by Lisa Acerbo
Jenna ran to Caleb. Darkness and rage had overtaken his face.
Not so beautiful now.
“Call for help.” She huffed.
A Streaker wobbled close.
“We need backup.” She wanted him to shout for reinforcements, but Caleb’s pride would keep it from happening. That, she was sure of.
“Stay out of the way.” His eyes focused on the decayed target.
“F- you.” Two-by-four secure in her hands, she sidestepped Caleb and moved into the sunlight the open doors let in.
Thwack. She enjoyed the suck of flesh coming loose and crunch of breaking bone. The creature dropped in front of her, stymied by the blow.
At the same time another Streaker wobbled through the open door, glass sprayed from the window. Pinpricks of pain embedded in her cheek. Her jacket had protected most of her upper body, but the harsh lash of fragments whipped her face.
The Streaker thrust through the broken glass in the window. Bits of flesh sliced away as it tumbled onto the tiled floor.
The undead stood and then in a macabre dance, the monster advanced. It sniffed Jenna out through rotted nostrils. Exposed bones had started to chip away while the remaining muscle oozed yellow pus. Jack-o’-lantern lips revealed a skeletal smile.
The makeshift staff carved the air. Thump. Thump. Thump. Her arms ached as she hoisted the weapon once again. The Streaker was undeterred. Teeth gnash inches from her face.
With a wolf-like snarl, Caleb grabbed the machete off the ground and then twerked the arm of the offending Streaker.
Jenna heard the blade whip through the air before the undead fell. A quick pivot, and Caleb’s fist drilled into the remnants a lumbering Streaker’s skull. When Caleb drew back, the monster froze and then dropped.
They both turned towards the open doors, but only a breeze entered. With the last zombie disposed of, the bird songs erupted outside like a Disney movie.
Cadavers littered the floors, most headless. An arm twitched in the corner.
The street was clear of the undead for now, and her group would be safe for a while.
Jenna sank into a crouch, adrenaline leeching from her body.
Caleb offered a hand. “Your face is cut. I’d get Emma to doctor you. Don’t let it get infected.” He brushed a few stray hairs out of the bleeding scratches.
She lifted herself after a moment, face aligning with his broad shoulders and studied him. Caleb appeared rested, possibly revitalized by the fight for survival. He looked like he’d spent the first part of the day training for a triathlon and the afternoon at the spa.
“Yes, sir.” Jenna replied, but he’d turned his back to her.
She heard footsteps on the stairs.
Victor, a tall, broad-shouldered man, clomped down the dark steps. “Quentin,” he called. “Can you get people to take the bodies outside and burn them. After, we need to shutter the window again?”
“On it.” Quentin nodded and sent the other man a thumbs up. “Come on mates. Let’s get to today’s dirty work.”
Billy, Eric, Jody, and George hustled down the steps and into the light. They carried hammers, pliers, and canisters of nails, which they set down at the entrance. George handed Caleb a hammer before grabbing a severed arm and leg and hauling them outside.
The joy of living like roaches, she thought as people performed various tasks in a choreographed ballet. Scurrying from dark corner to dark corner in empty buildings and abandoned houses.
Jenna found the strength to move and the search for Emma began.
She reached the top of the stairs and spotted the other woman.
“I need some assistance.” Jenna touched her face. Sappy blood blotted her fingers.
“I see. What caused those scratches? They don’t look like they came from Streakers.” A physician’s assistant in her past life, Emma had taken over caring for the crew.
A shadow streaked across the floor, catching the corner of her vision.
“Jenna got scratched when a Streaker crashed the party through a window,” said Caleb. “All the damage was caused by flying glass, but she might need antibiotics, so she doesn’t get an infection.”
Where’d he come from?
“No shit, Sherlock.” She dusted the glass from her jacket, pricking her fingers in the process. “I can tell my own story.” Jenna used a cloth Emma handed her to wipe brain fragments off her face. “I’m sure our industrious physician’s assistant can determine a treatment plan.”
“Hello to you too, Caleb.” Emma pulled Jenna towards the gym, where she washed and dried her hands before forcing Jenna down in a chair. “I’ll do my best to take care of Miss Jenna here. Thank you for following up on her medical care so promptly.”
“Glad to help.” Caleb shot Emma a smile but didn’t leave. His squinted, a scowl replacing the smile when he addressed Jenna. “Later, you and I need to chat. You risked your life. I told you stay back, but, as usual, you didn’t listen. I had it handled.”
“I can handle myself.”
He ignored her and stalked off.
Jenna sank into a chair and dug into her pocket to return the Army dog tags.
At least she wasn’t dead. That’s something.
“They were my husband’s. He survived four tours in Iraq but couldn’t defeat the zombie hordes.”
Emma grabbed iodine and dabbed the burning liquid on her cuts.
More pain. Yup. That’s how life is. Suck it up buttercup.
“Ouch.” She pushed away, avoiding contact with the medication-infused cloth. “You’re supposed to be a caring medical professional.”
“What a baby.” Emma handed over some hard-to-obtain antibiotics. “Swallow these.”
3
Oppressive air swirled. The night was similar to a thousand others that had preceded it and yet the intensity of the dream was like nothing she’d experienced. Jenna squirmed in her sleep, on the verge of waking. A moon in bloom cast an ominous glow.
“Jenna.”
Darkness wriggled like a worm from the corners of the room. Sprawled on her makeshift bed comprised of a ratty, patched sleeping bag, mismatched blankets, and a torn pillow in a flowered case, she tossed, voices all around.
“Please save me.”
Shooting up, the smell of rotting flesh met her. A Streaker lumbered into view.
“Too late. Evil is coming for you.”
She bolted from knotted blankets, shifting into consciousness.
A dream. The same one had plagued her for months.
Wiping at the sweat stinging her eyes and dripping between her breasts, she flicked back the hair obscuring her view.
A gunshot fired through her sleep-muddled brain. The noise erased the nightmare lurking seconds before. Awareness washed over. She smoothed the disheveled bedding.
What’s wrong? Why the nightmares? Isn’t reality bad enough?
Body rigid with fear, the questions refused to leave until another gun blast shook the stillness and Jenna out of her malaise.
A moment of silence. Another bang echoed off the concrete walls.
She rolled on her side, her face to the wall, not ready to embrace the morning.
It had been a few days since the attack. She conceded panic had lodged in her mind since.
Whatever’s happening outside isn’t my problem. Practice? Wolves? Bears? Stop worrying. Let other people deal with it. No use.
She was awake and staying that way.
Jenna swung into a sitting position, feet anchored against the wooden floor. The scuffed surface held rusted soda bottles and plastic bags. Mildewed textbooks had been chewed through by mice, some still using the tomes as a place to reside. A large plastic banner held the school motto, “A family of learners.” Much of the debris had been pushed against the walls, but it felt like a fashion statement for the new world.
Though the survivors had hauled and lugged, dumped and discarded to make the large room habitable, the loud scurry of rats collided against the quiet steps of the
inhabitants.
Vermin thrive while humans barely survive. New school motto right there, Jenna thought.
On autopilot, her hand searched under her bedroll for the flashlight. Flicking the switch, the dim beam provided enough light for her to locate the rough leather boots perched at the edge of her sleeping bag and slip them on. The beat-up camouflage jacket came next. Torn and stained, it was still protection and comfort, even in the heat. Knife and gun waited by her bedside, both never far. She secured the smaller weapon in her jacket pocket.
Dirty little beasts. She kicked out at a rat. It scampered away unconcerned. She hated vermin almost as much as she hated Streakers.
She put her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. Pinpricks of pain exploded from the lacerations. Schooling her lips into a straight line, she stretched and threaded through the maze of personal belongings and sleeping survivors. A few souls, roused like she by the noise, sat and listened, curious.
Jenna scouted the other early risers. Ford, Gus, Emma, and Jenna had taken to calling themselves the breakfast club and tried to meet each day— for what she wasn’t really sure. While she considered all sixteen members of this tribe family, Emma, Ford, and Gus had made her feel like she was home.
“How’s your face?” The dim light of Emma’s flashlight did little to illuminate the area.
In her late thirties, dressed in clothes the group scavenged along the way, Emma somehow managed to look fashionable. Long, golden curls piled into a bun at the nape of her neck, hanging like a heroine in a romance novel. Her husband’s army tags, the ones she’d loaned Jenna for luck, dangled from her neck.
Jeans, tattered and sitting tight on her hips, amplified a curvaceous figure. The oversized work shirt tied in a knot at her waist showed off a hint of flat stomach. Work boots, muddy and scuffed, looked less like a necessity and more like a fashion statement.
“Fine.” She peered down at her filthy jeans stained shiny by wearing them one too many days in a row. The green and brown pattern on her jacket had morphed into a dull gray.
I should try harder and be more like Emma, but there’s no need to care these days.
“There’s a little hot water by the portable stove if you need it.” The blonde thumbed over a shoulder, punctuating her comment. “Hurry. You know how quick people use it. I’m already behind. Let’s sit and chat tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” The final remnants of sleep fled.
Emma ventured into the sleeping commune, her handheld light source sent beams to lick over and around those who continued to slumber.
Jenna shuffled to the makeshift stove, poured tepid water to wash her face, then filled a cup.
She paused to make a mental note of the day ahead: join in the watch and the scavenging party, find wood, help Emma catalogue the remaining food, do laundry, and make a meal of whatever remained in the pantry. Of course, there was always the chance she’d have to kill something.
At one time, she might have mourned for those destined to receive the bullets, if they had not already been dead. Now emptiness filled her.
Mounting the stairs toward the roof, her neck tingled, goose bumps chilling her flesh,
A quick glance behind. Nothing.
The roof door opened to the morning air. She clicked the flashlight off to conserve batteries. They were harder and harder to find these days.
At the ledge, Jenna peered into the lingering shadows. She traced the remaining darkness from the sidewalk to the road and into a deep patch of woods surrounding the school.
She was thankful not to be outside at street level before the sun came up. Anything could be out there.
Safe now with the group. Anything evil, lurking close, will be taken care of. Why the shots? Find someone who knows.
At the corners of the building, stood a sentry with a shot gun. He stared, intent on locating anything dead moving below.
Gus, a stocky, bearded man, greeted her with a smile. He raised one hand for a high-five. His brown skin blended into the shadows.
She smacked her hand against his. “Morning.”
Jenna could never guess the elder’s age, but his grey whiskers, bald spot, and wrinkles suggested mid-fifties. What she did know was Gus was ex-military, and his training had saved the group many times over the last year.
“How are you?” His sincere, sweet manner opposed his military dress.
“I’m here.” Her hands reached out to capture the air.
“Doing okay, today?”
“Who was shooting?” She changed the subject.
“The twins. Billy and Eric are always up to trouble, but you got to love those two. Reminds me of my own boys. God, I miss my family more every day. Let’s hope I can share some of the good lessons I was saving up with those two scoundrels.”
The man is a saint, she thought.
Jenna chuckled before saying, “My world makes sense again. Who should I relieve?”
“No time to chat today? I can fill you in on the joys of deep-sea fishing.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
Maybe never. Love that man, but deep-sea fishing, not so much. When would any of them have a chance to take out the yacht for a joy ride?
She couldn’t deal with excessive sympathy today, and Gus always had a kind word for her even when she was in dark moods, more often than not of late.
Stay tough.
Gus pointed at Caleb.
Of course, just the person to talk to at the crack of dawn.
She’d done so well to avoid him since the disposal of the Streakers.
“Should’ve known.” Jenna gave Gus’s arm a gentle squeeze, then moved on.
The moon drained out of an expansive sky. Morning would erupt momentarily.
How could something so beautiful occur in the middle of so much death and chaos?
The laughing and joking on the roof appeared unnatural, but Billy and Eric squabbled, play-fighting.
Forget that former life. College, friends, family, laughter and love no longer exist. Squelch those emotions. It’s all about killing another Streaker. Taking as many of them out before your time comes. That’s the focus of existence now.
Jenna marched over to the twins and put on a scowl. “You woke me up. Gus told me you’re the ones shooting things, and I got to say, I’m not surprised.”
The twins’ heads bobbed. Some of the youngest in the group, the teens were just learning how to shave, but for the most part, ignored the grooming ritual. Unkempt stubble and whiskers protruded on their faces.
While young, they were becoming skilled shooters and killers, both necessities these days. Still, for having tragedies equal to the rest of the survivors, the brothers made it to this point relatively unscathed, able to laugh and joke, to recognize some joy remained in the world.
“Sorry, Jenna,” their singsong reply harmonized.
“Be stealthy and quiet. You don’t know what’s around.”
“Something caught our attention in the woods, and we shot at it. But it must have been an animal.” Billy shrugged away Jenna’s chastisement.
“Nothing’s around anymore.” Eric pouted, not at all contrite. “Look over there.” He pointed to a dead, dangling branch.
“What about it?” Jenna could not see anything remotely interesting about the limb.
Eric grabbed a pebble off the roof top, then pitched it at the branch. “We noticed the branch and wanted to see who could dislodge it first. We were trying to make it fall, but we’re not allowed to have any fun.” As if to emphasize his point, Eric slammed his foot on the concrete. “Gus was right on us. Told us to stop fooling around.”
“And yet the branch remains part of the tree. I guess you need a few more lessons with me after all.”
“It’s at a weird angle.” The shorter of the two boys, Billy had a cowlick Jenna always had the urge to smooth it away. “We learned our lesson. It’s not our job to save the group from dead branches unless they turn into zombie trees.” A lopsided smile detracted from his attempt of re
bellion.
Eric leaned close, confiding in a conspiratorial whisper. “Gus tries to act like our father, you know?”
“Really?” Jenna, at 21, was closest to their age, yet felt like she came from a different generation. She widened her eyes as if in on the boy’s hustle and held back a laugh when both the their heads bounced in unison.
The twins looked like they ought to be anywhere but in the middle of the apocalyptic pandemic.
An image of them driving a tractor on a farm in the mid-west with their freckled, homegrown, innocent faces, flashed through her mind. The overalls Eric enjoyed wearing almost every day added to the cliché.
“You wouldn’t want to announce our location, would you?” Jenna tried to be stern, but she could not help but show a rare gap-tooth smile.
She reached out and brushed Billy’s shoulder, working hard to keep her fingers from his cowlick.
“There’s nothing around.” Eric shuffled from foot to foot. “It’s been so boring the last couple days.”
“Then you have time to hear Gus’s deep-sea fishing stories.”
Eric opened his mouth to protest.
Jenna held up a finger. “Not a word. You love how Gus looks out for you both. Someone’s got to keep the two of you in line, and I’m too young to mother you.”
Billy blushed in response and shrugged her off.
Jenna was well aware he’d developed a crush on her over the last couple of months. There were few women in camp under thirty and other people in her group had developed relationships. Jenna never dreamed of realizing love anymore, not in this world. Sure, there were fantasies, but dreaming about sex and the reality of her situation were two different things.
Billy opened his mouth. “I, uhm—”
“I need to relieve Caleb”—it was too early to discuss anything serious—“but maybe I’ll whip you guys at poker tonight.”
“I doubt it, but you’re welcome to try.” A grin tugged at the corners of Eric’s mouth.
The boys’ smiles appeared so similar, Jenna did a double take, then waved goodbye. “See ya.”
A pang of envy for the ease they lived in this new world overtook her.
