Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies (Book 2): Escape

by Baker, Scott M.

  “Come here, boy.”

  The dog hesitated.

  Alissa patted her leg. “I won’t hurt you.”

  Chris nodded his approval. Shithead stepped off the porch and walked over to Alissa, his ears down and his tail between his legs. Alissa held out her hand. The dog extended his nose and sniffed it. After a few seconds, he inched forward and licked her fingers, continuing until he gave her hand a full tongue bath and his tail wagged furiously. Alissa slowly reached for his collar and checked the name tag. It read ACHILLES.

  “It says his name is Achilles.”

  The dog barked and wagged his tail even harder.

  “It is,” Chris replied, his hands still in the air.

  “Why did you change it?”

  Chris shrugged. “He didn’t seem like an Achilles.”

  Alissa couldn’t argue with that. She stood up and headed for the discarded AK-47 with Shithead trotting along beside her. Picking it up, she ejected the magazine and removed the round in the chamber, then handed the weapon back to Chris. He slung it over his shoulder.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “That’s okay.” Alissa handed him the magazine and single round. “Sorry we shot at you.”

  “It’s a good thing your friend here is a good shot. The bullet came awfully close, though.”

  “I wasn’t trying to miss,” said Nathan.

  For a moment, Chris didn’t know how to respond. Finally, he smiled at Alissa. “Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?”

  “That sounds good. Anything to get out of the cold.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Everyone introduced themselves while Chris made coffee, including Shithead who made his rounds from chair to chair, pestering Alissa, Miriam, and Nathan until they petted him. Alissa related everything that had happened to her from the beginning of the outbreak in Boston to their arrival at the cabin, with Miriam and Nathan jumping in to add their portions when appropriate. Chris would step out of the kitchen to ask questions or bring in coffee mugs, packets of sugar, and a dish towel he folded in half and placed on the center of the table. On his last trip, Chris brought out the pot of coffee and set it down on the dish towel.

  “Sorry I don’t have any milk or cream or anything to offer you to eat.” Chris sat in an empty chair and pulled it closer to the table. Shithead came over and curled up on the rug beside him. “There wasn’t much here when I arrived. I’ve been living off the supplies I brought with me and the few canned goods that were already here. Thank God the electricity is still running so the pumps work, otherwise we’d be screwed.”

  “Most of the electricity for the cabins comes from windmills erected a few miles from here,” Alissa explained. “Once those break down there’s no one around to fix them.”

  “I’m enjoying it while I can.” Chris lifted the coffee pot. Alissa and Miriam held out their mugs, which he filled. Chris offered some to Nathan, who sat with a stern and stoic expression, and declined. Chris pored himself a mug and placed the pot back on the towel.

  “To be honest, we’re lucky to have made it this far. This is the first place I’ve come across since this all began where I’ve felt comfortable holding up for more than a day or two.”

  “Have you broken into a lot of places?” asked Nathan, making no effort to conceal his contempt.

  Chris bristled but kept his demeanor calm. “It’s not like I threw out who ever lived here or killed them. This cabin was empty and I needed a place to stay. Where are you staying?”

  Alissa raised the mug to her lips, pausing long enough to say, “I own a cabin not too far from here.”

  “Guess that makes me look foolish.”

  “Not all.” Alissa placed the mug back on the table. “You do what you have to in order to survive. We stole two cars to get here.”

  Nathan shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “How long have you been here?” asked Miriam.

  “We arrived three days ago.”

  “We?” asked Nathan.

  “Me and Shithead. I spotted this place from the road and thought it might be a good location to hole up for a while. I knocked on the door and checked to make sure the place was empty before breaking in. We pretty much slept and warmed up for the first twenty-four hours. I’ve been afraid to light a fire or turn on the lights fearing I’d bring a deader horde down on us. Today is the first day I used the fireplace.”

  “It did bring attention to yourself,” joked Miriam.

  “Thank God you’re decent folk.” Chris raised his mug in a toast.

  “You never told us your last name,” prodded Alissa.

  “Sorry about that. It’s Christopher Andelman, but everyone calls me Chris. And you’ve already met Shithead.”

  The Shepard lifted his head and wagged his tail at the sound of his name.

  “What’s your story?” Alissa asked.

  “I’m from a little town named Myra about twenty miles northeast of Bangor, in Maine. When the shit hit the fan, a bunch of us who used to chum around in high school came up with the brilliant idea of pulling together all the supplies and weapons we had and heading for one of the islands off the coast. There were only four of us. We figured we could hide in one of the empty homes out there until this thing blew over. Man, did we screw up.”

  “How?”

  “We loaded up Curt’s van and headed down to Bangor thinking we’d be able to pay someone to take us out to one of the islands. Everyone had the same idea. There were thousands trying to find a way to safety. Most of the boat owners were cool about helping. Then a bunch of rich assholes cut to the front of the line and offered to pay big bucks to be taken out first. That’s when the trouble began. Arguments broke out. Arguments turned into fights and fights turned into gunfire. Most people panicked and ran. Others stormed the last few boats available with predictable results. We went back to the van to try another city and some asshole had stolen it and our supplies. The four of us headed out of Bangor as fast as possible. We lost John in Bangor, though I don’t know how or when. After that, the rest of us decided to make our way inland.”

  “You walked?” asked Miriam.

  Chris nodded.

  “From Bangor?”

  He took a sip of coffee

  “That has to be over a hundred miles.”

  “A little over a hundred and fifty. We didn’t walk the entire way. We followed the river to Searsport, Belfast, Lincolnville, and Camden hoping to find someone with a boat who would take us out to the islands. Everyone in those smaller towns had already hunkered down or fled. We found an abandoned Prius outside of Camden and drove to Portland, hoping to catch a boat from there. We made it as far as Brunswick when the radio reported that Portland had been overrun by deaders. The three of us decided to ditch the idea about escaping to the islands and head for the mountains instead. We took the back roads trying to get across I-95 before the deaders. We didn’t make it.”

  Chris paused and grew sullen.

  “You don’t have to tell us the rest,” Alissa offered.

  “I do. For their sake.” Chris drank some more coffee. “We made it as far as Gray and figured we’d cross there, but the deaders had already made it that far. The city had become a fucking nightmare. A lot of people got trapped. We couldn’t get across the highway because of the deaders and couldn’t backtrack because of the traffic, so we left the Prius and set out on foot along with hundreds of others seeking a safe place to hide. A horde of about two hundred deaders jumped us an hour later. That’s when I lost Curtis and Richie. Thankfully, there were more deaders than humans otherwise none of us would have survived.” Chris paused and made eye contact with everyone at the table. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so callous.”

  “It’s okay,” said Alissa, suppressing her own flashbacks about what happened in the ER in Boston.

  “After that, I headed west and searched for any place that seemed safe. There weren’t any. I tried to find warm places to spend the night. Homes. Businesses. Any pla
ce where I could get out of the elements and not be overwhelmed while I slept. I spent five days hiding out in the sleeper cab of a big rig outside of Sebago. That thing wasn’t fit to live in by the time I left. I also spent a week trapped inside a tourist information center while those things roamed around outside. That sucked. I couldn’t sleep in case I snored and brought them down on me. In both cases, something distracted them and I took the opportunity to move on as fast as I could. As the deaders got slower it became easier to avoid them. I stayed in a couple of places, for a few days at a time, but moved on because I knew they wouldn’t be defendable if a horde showed up. I eventually made my way to the mountains, found an isolated cabin, and figured it would be the safest place to wait out the end of the world.”

  Miriam pointed to the dog. “When did you two team up?”

  “About three weeks ago. I found him trapped in a house. The owners probably were killed before they could get back to him. I broke in and fed him, and he let me spend the night. We’ve been together ever since.” Chris leaned over and petted Shithead, whose tail began to wag furiously. “He’s been my best friend, has listened to me piss and moan, and has even saved me once or twice from running into deaders.”

  “I have a question.” Nathan placed his forearms on the table. “What do you mean the deaders got slower?”

  Chris seemed confused. “Haven’t you run into any lately?”

  “We’ve been up here for six weeks,” explained Alissa.

  “You remember how fast these things were in the beginning? They’re nowhere near that dangerous anymore. The deaders stumble along like the ones in the movies. They don’t pose a threat unless you get caught by a group of them.”

  “None of them are fast?” asked Miriam.

  “Only the ones that are newly reanimated.” Chris lifted the pot and gestured if anyone wanted more. When no one accepted, he filled his mug.

  “Do you have any explanation for this?” Nathan asked Alissa.

  Alissa thought for a moment. “The only thing I can think of is that, as their bodies decay, the deaders lose the ability of movement, like someone who’s been laid up in bed for weeks and their muscles begin to atrophy.”

  Miriam grew excited. “So, if we wait long enough the deaders will decompose like any other corpse.”

  Alissa shook her head. “Possible, but don’t count on it. If the normal rate of decay factored into this, none of the deaders turned in the first few days should be ambulatory. Chris, did you see any immobile deaders while you were out there?”

  “Not a one.” Chris took a sip of coffee.

  “How do you account for that?” asked Nathan.

  “Whatever virus turned these people into deaders has probably slowed the rate of decomposition.”

  “Why would it do that?”

  “I’m not a biologist, so I’m not an expert,” explained Alissa. “A virus can only survive as long as its host survives, so it has to keep the host alive long enough for it to spread to others. Like Miriam said, if the normal rate of decomposition applied, this pandemic would burn itself out in a few months at most. By delaying the rate of decay, the virus has a better chance of spreading.”

  “That’s fucking cheery,” huffed Miriam. She held up her mug to Chris. “Do you have alcohol to add to this?”

  “Shit, I wish I did. I haven’t had a drink since the outbreak began.”

  “We have some back at our cabin,” said Alissa. “We’ll share it with you.”

  Nathan cleared his throat.

  “What?”

  Chris detected the discomfort. “Do you want me to step out for a few minutes?”

  “Please,” answered Nathan.

  “You can stay,” countered Alissa. She focused her attention on Nathan. “We have more than enough supplies. We can share some.”

  “The more we share the sooner we have to go on a run to get more.”

  “And we’ll have another set of hands to help us.”

  Chris jumped at the chance. “I’ll be happy to help out anyway I can.”

  “Thank you.” Alissa smiled in appreciation. “Welcome to our group, but you’ll have to stay here. Our cabin is crowded enough as it is.”

  “I don’t mind. I enjoy being alone.” Shithead raised his head and barked. Chris leaned over and scratched the dog’s ears. “You know what I mean, boy.”

  “Once we’re done here, come on by our place. We’ll set you up and Nathan can drive you back.”

  “Great.” Chris drank some more coffee. “How far is your cabin from here?”

  Alissa motioned with her head. “On the other side of the ridge.”

  “Damn. I can’t believe I missed it.” Chris took a final sip and placed his mug on the table. “I’m ready when you are.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The trip back took less time because they followed the direct route over the ridge. As they approached Alissa’s cabin, Nathan pulled a radio from his coat pocket and keyed the talk button.

  “Steve, do you read me?”

  A few seconds passed before the radio crackled to life. “Nathan, is that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did your recon go?”

  “We made a new friend.

  “Who?”

  “You’ll meet him in a minute. We’re bringing him back with us, so don’t get spooked.”

  “Roger that. See you in a few.”

  As Nathan pocketed the radio, Chris said, “Any chance you have an extra one for me in case I need to get in touch with you?”

  “We can spare one,” said Alissa to Nathan’s chagrin.

  A minute later the cabin came into view. Chris whistled.

  Alissa grinned. “You like it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wait till you see inside,” added Miriam.

  When they entered, Kiera and Little Stevie raced over and hugged their mother. Alissa introduced everyone as Shithead sniffed out the kids, his tail wagging the entire time. As they were hanging their coats on the rack by the door, a loud meowing came from the bedrooms and Archer raced down the stairs. Upon seeing Shithead, he stopped.

  “Shit,” said Alissa. “I forgot about Archer.”

  Shithead slowly approached the cat.

  Little Stevie pulled on Chris’ sleeve. “Mister, your dog won’t hurt Archer, will he?”

  Chris shrugged. “I don’t know how he’ll react.”

  Shithead inched his way toward Archer. The cat hissed. Shithead stopped, his ears popping up and his head shifting to one side. Archer hissed again. Shithead broke into a smile, his tail wagging. Lowering the front half of his body to the floor, he presented himself.

  Alissa nudged Chris. “Looks like he made a friend.”

  With his right front paw, Archer slapped the dog repeatedly on his nose and forehead. Shithead backed away. Archer followed, hissing and keeping up the pounding until Shithead jumped back and ran behind Chris, whining. Archer meowed defiantly, spun around, and proudly headed back upstairs.

  Nathan stifled a laugh and Miriam gently punched him in the shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Alissa, suppressing a giggle. “I didn’t think Archer would beat up your dog.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Chris responded good-naturedly. “Why do you think I call him Shithead.”

  Little Stevie squealed. “Mister, your dog is named Shithead?”

  “No.” Miriam waved her hands. “His name is Achilles.”

  The damage had been done. Little Stevie hugged the dog and repeated his name.

  Kiera petted his head and scratched his ears. “Did that mean old cat pick on you, Shithead?”

  Miriam rolled her eyes and walked away.

  Basking in the glory of unbridled affection, Shithead quickly forgot his humiliating defeat.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Four days after meeting Chris, the freezing cold let up, with temperatures rising into the low 40s. Nathan and Steve decided to take advantage
of the mild weather to chop new firewood, partly to replenish their stock but mostly to get out of the cabin and enjoy some fresh air. Nathan split each log in half, then into quarters, and then into eighths. When finished, Steve stacked the wood in front of the porch to expose it to the air and sun while Nathan went to work on another log. Nathan placed it on the cutting stump, raised the axe above his head, and brought it down hard, powering his way through the split and cleaving the log in half.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” offered Steve. “If you let the axe fall naturally rather than putting muscle into it, you won’t tire out so soon.”

  “I know. I’m working out some frustration.”

  “Ah, Chris.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “A bit.”

  “We don’t know a lot about him.” Nathan placed one of the half logs on the stump. “I’m not keen on the idea of giving him supplies.”

  “It’s only a month’s worth of food.”

  “That’s not what bothered me. I’m worried that she gave him one of the Colt. 45s and two hundred rounds of ammunition.”

  “I wouldn’t worry. We outgun and outman him. Besides, he’s been over every night for dinner.”

  “That’s another thing that bothers me.” Nathan brought down the axe so hard the two split logs flew off in different directions. “Why does he spend so much time here?”

  “Maybe because it’s the end of the world and those few survivors who are left need to band together?” Steve picked up the two logs and brought them back to the stump, placing one upright for Nathan to cleave again. “Are you more concerned about Chris being a danger to the group, or being a rival for Alissa’s attention?”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Is it? Miriam and I have seen the way Chris eyes her.”

  Nathan spun around. “Seriously?”

  “No. But your reaction tells me you are jealous.”

  “Bastard.” Nathan split the log and set up the other one Steve had collected. “And you’re right. I am a little jealous.”

  “I understand. Give him a chance. Miriam and the kids like him, and they’re a good judge of character.” Steve smiled. “They stayed with me this long.”