Red Plague Boxed Set

by Anna Abner

  Simone threw down her pack. “My backpack is heavier than everyone else’s.” She sneered at me. “Heavier than yours, for sure.”

  “Here,” I burst out, tearing my pack off and slinging it into the dirt. “Trade me, then.” I swung Simone’s pack onto my back and stormed off.

  A leash! He’d created a freaking leash for the boy I cared about.

  “Maya!”

  “Don’t come near me,” I warned Pollard. It didn’t matter whether Ben agreed to the restraints or not. It wasn’t right.

  I took the lead and headed north. I was too irritated to talk to anyone. And the exercise helped loosen up my knee. As the sun passed its zenith and the air grew heavier with humidity, I sweated, but it was a good kind of sweat, and it strangely made me feel better.

  Pollard eventually caught up. “Do you need a water break?” he asked.

  He was still attached to Ben by a rope.

  “Is that really necessary?” I blurted out, pointing at the tether.

  Pollard grabbed my arm, forcing me to cease walking. “I’m going to level with you,” he said quietly. “I know you have a soft spot for this guy, but we know nothing about him or what’s going on in his mind. He’s like a wild animal and I have to think of everyone’s safety.” He gave my arm a little shake. “I’m not hurting him, just keeping him in sight. He’s safer this way, too.”

  I did not agree. I looked to Ben to back me up, but his gaze was on the ground under his feet.

  “Did you eat lunch?” Pollard questioned me.

  “I forgot.”

  “I thought so.” With an amused smile, he pulled a tube of salted cashews from his pocket. “Here you go. This should help.”

  Hunny led Simone, red-faced and panting, past us. The child seemed completely uninterested in us at all. I envied her detachment.

  “Thanks.” I chewed thoughtfully as we continued at a slower pace.

  Up ahead Simone and Hunny picked their way around debris, making our path. Simone clutched her tall plastic cup like her life depended on the contents.

  “I’m worried about Simone,” I whispered to Pollard. The woman, as far as I was concerned, was nitroglycerin. A good shake and she’d blow.

  “What do you mean?” Pollard blinked at me.

  “Are you joking?” I hissed. “She’s drunk all day long.” I jerked my head in her direction. Simone was sipping from her tall, blue cup again.

  “What?” Pollard shrugged as if he saw nothing wrong whatsoever.

  “She puts Captain Morgan in the tea.”

  “Rum?” he exclaimed, pulling a face. “How disgusting.”

  “I agree, but she’s buzzed all the time. Aren’t you concerned?”

  He shrugged again. “She’s sad, the same as all of us, but she’s not hurting anyone.”

  “She’s not helping anyone either,” I grumbled, but I let it go. Maybe he was right. I didn’t have a better argument against overindulging. Simone was a legal adult. I didn’t have any reason to stop her from drinking if it made her feel better, other than my personal distaste.

  Simone was alone, even within our group. She’d lost everyone and everything. Maybe the rum helped, and maybe it was a temporary relapse.

  I weaved around a fallen motorcycle and a sack of rotten oranges teeming with flies.

  What else was Simone feeling melancholy about? Losing Pollard’s attention maybe?

  “Did you two ever hook up?” I asked.

  He blanched. “No. I don’t think of her like that.”

  “Does she think about you like that?” I got the idea she did.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Hunny skipped ahead, moving a few yards away from everyone else. I didn’t shout at her to come back because it wasn’t far and it was good for her to spread her wings a little.

  Someone, or something, grunted. A foot scraped against pavement. And a pair of zombies rose up from behind a car, directly in front of Hunny. She screamed, and I froze. I didn’t even draw my sword. My instinct was to run from zombies, but if I took off, Hunny was dead.

  Pollard was slightly quicker. He saw the threat. He pulled his weapon. And then all I wanted to do was karate chop it out of his hands. He was such a bad shot he was more likely to shoot Hunny than a zombie. I tensed to rush Pollard when something hard and fast blew by my left shoulder.

  Ben.

  Chapter Six

  Ben sprinted, a streak of navy blue work clothes. The rope leash ripped out of Pollard’s hand while he fumbled with his weapon. I was still flinching in fear at his brush by me, and he’d already tackled the first infected to the ground. He kneed the Red in the gut, two brutal blows, before sweeping the legs out from under the second zombie, the one closest to Hunny. His hands still bound behind his back, Ben stomped on the second infected until the Red stopped moving.

  The first zombie climbed to its hands and knees, but behind Ben’s back, and maybe he didn’t notice.

  Pollard aimed his pistol.

  I ran, my legs finally working again, and shoved Pollard’s arm to the left.

  “No!” I shouted. “You’ll hit Hunny.” Or Ben. Who was having no trouble kicking the first zombie into submission.

  Ben stumbled back a step, panting. Both infected were out cold. He’d saved Hunny’s life, something no one else had been able to do, and done it without the use of his hands.

  His eyes might be red and my smell might send him into a rage, but he wasn’t a monster.

  Pulling my sword, I crossed the asphalt between us and cut his hands free. He wasn’t our prisoner. Pollard had to see that. We were walking into Camp Carson equals or not at all.

  Hunny flung herself at Ben and looped her rubber band arms around his waist.

  “You saved my life!” she exclaimed against his belly.

  Ben froze up like a winter ice sculpture. Terrified her proximity would trigger something violent in him, I lurched forward to pry her off.

  But then Ben exhaled.

  He stared down at Hunny, not with wrath or irritation, but with wonder. His filthy hands patted her narrow back.

  “They won’t hurt you,” he assured.

  I realized my mouth was still open, and I quietly closed it.

  I wanted to say something to him like Thank you, or I’m sorry for doubting you. But Ben sniffed the air, silencing me.

  I shuffled back, afraid he was catching my scent again, not wanting to interrupt the moment between him and Hunny.

  “I smell fresh water,” he said. “I need a bath.”

  Oh. “Really? Good. That’s a good idea.”

  Ben touched Hunny’s blonde ringlets. “Sweet Pea,” he said in that growly voice of his. “Let go.”

  Amazingly, she drew away.

  I caught Ben’s gaze and for a split second I recognized the human being behind all the dirt and the red eyes. Something earnest and young.

  But then he blinked and it was gone. “I’ll go look.”

  “I could use a break,” Simone piped up.

  Our group turned east and I heard the river before I saw it, a slow moving swirl of clean water slashing a path between dark green pine trees.

  I gathered toiletries from our stock and met Ben by the rocky bank.

  “Here’s soap and a washcloth and a brush. Plus some clean clothes.” I set it down, keeping my distance. “We’ll give you privacy.” I scurried back, past the trees, and joined Pollard in the bed of a red pickup.

  “Those zombies almost killed us all.” Lying in a patch of grass to wait her turn, Simone covered her eyes with both hands. “I knew we should have stayed in the truck stop.”

  Pollard flashed me an exasperated look, but then Hunny tugged on his arm.

  “Do I have to take a bath?”

  Before he answered, I said, “Yes. You do.”

  “Go see if Simone will play cards with you,” Pollard told Hunny. “We’re going to be here awhile.”

  Ben spent a long time in the river. Twenty minutes. Forty. I started to t
hink he had fled. Pollard must have thought the same thing. He fidgeted. Then ate a piece of beef jerky. Then unloaded and reloaded his weapon.

  “He took off,” Pollard surmised.

  “What?” Hunny’s head popped up. “No.”

  “He hasn’t bathed in months,” I reminded him. “He needs time.”

  Pine needles rustled, and we all swung toward the tree line as Ben appeared, clean, dry, and dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt.

  And he looked good. Like magazine ad good. His dark hair was brushed and glossy against his pale face. The dirt and blood from his skin was all gone, even from under his fingernails. In fact, he had taken great care with his entire appearance, from his new pants belted low on his waist to his black boots, now scrubbed clean and tied tight.

  “I left the stuff for you,” Ben said to me. “Go wash.”

  My stench again. Jeez. Was it really that bad?

  But a cleansing bath was too tempting. I gave in. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  Since locking myself into a bunker, I’d had a lot of sponge baths. Which were okay. But there was something altogether different about stepping into warm river water. Closing my eyes, I submerged my entire body until I couldn’t hold my breath anymore.

  The soap was unscented white, but I lathered it on like it was the fancy stuff with moisturizers and healing oils. I babied my hair, rinsing shampoo through it twice and letting the conditioner sit for a full five minutes before going under the surface one last time.

  Emerging from the water, I couldn’t name a bath or shower in my entire life more exhilarating.

  Still moist, I tugged on a pair of well-worn corduroy pants, a dark blue top with spaghetti straps, and my old running shoes. When I re-emerged in damp clothes, my wet hair braided down my back, as clean and fresh as a new baby, Pollard was on sentry duty while Hunny dealt Ben cards from one of our decks. Simone snored lightly under a tree, her blue cup tipped over and dribbling sweet tea into a nest of dry pine needles.

  The boys looked up as I approached.

  Feeling self-conscious, I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. “Might as well take turns.”

  “No thanks,” Hunny said, pretending to be too absorbed in the card game for baths.

  Ben tossed his cards into the pile. “You’re next, Sweet Pea.”

  She grumbled a bit more, but stood up and stomped toward the trees.

  “I’ll keep an eye on you,” I offered.

  Luckily Hunny was a quick bather. In and out. She fought me on washing her hair, but I insisted.

  By the time Pollard and then Simone had taken turns in the river, it was late afternoon, the late spring heat had eased, and we hurried back onto the road to cover more ground before the sun set.

  “We can’t carry enough supplies for five people on our backs,” Pollard said as we marched across a marshy field on the outskirts of what had once been a picturesque coastal village. “Not enough, anyway. We’ll have to pick up food and water along the way.”

  “That’s going to take longer.” Especially on foot.

  “We’ll keep trying to find a car, but until then,” he sighed, “it is what it is. At least we’re together and headed in the right direction.”

  We fell into a V formation down the nearly empty main street, Pollard taking the lead past sad storefronts with broken windows and smashed doors.

  “Slow down,” Simone called from the rear. “I didn’t sign up for this crap.” She laughed at her own wit, sipping from her refreshed blue cup.

  We passed a hardware store with fire damage and a community swimming pool emanating a rancid stink. Not much chance of finding anything useful there.

  “Can we take a breather?” Simone said, her voice rising. “It’s freaking hot.”

  “Not yet,” Pollard answered. “It’s not safe.”

  Simone stumbled around a parked car. Hunny and Ben walked past her, side by side. The little girl looped her arm through his. He didn’t seem bothered by it.

  Not the way I bothered him.

  “We have water,” Pollard announced, startling me. “But we can always use more. If anyone sees a promising store or house, speak up.”

  I was concerned about supplies, too. I vividly remembered the pain of dehydration, compounded by the moist North Carolina heat.

  We had plenty of rations in our individual backpacks, but they weren’t infinite. If we walked through miles of untouched pine forests and Virginia swamps, we’d have to hunt and gather to survive.

  “I’m going there,” Ben announced suddenly, his voice loud in the quiet afternoon heat.

  Without any other explanation, he separated himself from Hunny and trekked down the next cross street.

  “Hey.” Pollard glanced uneasily from Ben to me. “No side trips.”

  Ben gave no hint he’d heard Pollard.

  Before he disappeared completely behind the next truck, I picked up my pace and followed. He carried the last of my dad’s life’s work inside him. Wherever Ben went, I went.

  Was it food that had captured his attention? A pack of zombies? Fresh water? I ran on tiptoe to try and see for myself, but my senses weren’t as heightened as his.

  Just please don’t let it be prey he’s after.

  Ben marched through someone’s lawn, around a row of gas pumps, and across the parking lot fronting a strip mall.

  “Do you need something?” I jogged to catch up. “Tell me, and I’ll help you get it fast. Last time we went into a store—”

  He kicked the glass doors of a music store open and disappeared inside. I glanced behind me for Simone, Pollard, and Hunny. By the time I looked back, Ben had returned carrying a shiny Fender acoustic guitar.

  My eyes widened in appreciation.

  Ben didn’t say anything right away, and I held my breath. It was just the two of us. Had the antiserum really cured him? Or made him worse?

  Finally, he offered me the guitar. “For you.”

  Afraid to spook him, I accepted it very carefully.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  He took a step nearer, and broken glass crunched beneath his boots.

  My back bumped the wall and the only thing between us was the guitar. He got so close I could see the scar on his cheek and the tiny flecks of magenta in his ruby eyes.

  “This is mine.” He plucked my picture right out of my back pocket.

  I opened my mouth to complain, but Pollard was suddenly there glaring at Ben, and I didn’t know how to explain the photo mystery.

  “What’s going on?” Pollard demanded.

  “Oh, instruments!” Hunny ducked through the broken doors.

  “Wait,” Simone said, catching up, “the zombie gets what he wants? Seriously?”

  “Damn it,” Pollard cursed, giving up on my drama to protect Hunny from whatever might be lurking in the store. Simone chased him, still arguing about human rights versus zombie needs.

  Ben and I were alone. “It’s my picture,” I said.

  “Mine.” And then, motioning to the guitar, he repeated, “I got it for you.”

  I’d sung to him, but he’d been a zombie. I hadn’t really expected him to understand.

  I glanced at the beauty in my hands. “You remember?”

  He nodded.

  I slipped the strap over my head and positioned the guitar, strumming to test its sound. Something primal inside me reacted to the beautiful, open tones. I turned a knob, tightening the E string. I strummed again, letting the chord fade into the air between us.

  No one had given me a present in weeks.

  The fact that the first gift I had received since the red virus spread was from Ben made me feel twisty and funny behind my ribs.

  “Way down here,” I sang softly, playing a sad and haunting D minor chord.

  Ben stared at me with an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

  “Enough messing around,” Pollard announced, dragging Hunny from the shop. Her hands were empty, but I had a feeling she had at least one musical inst
rument in her pocket. “Let’s get moving.”

  We backtracked down the lane for several dozen yards before someone behind me tugged on my guitar strap.

  “Give it to me.” Ben transferred the new guitar from my shoulder to his.

  “I can do it,” I said, reaching for the Fender.

  But Ben gave me a single, definitive shake of his head and outpaced me down the residential street.

  That twisty feeling returned as I hurried to catch up.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to look around some of these other houses,” Pollard said, squinting at the pastel-hued doors and shutters on the homes we passed. That particular street had fared better than the last.

  While most of the homes we’d passed had already been looted and trashed, even burned, most of these were untouched. Front doors were all closed. Cars and trucks sat politely in driveways. If the grass hadn’t been so overgrown and forgotten, I could have imagined the red plague hadn’t reached there yet.

  Without saying anything, Ben broke away from our group and made a beeline for the house across the street. It was a cute bungalow with peach shutters and I pictured pink and purple flowers in the beds beneath the windows. Peonies, maybe. Or pansies. Pollard, Hunny, Simone, and I followed, but more slowly.

  “This is boring.” Simone plopped onto the curb and picked through her pack. “No wonder my back hurts,” she grumbled, lifting out a box of ammunition and a large can of baked beans.

  “You have my iPad and a diary in there,” I said, standing over her and balancing on the lip of the curb. “I want them back now.”

  She squinted up at me. “What do you need with an iPad? You think you’re ever gonna plug it in?” She cackled. “It’s the end of the world, Maya. Wake up.”

  Uninterested in her attitude, I knelt and traded packs with her, and then swiveled to watch Ben lope toward the house across the street. He tested the knob, but found it locked. He set my guitar safely in the flowerbeds before kicking down the door. It bounced open and banged against the inside wall loud enough to startle a bird from its nearby nest.

  The bird took flight as a zombie roared.

  An emaciated, sunken-eyed Red catapulted out of the foyer and tackled Ben. They toppled, a tangle of arms and legs. The zombie snapped his jaws at Ben’s face, snarling deep in his chest.