by Lisa Acerbo
She wished he’d stayed back at the school. The teen was young and everyone wanted to keep him safe, but scavenging parties offered good training. It was unlikely the group would come across more Streakers after getting rid of so many.
Jenna shifted her baseball bat between hands and noticed Quentin carried a similar one, along with a gun. Emma and Jackie gripped long knives. The blonde also had a shotgun strapped to her back. While firearms were more useful for killing Streakers from a distance, the loud noise often summoned other undead. Baseball bats and knives were most peoples’ weapons of choice when not high on top of a building. Cars would have been faster, but the engines also attracted Streakers, and why waste gas for the short trip deeper into town to search the stores?
Emma carried a lifeline, a walkie-talkie.
Better safe than sorry, but let’s hope there’s no need to contact the base camp.
If they were quiet and remained on guard, the small group could get in and out of the center of town without a problem.
“How are you, Miss Jenna?” Emma nudged her, breaking into Jenna’s reverie.
“Are you probing for information? Do you want to know if I’m okay after the attack?”
“Maybe.”
Jenna nibbled her bottom lip with her teeth before answering. “A little tired but otherwise just dandy. Stop looking at the cuts on my face. They’re scratches. They’re fine. I don’t know why everyone is concerned. It was just one more Streaker attack. We’ve lived through plenty, remember?”
“You never know what will kill you these days.” Emma matched her pace, step for step. “But you sound like your old, cranky self, so you must be good.” The older woman placed a hand on her shoulder. “I have to warn you”—her smile full of compassion—“George started a ruckus about women—I take that back. It was about you—fighting. He wanted to be the one battling alongside Caleb to prove his prowess to Jackie.” She leaned close and whispered in Jenna’s ear. “He’s afraid Jackie will leave him for a New Racer. George was mad as the dickens you beat him to the party.” Her shoulder brushed Jenna’s. “A little secret, Caleb requested you join him and specifically asked not to have George go down. There’s no doubt George is a good shot, but not much of a team player.”
“If George wants to engage Streakers, he can take my place any time.” The words leapt from her lips.
No one liked to risk his or her life, but everyone had always fought side by side—equals in every way.
Billy joined the two women, kicking at the dust-covered litter infiltrating the otherwise empty streets. Discarded bottles and cans shared space with rusted appliances, tools, and rancid trash. After the first year, the worst of the malignant odors had evaporated, but the group avoided any place one could smell before seeing.
“Is it always this way? Quiet?” The teen sent an empty, chewed can of shampoo into the bushes with a strong kick.
“Yeah, when kids don’t talk.” Jenna nudged him, then sent a wink his way.
“I miss real shampoo and getting my hair done.” Emma turned. A sheer look of longing masked her face. “What do you miss?”
“Pizza.” The word rolled off Jenna’s tongue without hesitation.
“Baseball.” Billy swung the nail-laden board at an empty shotgun shell casing, sending it flying into the air. “Home run.” He sprinted off, following the impromptu ball.
Contemplating the days when pizza was plentiful, questions resurfaced. “What do you remember about the first days of the pandemic?” Jenna squinted her eyes as the group turned the corner, walking into the sun. “Most of it’s starting to blur, except the important stuff.”
“Like what?”
“My parents. Their faces remain vivid even now. Images of my school and friends are always dancing in my brain. And I couldn’t shut out my new reality even with my dying breath. Try as I might, the days of the pandemic are foggy. And the memories blur more and more every passing hour.”
Jenna didn’t want to dwell on what had happened to her. Even Emma didn’t know that piece of her story.
Maybe Emma has information that explains why no one stopped what occurred that night.
She stared at the ground. “Does anyone understand its origin, Emma??”
“Sweetie, I remember the horrors of the disease. It left people dying in the streets. Families, neighbors, and strangers running, never to be heard of again.” A deep-seated sadness etched Emma’s voice as she grabbed the younger woman’s elbow, marching her onward. “Some people, after seeing the aftermath, committed suicide rather than face the new world. I was on vacation when things started to fall apart. Thank God I found you and the rest of this crazy group.” She gave Jenna’s arm a quick squeeze.
“Will we find more people? We can’t be it.” These days, the group was lucky to come across new survivors. Humans dwindled, heading for extinction.
“You never know. I remember from back when news stations still existed, a reporter said when the pandemic first hit the United States, it killed most of the population. Close to eighty percent of people gone. Just like that.”
“Do you think more groups like us exist out there?”
“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.”
Jenna scowled. “There has to be.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. When the virus first hit, mass graves overflowed with bodies.”
“Do you recall all the rumors at first?”
“Sure, people believed the dead coming back to life was an urban legend, a scare tactic by the government or a sick joke, but the dead returned.”
“I can’t remember much after my parent’s death, and my aunt got sick.”
“I doubt many could survive both the virus and what came after. You’re strong because you were able to do that.”
“We both did.” Jenna pressed herself next to Emma for an awkward side hug.
As humans died across the globe, Streakers proliferated.
Bodies clawed their way out of the graves and attacked anything living and breathing.
In those first months, some people stayed buried, but many who died in the pandemic returned with a taste for human flesh. Survivors had no idea how to combat them and succumbed under the creature’s violent, decaying hands, only to add to the undead’s growing population.
Another mutation emerged from the virus: The New Race. Ostracized at first, believed to be kin to Streakers, most thought the New Race ready to destroy those humans who remained. Both groups realized together, they had a better chance for survival. Now, humanity would most likely be extinct without the aid of the New Race.
“Why did this happen?” Jenna let the question slip from her chapped lips.
“I don’t know. I can’t reflect on it anymore. It is what it is. You got to stop driving yourself crazy. Be thankful you’re alive.”
“It’s all I wonder about.”
Silence fell between them until a few minutes later, the large grocery store came into view.
Quentin jogged from behind and pushed in between the two women. “I still picture the store full of people wearing masks getting groceries for the week. Remember the smell of rotisserie chicken? My favorite to go meal. I wasn’t much of a cook then.”
“Some things haven’t changed.” Jenna met his blue eyes. “Should we ask Jackie what she plans to feed you later?” She turned towards the woman still following behind, engaged in a loud conversation with Billy about the merits of spices.
“Don’t start you too.” Emma said. “I’ll tell you what I miss the most: fresh fruit. And God knows who I’d kill for a bag of potato chips.” Emma grabbed her elbows and held on tight in a self-hug.
The insignificant action reminded Jenna of her mom, who would have been one of the people getting groceries on a busy Saturday. Back in her room at home, she’d have refused to help with such a menial, tedious task as the stubborn selfish teen she’d been then. If only there was a time machine.
She missed her mom so much and wanted the ch
ance to offer thanks for all the wonderful things her family had provided. If Jenna could return to pre-pandemic times, she’d join her mother on every trip to the grocery store and do every boring chore ever.
The group closed in on the dilapidated store, the last in town they hadn’t checked.
No indication of life or Streakers crept out of the shadows.
Looking through the broken window at the empty shelves, Jenna was quite sure other survivors had ransacked the place numerous times.
After the initial outbreak, looting became common. When things spiraled out of control, people did unmentionable acts to stay alive. She considered herself one of the lucky ones, even if the slithering scars across her stomach said otherwise.
Emma nudged her forward.
They approached the open door.
The interior had fallen into an expected state of disrepair. And the sign hung crookedly—graffiti decorated the walls. Broken glass, plastic gloves, a face shield, a human bone, and the remains of mildewed, blighted boxes lay next to overturned shopping carts.
“Emma and I will go first.” Jackie took charge. “I need some goodies to make you all a good dinner tonight. The cupboard is bare, so to speak.”
Quentin rubbed his stomach. “What I wouldn’t do for another round of the empanadas, rice, and beans you made.”
“That was months ago.” Jackie shook her head, but a smile lit her face.
“I will never forget them.” Quentin brightened at the memory. “That’s how we should eat all the time.”
Jackie stared up at him. “Maybe once settled at the inn, we can find all the ingredients, and I will make it for you again. Sound like a plan, el compadre?”
He held out a pinky. “Promise?”
“Swear.” She hooked their fingers together.
“Let’s get going.” Billy shuffled his feet at the waiting.
“Are we ready?” asked Emma. “Billy, you’re in the middle where it’s safer. Quentin and Jenna, bring up the rear.”
Nodding in agreement, Jenna and the small band entered the ravaged interior.
Without electricity, flashlights sprayed little enough light to catch what was inside, dead or alive.
5
Remnants of toppled cash registers, broken carts, cardboard boxes, and plastic bags littered the floor.
“Paper or plastic,” Quentin kicked a white bag. It flew across the room like a specter.
Brazen vermin squealed and scurried in front of Jenna’s feet. Most of the shelves were not only empty but badly deteriorated. Still, Emma and Jackie were able to gather a few cans that had hidden in dark corners or under filth.
She stepped over a long-dried puddle. It was hard and black.
“Clean up in isle four.” Quentin’s voice rang out behind her.
They wandered through the maze of aisles—skirting empty. molding containers, broken shelving, and avoiding the darkest of places.
A noise caught her attention and that of the group, signaling for everyone to stop.
Jackie motioned for Jenna and Quentin to fan out. Quentin gave her a thumbs-up before he prowled ahead. A broken sign dangled. The words cereal and bread still attached by thin chains.
Quentin pulled out a wallet and handed Billy a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Go crazy. Buy whatever you need.”
“Gee, thanks.” Billy took the money, but a moment later let it slip through his fingers. It sailed to the floor, landing gently.
They could be dead soon. Why had she never tried to get to know Quentin? Everyone loved him and his off-beat sense of humor. Something she didn’t understand and shied away from.
He’d been part of the group for more than two months. One of the last human survivors she and the rest of them had run across. It was their first scavenging party together.
Always friendly since day one.
Did his antics make her feel protected? She couldn’t remember how that worked. Why had she remained aloof?
“Attention shoppers.” His hands cupped his mouth, so the words echoed in the emptiness. “Today’s specials include dented cans of long-expired veggies. Don’t forget those condiments. A bottle of ketchup can spice up any type of zombie brains.”
“We don’t eat zombie brains,” Jenna blurted.
He smiled at her. “I know.”
Exactly the reason staying quiet is best.
She studied him. He stood at least five inches taller than Jenna, and when he turned back, hoisted his bat, and winked at her, the tight, long-sleeved T-shirt highlighted muscled arms. Tousled brown hair fell into his blue eyes. She’d seen it all before, but it was as if today she took it in and etched his features in her mind.
He waved her forward and she joined him.
“The town’s been quiet since you and Caleb vanquished the last batch of Streakers.” Mice, frightened of his voice, surged forward, leaping over Quentin’s steel-toed boots. “Free of the undead types and humans.”
Jenna jumped back before huffing out a breath. “Yup.”
So much for practicing those social skills.
“Looters cleaned this place out long ago.” He ran a long, straight index finger along a shelf, picking up a layer of dust mixed with animal hair. “Nothing’s here but the stench.”
“And the rodents.” Jenna pointed to the boots the vermin had just run over.
“Those too.” He held her gaze.
“We should have searched houses. You know how people stockpiled at the end.”
“Staking out each house, ensuring there are no Streakers, and then searching takes so much longer. Grocery stores are a one and done deal.”
“Does it make sense to split up?” Emma peeked around a corner.
“It will make the search go faster. I doubt we’ll find much in here.” Jackie smoothed a lock of hair behind an ear.
“Not too far apart.” Emma headed away from the group and Jenna. “We can see each other from the ends of the rows. Let’s stay in sight when possible.”
“Come on.” Emma grabbed Billy and followed Jackie. “You two take the rows at the other end of the store. We can meet in the middle. Yell if you need us.”
Quentin bumped shoulders with Jenna. “Partner.”
She ignored him. He repeated the contact. This time more forcefully.
“Stop.” The growl emerged from deep in her throat. She strode away until she found an interesting store aisle and then meandered through it; Quentin followed a few steps behind.
His breath hit the back of her neck and she stopped short. “Do I need to yell over to Jackie for a rescue, or are you going to behave? I like my personal space.”
What does he mean by all the close contact?
Quentin didn’t take the prior hint and started a drumbeat on the back of her jacket.
“Stop,” she protested.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Are you ten years old?” Posture rigid, exasperation leaked out. “We’re on a mission here.”
“I’m old enough.” Quentin’s blue eyes twinkled.
“Good to know you’re so seasoned and battle ready.”
“Look at these arms.” Muscles bulged under his shirt. “Do they look like the arms of a pre-teen? I’m ready for battle…and other things.”
“All I see are the lovely and appealing stains on your shirt.” She did a double take. “Actually, I recant my statement.”
His smile was wicked. “I knew you would.”
“They look like the arms of a small child. Someone needs to be hitting the gym a little more often.”
“Ouch.” He shoved her.
Catching her off guard, she stumbled.
He reached out and drew her in. “Sorry.” His whispered word tickled her ear.
He didn’t let her go and she stood cocooned in his warmth. He might be flirting, but she could be reading too much into this encounter.
Maybe he needs someone to smack him to make him understand boundaries?
The heat of his body, c
lose and warm, was confusing.
Where’s the snark? Must remain protected. Don’t envision his arms around you. It’s been such a long time since physical closeness with anyone was normal.
“There’s a pharmacy at the end of the next row we should check out.” She tried to break the spell of the moment.
“Really?” He didn’t take the hint and relinquish her. “There’s a lot going on right here I want to examine.”
“I take it back.” She wiggled out of Quentin’s grasp, then punched his arm.
“What?” His arms went limp at his side.
“You’re acting like a toddler.” She inched closer to the pharmacy, placing more distance between Quentin, the confusing emotions, and herself.
“Everyone okay?” Emma’s voice echoed from the next row.
“We’re good. At least Quentin is good. I’m suffering through his antics.” Jenna wasn’t sure what was going on or why, and she didn’t want to begin to address the sensations careening through her.
It must be sleep deprivation.
“Try your best not to judge him too harshly.” Muffled laughter filtered through the ramshackle shelving.
“I’m trying my darndest.”
To be over there with the rest of them. Why am I stuck in a teen dating movie?
She chalked her bewilderment and awkwardness up to the recent near-death experience with Streakers and nightmares. After some quality sleep, everything would be fine and dandy.
Like anyone slept well these days.
“Come on.” Jenna tugged the arm of his T-shirt.
He remained planted like a tree.
“We have a job to do and not a lot of time to do it.” Jenna edged back. “Let’s get moving.”
He groaned but followed, kicking at the discarded face masks littering the floor, some flaked with dried blood.
She checked the nook of a shelf on the way to the pharmacy.
Vermin squeaked, scurried, then scattered, sending dust bunnies flying as well as the edge of something aluminum.
“What do we have here?” Jenna stooped, then dislodged a dented can of beans under the shelf.
“Nice find.” He opened the sack he carried.
Jenna tossed the can overhanded, and it fell into the bag. “Score.”
