by Lisa Acerbo
Jenna tilted her head. “We can protect ourselves.”
“At least travel in pairs or groups, especially to the lake for water.” Aiko’s nostrils flared. “It uses a lot of water to feed and bathe all the people here. From now on when we take the trucks, it has to be in groups. We can’t afford any more silly little injuries. We need everyone to pull their weight.”
“Regular patrols need to start again,” George cut the two women off.
Aiko’s stare could freeze hell. “New Racers will patrol at night, though we do it anyway when hunting. Humans patrol in the day. Jenna, you’re excused until healed. However long it takes.” She flicked her head back like sniffing something foul.
“It’s the start of a solid plan.” Gus’s voice was full of cheer. “It’s getting late, so we’ll figure out all the details in the morning. For tomorrow, let’s go back to the last rotation we used. Emma, Billy, and I are on the first shift. Quentin, Jackie, and George, you patrol second, and Ford, you and Beth, patrol next. We’ll get the rest done tomorrow. Peter, I’ll let you work on the night schedule.”
“Why don’t we plan now.” Peter nodded at the New Race who attended. “Let’s meet in my room.” People stretched and formed small enclaves, the meeting officially adjourned.
She stood and watched Caleb disappear around the corner. A throbbing temple forced her to sit once again. After a moment, she pushed herself out of the chair and swiveled toward the kitchen.
There might be snacks.
Quentin, carrying a Scrabble game, intervened.
“Jackie and Beth both told me to keep you out of the kitchen. Your skills with a knife are bad enough when you see straight.”
“I’m not a bad cook.”
“All the pieces are still inside.” The tiles inside the box banged together. “The mice didn’t want to learn any new words. Want to play? I bet I’ll beat you.”
While happy for the distraction, she really wanted a snack. “It’s not really a fair game with my head the way it is and my stomach growling. If you win that’s the reason.”
“Already making excuses for your defeat.”
“I’m a great Scrabble player. I used to wreak havoc on anyone who challenge me to a game of Words with Friends.”
The game was competitive with both of them trying to prove their superior intellectual abilities. Jenna threw foray and waxen to move ahead in score early on, but Quentin had a plan of his own. Halfway through the game, he placed taurine on the board, earning a fifty-point bonus for using all seven tiles.
“Not a word.”
“It is so a word. Don’t you remember all those energy drinks had taurine in them? It was incredibly popular before the end of the world. I used to love energy drinks. I really miss my smart phone too.”
“Liar. Not about the phone, but about taurine in the energy drinks.” A throbbing head made it hard to concentrate. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of the board. Like an irate three-year-old, she wanted to flip the board over and make an ungracious exit.
“Are you mad at me?” He gulped back a laugh.
“I’m not mad.” Head down, fist clenched, she mumbled. “I hate cheaters.”
“Jenna?” Fingers under her chin drew their gaze together.
“Have your stupid word. My turn, right?”
“I’ll pull my word off the board under one condition.”
“What condition?”
Freckles darkened by days in the sun highlighted his sunburned nose. His blue eyes lit devilishly. “Kiss me. For one tiny little kiss, I’ll forget all about taurine.”
“Really,” she reached out to grab his hand. “Let me lay one down on you.”
“No.” He drew back. “On the lips.”
This was unexpected and not the way her first kiss after the end of the world was supposed to go. She believed it would be with Caleb, at least all her daydreams had led her there.
Her last kiss had happened at summer camp with Bobby Jackson, a sixteen-year-old, braces wearing, video game playing, counselor in training.
Why not? He was sweet and kind, rode horses, and looked gorgeous in the grey T-shirt and jeans. Don’t consider it.
She leaned in, closed her eyes and their lips met.
He hesitated at first, as though he thought she’d back out of the bet, but she didn’t.
There was no way she wanted this to end.
Their kiss intensified and his hands traveled to the back of her neck, playing with the wisps of hair piled into an unruly ponytail.
All too soon it was over.
No!
Quentin rested his forehead against hers. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I most definitely won this round, and it has nothing to do with the game.”
Neither of them saw Caleb watching from the corner of the room, the look in his eyes murderous. As quickly as he appeared, he vanished outside to begin a night of patrolling the grounds and hunting.
15
The sun shone straight down. The trees rustled with the light wind, leaves beginning to show the first signs of change. The forest floor was trying to hold onto summer with abundant ferns and lady slippers.
Quentin didn’t mind the patrol. It gave him time to think. It had been two weeks since the incident with the Streaker on the horses, and since then the woods had been quiet. At first, the groups had stuck together and patrolled in units, but the last few days, people went on their own to cover more territory.
Life was good and nothing could come in the way of getting into settling and rebuilding. Or Jenna. She was an enigma. He liked her, but she put up walls and remained distant. After the kiss, the two continued to hang out, but it was like they were close friends. He wanted more.
A laugh bubbled from his throat and filled the woods. Wind rustled the leaves again. The trees must be laughing back at him because the idea of having a girlfriend in a world this crazy sounded ridiculous. But that’s what he wanted.
If only he could find out what was going on in her head.
Ask. It was simple, but he worried about scaring her. Figure out how to get past all the reservations and find out more about her raging emotions.
While Jenna would disagree, friends at the inn had noticed their time together and considered them a couple. There were subtle signs. Two seats were always available together at dinner and meetings. Someone else coordinated their schedules. It was fun to be together, but cleaning bathrooms was anything but picturesque or passionate.
Not an everyday romantic, Quentin vowed to cook a gourmet dinner. They’d dine without prying eyes and he’d find out exactly what was going on. Hopefully, he’d like the answers.
Introspection running amuck, he hoped the group would be prepared for the upcoming winter because he had daydreamt the two of them cozied up by a fire. He knew everyone, with John at the forefront, was working on a system to keep heat and hot water flowing throughout the year, and they’d need it. Virginia winters, while by no means extreme, could include cold weather and snow. While this might be a great deterrent to Streakers, it was also harder on humans. The New Racers showed little interest in temperature changes.
He wandered. The variety of tasks he needed to complete in the next few days and into the weeks collided with daydreams of his future with Jenna. A fence stood in front of him, one portion plied open. Examining the wreckage, the damage appeared purposeful.
Time to head back and tell someone. He didn’t have the tools to fix the damage.
Silence ruled the forest around him. No bird songs, no squirrels rattling through the trees. Odd.
His heart pumped in his ears, drowning out the scattering leaves and twigs. Rot and decay flooded his nostrils moments before the Streaker fought its way through the thicket to the right, moving slow, dragging a broken, gangrene leg.
Quentin retrieved the rifle slung over his shoulder and aimed.
The recoil threw him back, but no bullet fired.
Jammed. No time to fix it now.
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Flinging the rifle to the ground, he grabbed the large knife out of its sheath, ready to battle. Moving close, circling, he watched for the best angle to attack.
“Arugula,” the Streaker wailed.
Hysteria bubbled in Quentin’s throat. Did the monster ask for lettuce?
The Streaker clearly wasn’t a vegetarian. As he moved in, the undead took on gigantic proportions, towering, arms raised. A black tongue flickered out between gaping holes in putrefying lips. Broken teeth chomped. A cacophony of grunts, whistles, and groans emerged from a mouth forever shaped into a perpetual joker’s grin.
Moving behind, he attacked from the rear, gripping the zombie’s hair. The blade resonated against skull bone, but not deep enough. Pulling it out, he plunged again but the blood caused the knife to slip and slice the monster’s neck. Black rancid goo ran down the Streaker’s body and onto the blade and his hand and arm. The Streaker twisted. The knife tumbled out of his grasp.
He dove to the left at the same time the corpse reached a long, skeletal hand to his face. Rolling away, Quentin thought he’d found freedom, but the creature latched on to his leg. Pant leg inches from the creepy smile and jagged, masticating teeth, he used all his strength to kick the Streaker in the mouth. The second time, his boot clapped against the creature’s jaw. With a giant shudder, it fell to the ground, sludge spilling over his pants. Crab walking away, he put needed inches between his flesh and the Streaker who regained its footing.
Quentin stood on shaky legs, searching for his knife. It perched behind a stump on the ground a few feet away.
Dodging left, the massive Streaker followed Quentin’s lead. Evil reached out to him once more. Death stung the air. He dropped, found the blade, and twisted. His fingers glistened with slime as the knife blade dug deep into the undead’s eye socket. The Streaker leaned into the knife, teeth angling for human flesh. With both hands and the last of his remaining strength, the blade found the corpse’s decaying brain.
Pain surged from his cheek and neck. Fresh blood from Quentin’s wound mixed with the black ooze of the Streaker. The lifeless corpse pirouetted before crushing him.
Using the last remnants of his strength, Quentin tilted the lifeless, mushroom body to the side. A release of gas and fluids had him heaving the contents of his meal.
At last, he stood and staggered into the forest.
Jenna bit hard on her bottom lip.
Pain to avoid the real pain. Quentin should have been back by now. Everyone from his watch shift had already returned and it was getting close to evening. Not like him.
She cornered Gus on the porch where she sat vigil. Watching the rich blue sky fading to indigo behind the line of ancient conifers, the end of the world a distant memory. But it was attacking again. The apocalypse came with a lot more than the undead. “What are we going to do?”
The hug offered comfort and reassurance.
“I know you are worried, but Quentin is a big boy. He might have wandered a little too far and it’s taking him longer to get back than expected. That boy loves him some nature and tends to roam. Maybe he forgot to check in and he’s at the barn.”
“I checked the barn, Empty. This is not like him. He’s a good soldier and obeys orders. If he wanted to walk in the woods, he’d do it on his own time.”
“The watch went out a little while ago. If he’s around, they’ll find him.”
“I want to go out again.” The words were rapid fire. “It doesn’t matter I was out on patrol this morning. He means something to me. You all mean something to me. But you get it, we’re close. He’s a close friend.”
“It’s okay, Jenna. I won’t stop you from searching, but I’m sure he’s fine.”
“I need to do this.”
“It’s getting late, but if you must, I won’t be the one to hold you back. You’ll be unbearable.” He smiled at her reaction. “Let Emma know in the kitchen, so she doesn’t send the search party out for you too.”
She stalked to the kitchen.
Quentin gazed at the landscape hoping to recognize anything familiar.
Must keep going.
The intense neck and face pain turned the journey grueling. All the trees and landmarks blurred and the compass he carried destroyed in the scuffle. It wasn’t like there were any marked paths this deep in the forest.
Would it ever end? Could he make it back or should he just wait? Wait for what? Rescue? Death?
He leaned on a tree, inhaling painfully, and staggered forward, hand dropping from the wound on his neck, arm numb and tired.
Let it bleed. One more step. The inn must be close.
His head throbbed. Unwilling legs shuffled onward. Every ragged breath and little movement caused a cloud of pain. After a dozen or so steps, one knee hit the ground before he dropped fully.
Can’t move anymore. Head hurts. Done.
But after a few minutes, the pain receded. With the aid of a low tree branch, Quentin heaved himself upright.
A few more steps. Almost there.
He tottered forward. Afternoon shadows created impressions of demons on the ground. A raven screamed in the trees above. If pain had not already convinced him of his lack of luck, he might have believed the bird a bad omen.
He dropped to the ground for the second time.
Not going to make it back to the inn. This is as good a place as any to die.
Blood seeped unrelenting from his wounds, trickling along his neck, and dampening his shirt. The self-loathing of letting the damn Streaker overtake him back in the woods clashed with the pain. He crawled against a tree and closed his eyes.
If this was the end, then so be it.
His vision faded to black.
Jenna was leaving Emma in the kitchen when commotion erupted. “Let’s see what’s up.”
The two women headed for the front door.
George and Ford carried an unmoving, bloody Quentin between them. Wounds on his face and neck trickled red covering his shirt the same color.
Momentarily paralyzed, Jenna’s fear engulfed her.
She could not lose someone else she cared about. This could not happen.
Emma ran to the dying man’s side.
“He must have been ambushed by a Streaker,” George said.
“Where’d you find him?” Emma searched for a pulse.
“About a mile from the inn. He’s been bleeding for a while. I don’t know how bad it is, or how long he was out there like this.”
“Get some towels.” Emma met Jenna’s deer in a headlights gaze. “I need something to stop the blood and lots of clean, warm water. Now!”
“Where should we put him?” George asked.
“Follow me,” Emma replied.
Jenna was weary to the bone. She slouched on the couch in the main room. Three days since the attack on Quentin, and he was not getting better. In fact, he appeared much worse. She’d nursed him day and night, but nothing brought the fever down or woke him from a perpetual state of semi-consciousness.
The tranquil setting of the main room, now often called the great hall, contradicted the heated discussion. The group had worked hard to make the common area homey since their arrival. Beth, Jackie, and some of the New Race, had created a sewing circle and made new pillows for the couches and chairs. They were now working on couch covers.
How stupid. Nothing really mattered. Let them make their dumb-ass covers. When we are extinct the Streakers can enjoy them.
She stared with distaste at an old DVD player and DVDs Caleb had found and brought back to life. As a treat, the group could watch a movie since they had a gasifier and generator as power sources.
Let’s enjoy a romantic comedy while someone dies. What a treat.
The group planned to scout for solar panels to increase their efficiency and offer an alternative source of energy.
None of it mattered anymore. We probably won’t make it through the winter anyway. If we do, there’s always more Streakers ready and waiting.
All the members of their small group, except for the two youngest boys, Josh and Kyle, were in mid-meeting. The group came together in what was now known as the Counsel. Votes decided important questions and problems, and everyone received an equal say in the final decision.
“Assholes,” Jenna muttered under her breath, daring someone to contradict. The audacity of what people suggested was stunning, but her only recourse was to destroy the couch, picking out the stuffing from the mouse holes to occupy her hands. So, she did, to avoid strangling every naysayer in the room.
No one addressed her directly, but no one stopped the destruction. With all the controversy, she’d end up picking every strand of white fluff from every single usable piece of furniture.
“Should we make a final decision about what to do?” Peter’s words were kind if the vote was not.
“We should leave him. Close the door, walk away, and then bury him or shoot him when it’s over. I guess it depends if he turns or not,” said Aiko.
Most heartless bitch on the face of the earth.
“Aiko.” Beth’s face drained of all color. “He’s someone’s son. He’s our family. You don’t need to be rude. This is a serious and sensitive matter.”
“I’m honest about the situation, which is more than most of you are willing to be,” she replied, scanning the room rebelliously.
Jenna exploded off the couch. “We can’t just let Quentin die. It’s inhumane and wrong. We must do everything possible to save him. Quentin’s one of us. He got us here in the first place! We have to do the right thing.”
“He’s only human. If he was of the New Race, he would have survived this without a problem,” Aiko’s words lacked any emotion.
Jenna stepped toward Aiko, fingers fisting. Emma reached out, grabbing an arm to hold her back.
“Quentin needs more medicine than I have. The few antibiotics left aren’t working on him. They weren’t strong to begin with.” Emma faced off with Aiko. “We know he won’t turn undead if we keep him alive. He hasn’t showed any of the signs yet, but we don’t have the right medicine at the inn. We used most of our supply on the trip here and haven’t been able to find more. I’m low on aspirin too. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep his fever down.”
