal enough from this distance, but he didn’t move so much as a muscle. Putting the nozzle back in place, I reached down beside the front driver’s seat and wrapped my hand around the sturdy grip of my trusty golf club.
“Boo, get back in the car.”
Her eyes widened with alarm, and she scrambled to get in the passenger door.
“Lock the car and wait for me, don’t let anyone in and don’t talk to anyone, you got it?”
“There’s no one else here,” Noah pointed out with an exasperated sigh.
“Someone could pull up, or someone could be hiding. Just promise me, Noah. You lock the car and don’t get out for anything.”
At my sharp tone she flinched but nodded. Slamming the door shut, I waited for Noah to engage the locks, and once the soft thud indicated she had, I strolled toward the small building before me. There was no point in subterfuge or hiding, we’d been sitting out front for a good five minutes, anyone who might have been hiding inside knew we were here. At the door, I paused as the automatic glass slid noisily open. There was no overpowering stench of death, simply the subtle hint of gas and cleaning product. My gaze cast over the interior of the building. It was quiet, no music playing, no TV, only the noisy whir of an air conditioning unit. At least it was cooler inside. The stifling, dry heat of the California summer was going to turn me into a puddle of sweat.
“Hey, think you could get the pump going?” I called out, using my sweetest voice, which to be honest was more bitter than sugary. There was still no reply.
“Walk away, Shiloh. This has horror movie written all over it,” I murmured, my gaze roving over the four short aisles before me. I knew I should back away and leave, but curiosity had always been my downfall. It was the reason I’d walked in on Cullen cheating on me, unable to ignore the closed door to his hotel suite on our last tour. It was how I discovered my best friend and band manager, Slyvie Dennier, was a lying, backstabbing bitch, when I just had to know who the blonde was laying beneath him with her legs in the air. This was different though. This wasn’t a curiosity that could shed my heart to ribbons, this was the difference between life and death.
“Fuck, I’m an idiot,” I spat out, walking further into the building.
My driver hung from one hand as my eyes darted everywhere. Spotting a magazine with a picture of Cullen on the front, the rest of us surrounding him like his adoring posse, I winced. The arrogant smirk on his face made me want to pummel the bookstand to the ground. Ignoring the image, I wandered closer to the counter. Pump guy still hadn’t moved, his own magazine lifted so his face was mostly obscured, only his baseball cap and the backs of his hands clearly visible.
“You deaf or something?”
When he remained quiet, I lifted the bandana from around my neck and tugged it over my nose. Switching the club to my other hand, I shook out my sweaty palm before swapping it back. Then, I reached the club out to nudge the magazine aside. Either the ignorant dude behind the counter was deaf and was about to get the shock of a lifetime – here’s hoping he didn’t have a gun back there – or he was sick, which would mean a hasty exit for me. At least we had the counter between us.
Pushing the magazine, it slowly leaned towards the pump guy until it fell from his limp hands and to his lap. A face of webbed veins, blood-red eyes and a vacant stare met me. My heart thrashed like a wild beast, and my fingers tightened around the golf club. The guy, who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, remained still and seated. He was sick but hadn’t crossed to the next part which was a mindless zombie freak. Looking about the cluttered counter, I found the device which switched on the pumps, but I had no idea how to operate it. Did I need to pick up the nozzle first? Could I just flick the button? Moving from one foot to the other, I nervously eyed the unmoving infected dude. Did I want to get close enough to figure it out…hell no! It was at this moment my eyes caught the cabinets of cigarettes at his back. Did I want one or ten of those packs…hell yes!
Raising the club again, I nudged the almost dead fucker in front of me. I’m not sure what I expected, perhaps his lifeless body to fall from the chair? A blink? A reaction, somet
hing, anything? All I got was the vegetative state that Cullen had fallen into right before he took his last breath. Chewing on my bottom lip, I glanced to the SUV parked out front and found Noah with her nose squished up against the passenger window, watching intently. Raising my hand, I waved, and she waved back, her terrified gaze softening a little. That was my second mistake, looking away. My first had been entering this creepy fucking place. A familiar throaty growl sounded from the chest of pump guy, and my eyes darted back to the threat I had been too quick to dismiss. His red eyes lasered in on me with an intensity that screamed bitch, you’re dead. While completely unresponsive only seconds ago, the infected now scrambled from his chair, fingers scratching at the counter for purchase as he tried to clamber across it in an effort to reach me.
I screamed and swung my driver, smacking the side of his head with a sickening thud. Then I turned and ran. Only half a dozen steps separated me from the front door when fingers around the bottom of my leg tripped me, sending me flying forward onto my stomach, slapping the air from my lungs. My club rolled with a clang from my hand, the sound of it escaping my reach almost as frightening as the growl coming from the pump guy who had his fingers latched around my ankle. Panic made me kick and scream, my thoughts jagged and disjointed, my only goal, survival. Grunting noises met my ears as I continued to fight free. Using all my strength I crawled forward on the dirty linoleum, dragging the cold zombie freak along with me. My flailing hand connected with something and sent a tubular stand falling to the ground with a loud clattering bang. The hand around my ankle pulled me flat to my stomach again, and I blindly reached out. My fingers wrapped around some sort of fabric which felt thin and wispy, yet at the same time, strong. Fabric wasn’t going to help me, but the stick-like thing inside the fabric felt promising. Rolling to my back, I brought my find with me and was completely bummed when I discovered it was an umbrella. What the fuck was I supposed to do with an umbrella? Pump guy was trying to crawl up my legs and instinctively I positioned my new and ridiculous weapon his way, pointy end first. When he lunged to close the last bit of distance between our bodies, I squeezed my eyes shut and squealed like a total girl. This was it, I was going to die trying to fight off a fucking zombie with a stupid freaking umbrella. His heavy weight collapsed over me, followed by a garbled, gurgling noise. Then there was nothing. In a panic my eyes sprung open. Pump guy had impaled himself on the umbrella, right through his eye socket.
“No fucking way,” I breathed with a wavering voice.
My bandana was fortunately still over my mouth, but being this close to an infected freaked me the fuck out. I squirmed frantically to free myself from the dead weight, and when I finally staggered to my feet I glanced down my body. Warm, infected blood decorated my clothes.
“Crapity Crap!” I hissed, taking a moment to make sure pump guy didn’t move before I grabbed my golf club and fled the building. “Shit, shit, shit,” I continued to curse as I ran towards the car. Slamming my palm against the driver’s side window, Noah immediately unlocked the door. Without sparing her so much as a glance, I stripped my shirt from my body and used a bottle of water to wash the blood from my skin before dragging a fresh shirt over my head. I had no idea how the disease spread, so I wasn’t taking any chances. Finally feeling somewhat clean, I jumped in the car and started the engine, tearing out of the fuel station like a horde of zombies was on my ass. Yet it hadn’t been a horde, just one. One, lone teenage boy had rattled me to my core. Reaching toward the center console, I grabbed the squashed packet of cigarettes and drew out the last one. With a shaking hand I lit up, then pressed the button that rolled down my window and inhaled. As soon at the tangy smoke hit my lungs I swear I immediately felt better. Finally, I chanced a glance at Noah. She was silent, her skin too pale, eyes wide as she stared at me. “You okay, Boo?” I asked, proud of how level my voice came out.
“What happened?” She asked, her bottom lip trembling.
She couldn’t cry, her tears would crush me. Survive now, cry later, I repeated my new mantra over and over again.
“That was someone who was sick, it makes them crazy, people do things they wouldn’t normally do when they’re sick.”
Noah’s gaze dropped to my stomach where I had been covered in blood. She didn’t say anything, just continued to stare. Reaching across, I laced my fingers with hers. Her palms were just as sweaty as mine, but there was no way I was releasing that connection. Having her with me, safe and sound, it pacified my soul with something akin to a warm caress. If Noah was okay, I was okay, I had to be. The three lives I’d taken, including my ex-boyfriend and mother, were a heavy weight to carry. Their deaths played over and over in my mind, flashes of blood and gore slipping into the forefront of my thoughts. I didn’t even have the luxury of squeezing my eyes shut in an attempt to block them out.
“What about gas?”
“We’ll try another station,” I said after a short silence.
There was no further exchange of words as we drove onward, the road before us relatively empty, the occasional car passing by with curious stares from their occupants. With each mile marker we passed, my heart steadied, my shaking hands subsided, and I slowly regained control of my thoughts. Not wanting to use up the last fifteen percent of battery on my phone, I tapped out a beat and began to sing. This was more fun then simply listening anyway. It was one of the first songs I learned on the guitar, and I used to sing it to Noah when she was little. Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds never failed to lift her sprits. As expected, Noah was soon singing along and by the end of the second verse she had released my hand and was jumping about in her seat. Her enthusiasm continued to build me up until I felt whole again, and this world that was beginning to fracture around us was pushed aside. My single-minded focus was perfect in its simplicity, protect Noah.
Track Four: Cake, I Will Survive
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 4
It was the standoff to end all standoffs. This was the O.K Corral on steroids. This was a battle of pigheaded tenacity that would surely end in tears, mine or Noah’s I didn’t know yet. I stood with my feet shoulder width apart, my boots sturdy in the dirt, my arms crossed over my chest, and my eyes narrowed. Noah copied my stance, looking just as fierce and pissed off.
“I can stand here all day, Noah, I’m not that one that needs to pee.”
Noah’s scowl deepened, but she didn’t move. She was busting for a toilet break, and her squirming in the car for the last twenty minutes told me she was not going to last much longer. The last gas station we had passed was filled with at least eight dirty bikers lingering around the front of the building. They weren’t the weekend warrior, businessman wanna-be gangster type either. No, they were real bikers with real colors and well-used faded vests, and bikes that looked like they had seen plenty of asphalt under their tires. There was no way in hell I was pulling in. We needed gas. The needle on the gage sat just above empty, the little amber light mocking me and my inability to fix it. I’d rather walk the rest of the way to Nan and Pop’s then take a risk with a posse of bikers.
Instead, I’d found somewhere safe and secluded to pull off, so Noah could relieve herself behind a bush, but she refused. She wanted a bathroom and facilities. No way was she going to “squat on an ant mound”, as she had put it. She was being ridiculous, there were no ant mounds. Reaching into the back of the SUV, I pulled out a roll of toilet paper and threw it to her. It hit her chest and rolled to the ground, a sheet of the paper snagging on a stick which meant the entire thing began to unravel as it rolled away from her feet.
“The longer we stand here the longer it’s going to take us to get to Nan and Pop’s, so get moving.”
“No.”
Drawing in a deep breath my fingers twitched, and I remembered the crushed empty cigarette packet. I needed to rectify this situation, pronto. While this slight hitch in the road wasn’t traumatic enough to warrant smoking, I was already craving my next hit of nicotine.
“I’m not going behind a bush!” Noah’s stubborn reply had me clenching my teeth together as I searched for my fading patience.
“Boo, it’s not safe. There were lots of men back at the gas station, strange men, bikers, do you not understand how bad a situation like that could end for us?”
“They don’t care about us.”
My fingers threaded through my hair, pulling my strands free from the messy knot on my head.
“Dammit!” I cursed out loud. “We are two women alone, and the world has gone to shit, Noah! If they tried to hurt us and we called 911, no one would come, do you understand that?” I yelled. Yep, my patience was fried. Noah winced, but her tenacious scowl remained firmly in place. “They could hurt us for our supplies,” I shrieked, pointing to the back of the car. “They could hurt us because we are women and there aren’t many women getting about out here, they could rape us, and there is nothing anyone could do to stop them!” At that Noah’s frown lost some of its heat. “You told me you trusted me, well trust me when I say going back to the gas station isn’t safe!”
Breathing deeply, I began to walk around the SUV, kicking rocks, cursing and mumbling under my breath.
“But we need gas,” Noah pointed out.
“Not badly enough to go back there.”
Little by little the heat from my anger dimmed, and my tantrum began to feel ridiculous, since the only person to witness it was a girl who could throw them bigger and better than I ever could. I was more of the silent brooding type when I was pissed off. Finally, I came to a standstill, and turned to face Noah again.
“You know what? I could be wrong, they might be nice bikers, they might completely ignore us, heck they might even be gone by the time we get back. But Boo, I’m not going to risk your life on a possibility. The world has changed, and we need to change with it. We need to be harder, we need to be guarded, we need to squat behind bushes to take a piss, and we might even need to shit back there too. When we get to Nan and Pop’s we can spend all the time we want under showers and using their flushing toilet, but to do that, we need to survive and to survive, we need to be careful. You getting me, Boo?”
Zombie Playlist: A Rock Zombie Romance Page 3
