by Tara Brown
My fingers tremble as I grab a large bottle of water. It’s tough to get the cap off with such weak hands but when I do, I lift it to my mouth and tilt, letting the liquid pour down my throat in a series of gulps.
This is what I was looking for.
This refreshing feeling of water. Life force. Mana. Whatever the hell you want to call it, the water is that. I drink until I might get sick, and maybe even a little past that point.
I’m heaving breaths and tilting my head back, waiting for the room to stop spinning, when I hear something.
It’s a creepy noise, scratching.
My heart races, mixing with the feeling I might toss my cookies, or rather water overload. I manage to step back and stare at the doorway where someone is standing. I want to run, bolt, but my legs don’t move. I’m frozen still, stuck here in terror.
The person isn’t a person at all. Moving in scary jerking movements they make their way forward, coming to where I’m standing completely motionless like some stupid forest creature who is convinced if I don’t move it won’t see me.
And somehow it works.
The jerky, blood-soaked mess of a zombie walks past me, not even pausing to give me a glance. It stands at the back door, staring at the small curtain, and stops moving.
I don’t know what this means.
Does it not see me or am I one of them?
Do I move or stay here until it leaves?
What if it never leaves?
Shit.
We stay like this until my legs threaten to give out. I force myself to take a step forward, certain that if it eats me, it eats me, since standing here until I die is not a better outcome. The thing doesn’t move. It barely even breathes.
I take another.
My legs wobble as I take a third.
A glint of something hits my eyes.
It’s the keys Jack left behind.
I walk closer to the counter where they are.
The creature doesn’t move. It stares, almost as though it’s paused, at the door.
I lift the keys with a fob from the counter and notice the FORD lettering across it. One key hangs from the ring.
The vans were Mercedes.
I didn’t know Mercedes made vans.
Hope flits about in me as I press the lock button on the fob and a sound fills the air.
The creature turns toward the sound, toward me. It hears the noise and rushes forward. I’m about to panic when it brushes past me, ignoring me and heads for the sound.
My entire body is pins and needles and my hair is standing on end, I’m sure of it. My breath leaves my lips in a gasp that sounds like crying.
When I get it under control, I grab the other keys and walk to the back door and open it, heading for the deck with the gate that remains closed. Lululemon must have fallen over it when she came bursting up the stairs.
The door in the backyard appears to go to the garage. It’s unlocked and when I get it open, I sigh. It’s my first bit of good luck. The car, a Ford Mustang GT, is sitting with its lights on, creating a glow in the garage.
I push the garage door opener and wait, honestly needing way too long before I remember the power’s out.
“Nice one, Tan,” I whisper and walk to the front.
I press the unlock button on the car, making the lights come on again.
The garage door is like ours, and I recall how my dad got it open when the power went out once. On my very tiptoes, I reach and grab the red pull chord, jerking it back when it unclicks.
The door isn’t so easy. It weighs a ton and I’m weak, but I manage to get it up and open. The night air smells nice, even if the world is empty and I am alone.
As I get into the car, the zombie comes around the side of the house to the front. He pauses and stares. Not at me, but at the car. As I start it and move forward, he comes to life. And I wonder if this is his car and he’s completely devastated someone like me, who can’t drive for shit, is stealing it.
The thought doesn’t last long because as I drive out of the garage, the door comes slamming back down and the zombie pauses to notice the noise before he follows me as best he can. Driving on the wrong side of the road and just missing a parked car, I turn right like my friends did and head along the road in the dark, seeing only light in the places my headlights touch.
As I turn onto a street, I realize I’m going down in numbers and make a U-turn. When I finally get back to Sixteenth, I’ve lost my zombie, but I’ve gained a couple of new ones. I turn onto Sixteenth Avenue and pray at least some of my classmates have made this journey.
Please God.
Please don’t let me be alone.
Because I have a bad feeling I’m not changing.
Not even a little.
11
The Seventh Day
“Where ya headed?” the old man at the lit-up gas station asks as he strolls over from the dark shadows.
My body aches and my car is on fumes, but I’m excited to be back in the arid climate. The air is so dry I feel my lungs filling completely when I breathe.
“Billings,” I say, not sure how I’m going to pay for the gas. I was lucky in Canada and got some from a nice woman at a gas station. She said we had to stick together. I’m not sure how many of us there are left to stick together. I’ve seen all of five cars since I left Canada an hour ago. “You have power here?”
“No, genny. You alone?” His voice is gruff.
“I—I’m—”
“I don’t mean to sound creepy. Just can’t trust people these last few days. Been bad around here.”
“I’m alone,” I confirm, wishing I had a different answer. I’ve been driving for six hours, and I’m not even halfway home, meaning I’ll be alone for a lot longer. At least another eleven hours, if I get lucky with vehicles and gas.
“You seen many of them bastards alive still?” He nods out at the long stretch of dark field next to us. “The undead?”
“A few but I’ve been driving in the dark the whole time. Did you hear the guy on the radio who said they would die on the seventh day? That must be today.” It’s hard to see any vast changes; the sun is nowhere near coming up. It’s three in the morning.
“Heard about him. I didn’t hear the recording. You out of gas?” He eyes my car, pressing his weathered and chapped lips together. He’s older and thin, not the type of man I’d assume would ride out the zombie apocalypse but here we are.
“Yeah, coasted in on fumes,” I say something my dad always said. My mom never putting gas in the car drove him insane when they were married. It was funny, after they divorced, she stopped driving with the van on empty. I wasn’t sure if it was because she only did it to bug him or if she realized we were on our own, and if she ran out, he wouldn’t come save her.
“I’ll tell ya what,” the man pauses, “I’ll trade ya. Your car with no gas in it for mine with a full tank.”
“Can I have some candy too?” It’s a weird request, but I’m starving, and I don’t want to seem too needy. I don’t want to owe more than what the car is worth.
“Deal.” He spits on his hand and holds it out for me to shake. I don’t know what to do. He’s stuck there, hand out, arm trembling a little, annoyed look that I suspect might be permanent on his face. So I spit on my hand, but I’m not cool like him so it sort of dribbles from my lips and lands half on my chin and part on my hand. I haven’t dreaded too many things in my life but the moment our hands squish together and I fight a gag, I know I under-dreaded that.
He pulls his firm fingers back and wipes his hands on his coveralls. I do the same on my borrowed Lulus. “Where’d ya steal it from?”
“Canada.” I hold my thumb over my shoulder suggesting where I got the car from is just a minute away. The reality is I’ve been driving for six hours. Canada might be close by, but the house is a long ways away.
“I can tell that by the plates.” He squints at me as if he might call me stupid.
“A house in White Rock. T
hey—they turned,” my voice cracks and I almost smile realizing the Lulu lady is the one I robbed and now we match. Including bite marks. Though mine hasn’t done much but itch. “You haven’t by any chance seen a pair of matching white Mercedes minivans have you, a bunch of teenagers in them? Canadian plates.”
“Mercedes minivans?” He cocks a dark-gray eyebrow at me dubiously. “Nope. I’d remember that.”
“Well, maybe they didn’t come this way,” I say with a sigh, hoping they got out. “Maybe they’re hiding until they can get out. The guy on the transmission said to hide until the eighth day, for the dead to die,” I say in a bit of undead humor. “Maybe they’re waiting for that.”
“I don’t know how to process what I’ve seen in the last week, I’ll tell ya that much. It was a weird seven days. All this craziness. And I don’t know if I believe it’s just going to end, like that.” The old man pulls off his hat and scratches his balding head. “I do know, there were about seven or eight of them, the undead, around here a couple of hours ago and they started being weird, moving erratically and falling over around midnight, and then they died.” He points in the direction of a fire burning on the other side of the parking lot. I’m not sure if that means he’s burning them or what.
“Well, hopefully they’ll die and my friends can get home.”
“You get separated?” he asks.
“Yeah. Trouble getting away. I got left behind. So those ones just dropped dead?” I point at the orange glow of the flames.
“Hmmhmm.” He turns back to the gas station behind him and nods at the window where an older woman watches us. “Watching them die on their own was surprising.”
“I bet. I didn’t notice any doing that but at midnight I was still in the mountains and was pretty much lost for hours.”
Mitch lied about two things: him coming back and signage on the highway . . . it was shit.
“How was it in the mountains? I heard the roads are pretty clear except near the cities.”
“Yeah, once I got out of Vancouver, it was smooth sailing. I had to get around a few vehicles but nothing crazy. I stayed on the highway. About an hour ago, I was in a place called Osoyoos, just across the border. That’s where I really noticed there were less of them. It’s not a city but there seemed to be a lot of dead on the ground, not moving or stirring. And the couple of undead I saw seemed different. Less coordinated. Less focused. They didn’t chase my car but they also didn’t drop dead for no reason.”
“Maybe Canada is a bit behind,” he says gruffly. “What’s the border like? Any guards or police?”
“Nothing.” I’m still a bit shocked by the memory of that sight. “Not a single light except the ones I’m assuming were solar powered. But they were only streetlights. Everything else was silent and dark. Bodies on the ground everywhere but no zombies walking around.”
“Jesus, help us. Borders just wide open.” He sighs heavily and holds his hand out. “Anyway, guess you should give me the keys and go on inside and pick your candy. Tell Sharon we made a deal. Sun’s coming up in a few hours. You’ll want to get to Billings in the daylight.”
I hesitate but drop the key into his hand before walking past him, crunching on the dusty gravel to the shop with the flickering lights.
The door rings with a bell but I’m more focused on Sharon. It seems weird to say it but I’m starved, “He said I could take some candy.”
“Candy?” She scowls. “Of course he’d offer you candy? What kind of old fool doesn’t think twice about offering girls candy?”
“He didn’t offer it. We’re trading. The car for his other car, gas, and I asked for the candy.” It’s a weird moment, I doubt either of us is prepared for. Are we bartering? Is candy something you barter over?
“Leave me some of the licorice. It’s all I like.”
“Okay.” I don’t know how much candy she thinks I’m going to take, but by the time I’m done grabbing a few bars and the candy I like, I’ve hardly dented the supply. “Can I have a water too?”
“Sure.” She nods. “Where’d you come from?”
“Canada, Vancouver,” I say as I grab it from the cooler, not loving that it’s warm but ignore that the moment the wetness hits my lips and throat. I guzzle back the whole bottle in one long drink. I finish with the most satisfying sigh. “We were on a field trip for school. I live in Billings. I’m trying to get home.”
“Good lord. Take another water, dear. Billings is a long ways. You’re going to get thirsty and that’ll kill you before anything else.” She walks over and hands me another bottle.
“Thank you.” I smile at her kind eyes and thank God for her. I really needed this moment. Being alone and scared and lost was hell.
“Canada’s overrun as well then?” she asks.
“Yeah. I didn't see anyone alive. Just zombies and bodies. But I went through some really unpopulated areas. There probably wasn’t much before the zombies.”
“I see. Well, be safe. And don’t be so trusting. Don’t tell anyone else where you’re from. A girl alone—” she doesn’t finish the rest but I can see where this is going.
“Okay,” I agree, hugging my candy to my chest. “Thanks,” I say again and walk back out in the dimly lit dusty parking lot.
The old man is near a small white car.
“Got no use for a Prius now. It’s charged and a full tank of gas. It’ll get you five hundred miles. That should get you to Butte. You steal another car there. Don’t stop and talk to people. It was foolish to come in here looking for gas, even with the lights on. People will be hoarding now.” His tone is spicy like my grandpa’s. “And I heard there’s been some unsavory types up to no good.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod and hope the lecture is over.
“And don’t sleep on the road. Find a house and barricade yourself inside. Make sure no one sees you or is following you. You find a house that looks abandoned and you drive up there like you belong, go inside and lock up.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe even park at one house then sneak to another. You know how to use a gun?”
“No, sir. I’ve basically gotten by with luck and I suspect timing.” I keep the fact I’ve been bitten and the zombies don’t seem to want me to myself.
“I think it’s more because you were in Canada. Less population. I hope that continues for ya, kid.” He holds the key up. “Be safe.” He hits me in the arm as I take the key and he walks away. His feet crunch on the gravel until he enters the flickering lights of the shop. As I watch him leave, I wonder if he will think about me. Will he wonder if I made it? I know I’ll wonder about them. Him and Sharon. I’ll hope they’re okay.
I climb in and I’m overwhelmed at how new this car is compared to the GT.
It isn’t as nice as the Mustang was, but it has a full tank of gas and that new car smell. I start it and hope I don’t screw up leaving the parking lot. I’d hate for them to see how shitty I am at driving. Fortunately, for this car, I’ve gotten a bit better. I’ve never driven this much in my life.
It was hard in the beginning, and I am a little ashamed of the meltdown I had in the mountain range on the way to the border, but that was hours ago and I did think I was lost.
The moment I get on the road and see the sign for Spokane and Coeur d’Alene, my hope starts to build again. I know where I am and how long it’s going to take me to get there. I’ve been to Coeur d’Alene with my grandma. If I’m lucky I’ll make it to Laurel by this afternoon.
12
The gummy worms are making my stomach ache, but I’m starving and can’t stop eating them. I contemplate stopping when I get closer to Missoula, but I need to get as far as possible without risking a break. And I did already stop to pee on the side of the freeway before Spokane. That was a new experience, peeing on the side of the road with it splashing up on my pants so much that I had to walk while peeing like Buster does sometimes.
The sun’s up, it’s nine in the morning, and the farmland on either side of
the highway is dead. Not like dead bodies, but no bodies. No one is out.
There’s no smoke rising from chimneys or cars on the road. I’ve never seen a lonelier sight than this one. A single car making a lone shadow in the rising sun, driving east, weaving through parked and crashed vehicles.
It’s sad and I can’t focus on it long. I need to stay upbeat and certain my brother and mother are alive.
And Lou. I’m so close to Laurel. Four and a half hours is nothing compared to what I’ve already driven.
But I’m done. I need food and water and sleep.
My eyes are so heavy I can hardly focus and my thoughts are drifting out of control, not helping with the situation. The smooth ride of the car mixed with my nomadic mind is pretty much a lullaby. I’m putting myself to sleep.
I press the button to lower the windows again, sucking in the sharp air of the interior. It revives me but only for a second. I’m taking slow blinks and struggling with steering when I see it.
It’s a mirage.
Another one.
This time he’s waving me down, and he’s wearing the same clothes he was when he kissed me, for real kissed me.
But now there’s bloodstains on the front of his hoodie, no doubt added by my brain because of course that’s how I would see him. Covered in blood from fighting his way out of whatever scenario he was stuck in. The one that prevented him from coming back for me.
Blood on his clothes means he’s alive, he fought back. He saved himself.
He’s trying to find me on this highway because it’s the one we would all take home.
Whoosh!
I speed past them as the hallucination screams my name, startling me. It’s the first one that speaks.
Worried, I check the rearview and that worry changes to shock when the mirage has changed. He’s chasing me. Like one of them, one of the dead. But he’s screaming my name. This is the first one that’s chased me down too.
I slam on the brakes, almost losing control of the car, though it’s not my first time skidding to a stop. I’m sideways and unaware the car sort of continues moving forward when I jump out.