by Lisa Acerbo
Stationed by a crumbling chimney, Caleb stood immobile in dark jeans and a black hoodie from which a hint of a profile peaked. His black hair obscured his face and the rest of him was inked in the shadow. He was a loner like her, and Jenna had made it her goal to avoid him since the attack. Now, thanks to guard duty, she marched over.
Does there need to be a further discussion? No.
He nodded. She returned the greeting, and the two stood side by side silently, watching the sky. Minutes ticked away.
“My friends.” Emma’s arrival and voice made her jump.
“What?” She didn’t bother to filter out the annoyance in her tone.
“Someone’s on edge.” The older woman put a hand on Jenna’s back.
“So, it seems.” The words followed Caleb’s restrained chuckle.
Jenna scowled, wishing she was anywhere else.
“Peace offering.” Emma handed the younger woman a bowl of something lumpy and lukewarm, then turned to face Caleb. “Doesn’t look so wonderful out today. I was hoping for sunny and a high of seventy-five.”
Jenna peered over the edge, the final cloak of darkness being slowly pulled away. “Not much like Alaska?”
“Not much like anywhere.” Emma had been vacationing on the Jersey shore with relatives, a long way from her home in Alaska, when the pandemic hit. She’d never made it back to find out about her former life.
Losing family is devastating, but not knowing must be much worse.
“Alaska was cold so I guess I shouldn’t complain about the weather, but it’s too hot here for me.” Emma drew in a breath of air as if it provided nourishment. “Like the weather is our biggest problem these days.”
“I miss the sun.” A hint of longing etched Caleb’s voice. “What I wouldn’t do to stand in it again.”
“I’d help you with that if I could, but my medical knowledge only goes so far.” Emma gave him a pat on the shoulder, then continued her rounds, leaving Jenna holding a bowl of breakfast but having no desire to eat.
Jenna bit into her bottom lip with her top teeth. The food balanced on the four-foot wood roof railing, and she pushed her spoon around in it for a few minutes. “Will we make it to Virginia soon?”
“We’re already in Pennsylvania. Maryland’s pretty small. We should be there in a couple days if all goes well, and we find fuel for the trucks.”
“Will things be normal there?”
“Nothing will ever be as expected again.” His face lifted. “I should go inside.” He turned, then took a few steps toward the door. “Find me later.”
She nodded but wouldn’t. Being alone with Caleb was disconcerting. For now, the New Race and humans were allies, all fighting the common threat from the undead, but Jenna knew peace wouldn’t last. Why would they need humans once the Streakers were gone?
Jenna shook her head clear.
Lucky to live until tomorrow or next week. Don’t need to obsess over a future.
Focusing on the morning watch, scanning the ground below, her mind wandered as minutes ticked away and tedium set in.
Sick of always being on the move, the group wanted a permanent base. They were heading south to the High Point Inn in rural Virginia after almost a year of wandering, everyone desiring some permanency. With supplies dwindling, and the little band of survivors growing, the group had hoped to move away from over-populated cities and suburbs where the Streakers ran rampant. Even this small town in Pennsylvania, it would seem, had its share of undead.
The day the Streakers attacked, Jenna realized, was the beginning of worse things, and by things, she meant hordes of zombies to come.
Emma had been the person who recommended the move to the inn. She’d stayed there on vacation a couple times and said it had everything the group needed to survive. Plus, it was well away from any major city.
With nothing interesting or undead in sight, Jenna pondered what Emma had told everyone. There was a reservoir for fresh water and accommodation for everyone. Jenna was hopeful they’d make it there soon, without any losses, and be able to plan and prepare for the winter.
The last year on the road had drained life and vitality for all. And the year before had almost killed Jenna.
Her stomach clenched. She traced the scar there. Her hand slid to her hip bone, now prominent against the waistline of her jeans.
Footsteps brought her back to reality.
“Supply run today. You available?” Gus put two fingers to his temple. “George decided he wanted to stay behind.”
“Should I ask why?”
“No. You want in?”
“To traipse into a deserted town and face the maggoty dead to find a left-behind can of soup? What could be more fun? Sign me up.”
4
After her two-hour shift on watch, Jenna, snuggled in her camo jacket on her cot and retrieved the journal she wrote in hopes of capturing the details of the pandemic unfolding. The journal helped pass the long hours. Rereading it made her sad, but she couldn’t help skimming the pages, scanning random entries. How immature she sounded, though she’d been eighteen and a senior in high school. A lifetime had passed since she wrote them.
She thumbed through the frayed paper and stopped at an entry.
March 27, 2020
The year started like any other. Everyone came back from winter break and school went on like normal. It was weird when we started hearing about this virus spreading throughout the world. I arrived at my 7th period chemistry class and sat in the same seat I had been in all year. Word of the illness spread throughout the hallways. No one was too worried when they spoke of sick aunts or cousins. I remember sitting in class one day and hearing people remark that schools around us were closing. “This can't be that serious,” had been my initial reaction. March 13. Happy day of destruction. I'm sitting in class and an announcement from the principal plays on the intercom. “Please gather everything from your locker and all personal possessions. School will be closed until further notice.” We all celebrated. My friends and I were out of class and that's all we cared about. A few weeks to relax and party down by the lake. Little did we know things would never be the same. I never returned to school.
May 19, 2020
Mom and Dad have it, whatever it is. They’re both in bed with a fever, and I don’t know what to do. We canceled my graduation party. I’m not going to see friends. No presents. This could only happen to me. Since the quarantine, life’s been so lonely and sad.
It’s not just my parents who are sick. I’m one of the few people on the block free of the virus. Haven’t caught it yet. The old man at the end of the street is okay, too. I see him wandering around in his garden. He kind of looks weird though, but he’s always been mean and salty. I would love to speak with him and find out more about what’s going on, but I’m scared.
Mom and Dad want me to stay in the house, but they won’t let me visit with them, and every time I go into my parent’s room, they make me leave. They’re even wearing those stupid masks in bed. It’s not like they’ll contaminate each other.
I want to see my friends. I’d enjoy anyone’s company. I’m so alone. Maybe I’ll sneak out and attend one of those virus parties they’re throwing. My parents would never believe I’d do it.
The news says it’s just a stupid flu bug, but Mom and Dad are sick, sweating and coughing. Their skin has this awful purple tint to it. They don’t eat the food I bring them. I make sure they at least have some water. I want to call 911, but they keep telling me “no.”
All the television programs say the same thing, which isn’t much. Why can’t I leave the house?
Texting and Facetime don’t cut it. Online schooling sucks. I hate seeing my parents sick, and I want to visit my friends, at least the few of them who don’t have this stupid disease. Maybe I’ll text Kate or go run.
I must get ready to play soccer. I’m so excited to start Massachusetts College in the fall and can’t wait to see Aunt Jill. She’s coming to help out tomorrow. I haven’t seen her since Ch
ristmas.
Jenna flipped a few pages and jumped ahead to a time that still haunts her waking dreams.
July 21, 2020
I never got to say goodbye to Mom and Dad. I miss them so much, but I can’t cry. With so many dead, they don’t conduct funerals, but bury people in mass graves. Aunt Jill made us join the others in a safe house, more like a prison.
We were going to go to her house in Massachusetts, but she got sick. They moved Jill out of our make-shift room and wouldn’t let me see her. I don’t know what’s happening. No one talks to me because they believe I’m a kid, but I’ll handle it. I wish it was all a dream. I don’t know if I’m alive or dead.
I should be dead. I’m so gross because they’re conserving water and won’t let us shower. My body odor is terrible even, though I try to rinse it off every day. But I only have a couple changes of clothes and the box with my parents’ stuff. No one is taking that away from me.
They don’t have anything here except some disgusting soap.
No shampoo, no deodorant, little toothpaste, and everyone smells.
The safe house is at a local elementary school. But I don’t see any of my friends from high school, just a couple kids I recognize from the halls. We’re all kind of numb. The adults don’t explain much to the people they consider young.
Stupid grown-ups, but all of us just do what the grown-ups tell us. I’m getting kind of sick of it and want to find my aunt. Maybe when I do, we’ll steal a car and get out. Go to her house. I can’t stand this.
She rustled the pages until she found an entry near the end.
October 31, 2020
It’s Halloween!
A fitting day to write with so few left. About one hundred survivors live in the school. The adults keep telling us to wait, it will get better, and someone’s coming to rescue us.
Who will rescue us? There’s no one around anymore, and it’s so disgusting in here. I wonder if there are others outside who are better off?
Recently, the heat stopped, and now, we also must collect water and boil it. Luckily, there’s a park with a lake nearby.
We never regained power after losing it at the end of September. The school had a generator, but that’s not working anymore. Wood for the fire is getting low, and the weather’s turning colder. We have a lot of canned food and bottled water, but I sure miss home-cooked meals. What I would do for a hamburger now.
The cases of the sickness are diminishing, but the adults keep whispering weird stuff. All I hear are scary rumors. They say there are dead people on the streets, some of them all rotted, some with red eyes. Not just the corpses of the dead littering the sidewalks, but dead people staggering around.
That’s crazy, but I don’t know what to believe anymore. The kids, I’m included though I’m a legal adult, having turned eighteen in May, are detained inside the school. I’m sick of it. I want some fresh air. Smells like old people and bathrooms in here. The so-called adults discuss leaving and finding others.
At least Joe is teaching me how to shoot a gun. The only person taking me seriously. He’s not bad for an old guy. This is probably one of my last journal entries. My pens have run out of ink, and this damn pencil is nothing but a stub.
Inching forward, she came to another entry.
November 30, 2020
Vivid dreams haunt me. Maybe they’ll go away now that we’re moving.
Things keep attacking the school, but how? How can they be alive again? How do they know we’re in here?
The journal slapped closed. Not long after the final entry, everyone was dead, well, almost.
Thump. The leather-bound book hit against the other items in the ratty shoebox. A few personal and important mementos sloshed together. These extended hours would drag on with chores unless something worse showed up and needed disposing of.
How had those creatures been human once?
She scratched the scabs on her face—one more scar to add to the collection.
While the group had moved many miles away from her home, she questioned if one of those creatures could be a former friend or relation? It was likely school mates and family had died by her hand, so she could stay alive.
While intelligence eluded the undead, they still resembled the humans they’d been. What if she came across her mother, her aunt? Could she kill them?
They’re empty shells, decaying, or so she told herself. You can’t reason, rationalize, or apologize. You kill them, or they eat you.
It was every horror story told; every menacing thought of doom, every nightmare turned real thanks to a pandemic out of China.
Her eyes drifted upward.
Decay had lined the ceiling. Chunks fell away and revealed stained and damaged pipes—a great analogy for life. When no longer able to ponder the metaphysical importance of the ceiling, she headed to the stove, surrounded by random chairs scavenged from the building.
She waved to Jackie and George who chatted. Victor sat in what was once a comfortable office desk chair, staring at the camp-fire stove. Next to it, another fire simmered in a tall metal barrel, and water in a container boiled, rolling continuously.
Jenna grabbed a drink of cooled liquid and scanned the room. She found Emma and waved her over. “What time is the supply trip leaving?”
“Soon.” Emma checked the temperature of the boiling pot—158 degrees Fahrenheit. “Quentin is getting the weapons organized.”
Billy, without his twin, strolled over to join them. “I’m coming with you on the hunt for supplies.”
“Big day for you.” She punched his shoulder. “Emma, you sharing those army tags with this one for luck?”
“You read my mind.” Emma reached in her pocket and handed the tags to Billy. “Keep it safe, or you’ll owe me.”
He pocketed them.
“What? Not going to wear it?” Jenna asked.
“Kid.” Quentin’s arrival was anything but subtle. At six-plus feet with long arms and legs, the man couldn’t hide. He didn’t need to. No one was more of an asset in a brawl with the undead, except the New Racers. “Did you drop some pounds?” A playful jab and cross hit Billy’s midsection. “You’re skinny as a stick.”
“Shut it.” Billy stared at his sneakers, once bright colors muted.
“Concerned for your health and welfare.” Quentin smothered his guffaw, then handed the boy a long plank of wood with protruding nails. “For you today. I’m here to keep you safe. I’ll be in the back if needed.”
Jenna noted how Billy turned red, then glared at the older man.
The duo ambled toward the exit of the building, Quentin trailing behind.
“Hey.” Jackie came running, closing the space between her and the search party. “Don’t forget about me.”
Outside, Emma didn’t let the conversation drop. “Billy, you get we all just want you and your brother Eric around for the big sweet sixteen party everyone’s planning. Quentin’s looking out for you, and we’re trying to keep you safe until you’re eighteen. Then you can fight whoever or whatever you want as often as you desire. For today, going into town will have to be enough excitement to satisfy you.”
“Yes, Mom.” Billy rolled his eyes.
“The sass on you.” Emma’s words didn’t relay a scolding. At any other time in history, she would have been the epitome of a stay-at-home soccer mom. Now, in combat boots, ripped jeans, and a KISS band T-shirt, she looked more warrior princess.
Jackie’s words could be heard even as she lagged behind. The opposite of Emma, Jackie was a fiery Brazilian. Today, her long hair flew out at all angles from behind a bandana, framing intense brown eyes. While not so handy with a gun or knife, her cooking skills were unsurpassed.
You could bring Jackie any odd combination of canned goods, and she’d create a gourmet feast with a little flour and a couple cans of condensed milk. She was the reason the group was alive and not suffering from malnutrition.
Jackie and Emma might be opposites, but they both managed to remain presenta
ble and, more importantly, sane. Jenna wasn’t sure she’d accomplish either to a degree people would believe.
Her eyes moved down to her stained shirt, and she ticked off items on her personal inventory.
Camouflage jacket filthy and covered with muck. Check. Jeans stained with God knows what. Check. Unkempt, unwashed hair pulled into a severe ponytail. Check. Uniform complete. Doesn’t matter what the weather. Yep, a mess in more ways than one.
At least she’d managed a quick wash this morning and didn’t smell like the rotting flesh of the undead. A common perfume on many a days.
Kicking away a rusted soda can brought on reflection from pre-pandemic days. A friend had warned her to start dropping pounds, or she’d end life an overweight middle-class homemaker who spent most of her time transporting school-age children to boring events and fondly reminiscing about her few thin, high school years with the rest of the suburban parents.
What bullshit.
Now, one healthy meal a day had become a luxury and the strength to fight a necessity. Living in abandoned buildings, sleeping when possible, and sustained by hunting or scavenging was wearisome.
Her life had become a series of encounters with Streakers punctuated by periods of drudgery and boredom. She faced days of standing and staring into an empty horizon for hours, cooking for the group, hauling water, and washing and drying load after load of soiled clothes, forever stained with the remains of the undead. In these times, the survivors were always on the go, attempting to avoid Streakers following their every move.
No one could figure out what attracted zombies to the living, but they never ceased to emerge from the shadows or around the corner of a building. Being ready to jump ship at a moment’s notice produced constant packing and unpacking, sorting and resorting items, including the canned foods the group survived on, the bedding, and the makeshift stove for cooking. It also meant being anxious and forever looking over one’s shoulder.
Today would be no different. The small posse headed along the abandoned road. Billy engaged phantom Streakers with his nail-studded bat.
