by Lisa Acerbo
Not in the mood to read, she lay by her stuff on the dirty rug, not bothering to unroll her sleeping bag. Cat nestled on her lap, and she stroked his fur, purr vibrating through the air. Too wired to nap, her mind wandered.
The room smelled of funk with decay evident in every direction. The dirt under her nails was a constant reminder of the conditions. Grimy, she wished for hot water, a loofah, and body scrubs. While everyone tried to stay clean, toweling off with soap and a bucket of water when available. Real baths meant hauling bucket after bucket of water to the stove, heating it, and bringing it to the big tub the group bathed in. Half the time, she’d rather take a quick, cold rinse than exert energy to heat the water.
The group strung a clothesline and curtain around the tub, but otherwise, privacy was minimal. They slept crowded next to each other in sleeping bags, ate in the folding chairs around the fire, and spent most of their days cooped in the abandoned houses or buildings. They knew each other too well, and yet some of the people remained strangers.
She missed washing machines and clothes shopping, but most of all, she missed her friends and family. One more day hanging out at the mall with Brooke and sharing her playlist with Caitlyn would be a blessing. School sounded fun.
“What’s on your mind?” Caleb sat on her still-rolled sleeping bag.
Of course, it’s him. Of all the people who could arrive to talk to me. Is there some kind of weird kismet forcing us together, or is he turning into something dangerous? Why would he be dangerous. He’s been nothing but nice.
Jenna opened her eyes, squinting, and propped herself up. “Nothing important.”
“I doubt that’s the truth, but you don’t have to tell me.”
“Stupid stuff.”
“I’m listening. Go ahead. I want to hear.”
She fiddled with a hole in the sleeve of the oversized men’s flannel shirt she wore.
“I wondered about the popular songs from before the virus. I’m trying to remember them all along with picturing my friends from high school. It’s true we can’t live in the past because it only makes all this worse, but I can’t give it up.” Her shoulders shrugged up. “I’m weird that way.”
“It’s not weird. I remember my family all the time. Instead of brooding about it, you should talk about them. Even better, let’s do something we’d normally do in high school.”
“What?”
“Well, we’re at a movie theater. Let’s pretend to watch a movie.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure. Why not?” Grabbing her hand, he dragged her through a hallway into one of the deserted theaters.
“Tell me what your typical movie date would include?” A mischievous glimmer lit his eyes. “Romantic comedy or an action film? Popcorn or candy?”
“Comedy.” She looked at him soulfully. “I have to choose candy or popcorn?”
Images of buttered popcorn and chocolate-covered raisins made her mouth water. She would happily settle for microwavable popcorn if still available, but it wasn’t. She’d pop the corn herself if they could find any growing.
“I’ll splurge for both. I want to impress you on our first date.”
What was this man saying? Date? Joking for sure. He had to be.
“Front, middle, or back?” she asked while roaming the theater, carefully avoiding the chunks of fallen plaster from the ceilings and toppled the seats.
“What?”
“Where do you normally like to sit? The front, middle, or the back of the theater?”
He squeezed her hand. “That all depends on what I want to do on the date.”
“What do you mean?”
“Am I getting any action? Am I more interested in the movie or the person?”
She swung at him. Caleb dropped her hand and easily avoided the fist aimed at his stomach.
“Rude.”
“You pick. If I went on a date with you, I’d do anything you wanted.” Truth rang in his words. “We could canoodle in the back.” A lopsided smile spread across his lips.
“Who says canoodle? You have the weirdest vocabulary.”
“I’m glad you’re paying enough attention to notice.” He closed the distance between them.
Their bodies touched. He leaned his head toward hers.
A screech disrupted the moment, and curses and shouting erupted in the hallway. They sprinted for the door. Once back in the main lobby, Jenna spotted Gus, Quentin, and George arguing. George’s lined, pock-marked face was the color of ripened plums, hidden only by a grey-brown, ill-shaped beard. He clenched and unclenched his fists, dirty T-shirt revealing sculpted muscles he worked to enhance nightly.
Jenna’s frazzled nerves intensified. Looking at the men causing the hullabaloo reminded her of the old Three Stooges comedies. They argued in the middle of the main entryway of the movie multiplex. Morning light bathed the large windows in the entrance. The theater, once a happy place for families enjoying Disney movies and couples on first dates, stood barren except for the remnants of old movie posters and a few fallen benches. The shattered concession stand glass littered the floor with pinpricks of light while the remainder of the theaters sat in a dusty gloom.
George plunged his oversized belly into Quentin. The younger man’s hair, disheveled from the previous night of moving debris and car parts, stood on end like electricity had executed him. George’s lips set in a snarl. His good-old-boys’ attitude put her off, made worse by his lack of hygiene and his penchant for sleeveless T-shirts. Jackie had an on-again, off-again, relationship going with him, but Jenna tried to avoid his stocky, well-muscled, and overly tattooed frame when possible.
Gus sported his usual camouflage T-shirt with shined black boots. “Let’s be rational, George.”
“I’m on watch this morning.” George pointed a finger in the younger man’s face.
“I’m not saying otherwise. We need to figure out a plan providing everyone equal time.” Aggravation competed with exhaustion in Quentin’s eyes. His hand wiped at the dirt and sweat covering his face, only to leaves traces of more. The once popular, now shredded Abercrombie T-shirt displayed a rash of grime and wrinkles from working all night.
“We also need to make sure we utilize each person’s strengths,” Gus added, remaining composed.
A crowd grew beside Jenna. The men exerted their masculine dominance. There were many reasons to hate these arguments, which often ended in fistfights and bloodshed. It would be wise to stay out of the way, but she couldn’t. Gus was like a second father, and she wanted to do everything possible to help. Nothing came to mind that would resolve the bickering.
What could she say to diffuse the situation?
“Stop with all the machismos.”
The three men stared at Jenna for a few long moments before Quentin guffawed.
“We’re busy here, missy,” George dismissed her.
“Jenna realizes how irrational we’re being, George,” Gus offered in an attempt to placate him. “We need to work together.”
“She wants to work together, does she? Go ahead and tell her to grab me a big drink of water,” George mocked.
“Jerk off.” Anger replaced any desire to help.
George, approaching in three steps, twisted her arm painfully. He spun her into his chest.
Rancid breath cocooned her.
Peering with squinty eyes, he spit words. “You believe you’re better than the rest of us because you like to kill Streakers. You better watch yourself and that high-flying attitude, little girl. It’ll come back to bite you real soon. You might just be the next one to go. Women better start learning their place in this camp.”
“Get your hands off her.” Quentin shoved George’s arm.
The older man focused his attention on Quentin. His bright eyes showcased his wanton desire to fight. “You plan to make me?”
Gus interrupted. “We have work to do. Put your petty grievances on hold until we get to the Inn. Then I’m out of it, but right now, we have to set watch.”
A large group has formed behind Gus, ready to step in if needed.
George held his hands high in mock surrender, and people edged away, returning to their work.
She wasn’t going to let George scare her off. “I’ll do the first watch shift. I’ll be on the roof until you need me somewhere else.” Jenna grabbed a gun and a flashlight before anyone could tell her otherwise. She sauntered away and found a route to the roof. The interior passages of the theater were desolate. Dust, grime, and blood littered the floors like candy after a movie. Pushing against a door with an exit sign, she faced a set of stairs veiled in sinister obscurity. The flashlight flicked on but before the door could even shut behind her, shattering glass had her running back to the front lobby.
9
Sprinting through the hallway, Jenna surveyed the dusty entrances to individual theaters in the huge complex.
In the distance, someone bellowed, “To the right.”
Rounding the corner into the lobby, a Streaker burst through the large glass window, stumble to a halt, and focused cataract eyes on the twins.
Beth and Ford, husband, and wife duo in their forties, had been survivalists before the outbreak of the virus and joined many months ago with two young boys, the only members of the group younger than the twins, Billy, and Eric. All four had survived in the wilderness until they joined. The twins had attached themselves to the family. The survivalists hurried their two young boys into one of the empty theaters. They’d be safer locked inside until this was over.
“Get inside with the boys,” Beth’s panicked scream erupted.
“No,” Eric latched like a weed to the spot where he stood.
“We’re staying and fighting this time.” Billy retrieved a dangerous-looking blade.
“We want to fight.”
“Stay safe.” Ford’s words held the resignation of a father who no longer had control.
The Streaker shambled forward. With a guttural scream, Victor emerged from the shadows and swung a bat in a giant arc. With a speed and accuracy defying human ability, the bat lodged itself into the creature’s wormy head, the skull spewing bone and oozing globs of tissue. The undead collapsed to the floor, and the enraged New Racer yanked on the wooden handle, bringing the bat back to his side. He took a step, another, but slowly sank to his knees.
In his fury, he’d failed to notice how far out into the light he had stepped, and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. The twin sped over, dragging Victor into the shadows behind a bench. The smell of the scorched skin turned into a beacon. Undead pressed against the large glass panes that encircled the lobby.
Jenna watched in horror.
The windows became a mural of writhing, creeping, ramshackle creatures in various states of decay.
Jenna lifting her gun.
The glass shattered, followed by the arrival of several stumbling creatures, crushing each other, shouldering forward. The twins dragged Victor’s body from the darkness into the theater where Beth and Ford had gone. The two ran back out, brandishing their blades. Emma joined the twins. The remainder of the group, having grabbed weapons, stood united.
More of the New Racers emerged from the recesses of the building, but they didn’t step into the sun-kissed, main entryway. Once again, they would only be helpful if the Streakers made it past most of the main hall and all the people in it.
Jenna planned not to let that happen.
“Shit, there’s a lot of ‘em,” Quentin boomed from behind her. He examined a rifle, and satisfied the weapon was ready, braced the large gun, aiming at the creatures coming through the shattered glass.
“We need to barricade the window,” Aiko’s voice boomed above the moaning undead. “Let’s pray the others hold.”
Gus sent a bullet into what brains remained of the nearest Streaker. It went limp for a minute, but with a low moan, raised its head and met Jenna’s gaze. Dark blood poured from both the new head wound and from the mouth of the creature, marking it a more recent creation. While some of its brain was torn away, it rose and shambled forward. Stumbling over the wreckage in its path, it limped toward her with disjointed arms and dead, unblinking eyes. She readied herself to fight, a large knife clasped in her sweaty palm.
“Get down.”
She dropped.
Caleb pinched the trigger of his rifle from far behind. The weapon roared, a bullet tore through the remnants of flesh and bone that encompassed the creature’s skull. He fired again before the monster flailed and dropped.
“There’s too many. Theater One. Let’s get in there now!” George yelled from its entrance.
Billy grabbed Jenna’s arm, and they retreated along with the rest of the group.
“Where’s Eric?” Caleb asked.
“I . . . I . . . I don’t know. Wasn’t he with Gus or you? Oh God . . .” Billy turned back to find his brother.
“Go inside.” Caleb stopped them before he pivoted toward the main hall.
Jenna pushed Billy into the smaller theater and then followed Caleb back into the lobby.
Shots rang through the air.
A bullet from his gun clipped through a Streaker’s skull, spraying muck.
The other half of the head and torso dropped to the ground. But the Streaker’s body continued to squirm, inching closer, leaving a trail of intestines on the carpet.
A zombie charged. Green ooze dripping from its nostrils and black patches of mold devouring the skin on its face. She hoisted her heavy-duty hunting machete and swung with all her might. The head of the creature flew off its decrepit shoulders and onto the carpet moments before its claw-like hands raked at Jenna’s camouflage jacket. The body stood at attention and then pitched itself forward, slamming her to the ground with it.
Jenna refused to scream, even smothered under the corpse. She knocked it over, her hands sinking through the shallow layer of skin. Shuddering, she could not get out from under the headless, lifeless remains fast enough. Kicking it away, she stood and waited for what would come at her next.
“I got you. Where is Caleb?” Quentin asked from behind her.
“He’s looking for Eric.”
The deformed, hunched remains of an undead creature stumbled into her line of sight. Her blade sliced the air at the ready, but the figure fell to the ground with a thud, a bullet tearing apart its skull.
“I told you, I got your back,” Quentin pointed at the nearby window. “They’re getting in there. We need to board it up.”
Nodded in agreement, she scanned the lobby for any signs of Eric.
It was Caleb who reemerged from the shadows of the theater. Head bowed and shaking. “I tried. I couldn’t get to him. He didn’t make it.”
“What?” Tears pooled in her eyes.
Eric. Dead.
She sank to her knees.
10
“Too many Streakers. I couldn’t get close to the body. It gives us a reprieve. Let’s go back to the group,” Caleb said in a monotone. “Get up.”
Quentin dragged a sobbing Jenna into Theater One. Caleb stood sentry at the open door until they were inside. Gus closed the door and wedged old seating against it.
Jenna collapsed to her knees.
News of Eric’s death spread in whispers only interrupted by Billy’s sobs.
The teen huddled against Emma. Jenna wiped her tears away and joined them.
“Now is the time for action, not grief.” Ford cleared his throat. “We have to barricade the damn window so nothing else will get in, and then find a way out of here.” His voice faltered. He brushed Beth’s arm.
Josh and Kyle hugged his legs.
“It’s so early in the day,” said Aiko. Her shredded clothes and long black braid flailed as she paced. “We have to wait at least five or six hours before we leave. We’re trapped right now, and those things out there will keep coming. By night, this place will reek of Streakers. I’m not sitting in here waiting to die.”
“We sure don’t want to get trapped in this theater. We’ll never
make it out tonight if the creatures are all waiting for us to leave.” George puffed out his pocked cheeks.
“We could try to move to another place close,” Emma said.
Two large kukris formed delicate circles in the air when Aiko spoke. “The Streakers would just follow.” Her rigid posture made her tall despite her petite five-foot-two frame. “This is the best place to finish our attack.”
“We barricade the windows first,” Ford said. “Did anyone see what we could use out there?”
“Then we kill anything inside.” Aiko’s knives refused to be silenced.
Jenna watched Ford and refocused on the conversation.
Imitate Ford. Lock emotions away. Grieve later.
“We’ll get the window boarded and survive until the night. We have to.” Aiko flicked her knives from side to side.
“Now I understand why all the trucks were in the road back there blocking the way to the city,” Emma said. “They didn’t want to keep the Streakers out. They were meant to keep the people away. We strolled right into death central.”
“How many are there out there?” Jackie wanted to know.
“I counted at least seven.” Quentin brushed remnants of Streaker and sweat from his forehead.
“We’ve killed a few already,” Caleb paced. “Let’s get back out there and avenge Eric’s death.”
“We’ve got to do this correct the first time. There are no second chances.” Quentin indicated to the humans nearby. “The windows are so big, letting in both sunlight and Streakers. I can’t believe we didn’t board them earlier. Stupid, but we were all rushing, and the windows appeared strong. None of them were broken.”
“They are now,” George said.
