Dorm Life

by Camille Picott

  Words refuse to form on my tongue, lodging instead in my throat.

  “I have something from our scavenging mission today.” I feel his grin against my face. He’s trying to lighten the mood for my sake.

  I nip playfully at his ear, grateful for his understanding. “What do you have?”

  He reaches into his pocket and tosses a few crinkly wrappers between us. I laugh as pale green squares materialize in front of me, their shape unmistakable.

  “Really?” I ask. “You got glow-in-the-dark condoms?”

  “It’s not like we have television anymore,” he replies. “We need something to entertain us.”

  I fall laughing in his arms. “You, Carter Stephenson, were always more entertaining than television.”

  Someday, I have to tell him how much I care about him. Someday.

  But not tonight.

  8

  Stairwell

  KATE

  The next morning, I wake early. Dressed in the capri stretch pants and plain T-shirt given to me by Lila and Jenna when I first arrived, I rise from my bed on the sofa and head to the stairwell. Running always helps me clear my head. Since it isn’t exactly safe to go out for a run, the stairwell is the next best thing.

  My muscles are full of protest. The night of sleep and inactivity gave them an excuse to stiffen. My legs scream with every step. My back, arms, and stomach are sore. My gunshot wound throbs. Worst of all is the swollen ankle and poison oak crawling up my arms. Bits of it have seeped onto my neck. I’m an achy, itchy mess.

  All the more reason to tackle the stairs.

  But my achy body isn’t the main reason I head for the stairs when the sun is barely up. I need to think. I need to come up with a plan to keep Carter and his friends safe. To drag their brains into the new reality.

  To my surprise, when I swing open the door, I find someone else already there. Jenna, sweat dripping down her temples, pauses on the landing when she sees me. The flashlight in her hand illuminates the cement floor between us.

  We stare at each other in surprise, unspoken awkwardness ramping up with each passing second. I should say something, make an effort at friendliness with my son’s girlfriend. Truth be told, she’s the last person I want to share this stairwell with.

  “Hey, Mrs. S.,” she says, the first to break the silence.

  I attempt a friendly smile, hoping it doesn’t look like a grimace. “Hey, Jenna. Please, call me Kate. What are you doing here?” I try to make this last question casual, but it comes out sounding more like a demand.

  She doesn’t react to my tone, instead plastering on her own forced smile. “I used to run track. I fell out of the habit when I got to college. Yesterday, when those guys came after us, we had to take the long way around to get back to Creekside. We didn’t run far, but it made me realize I’m really out of shape. I want to start exercising again.”

  This is the first practical thing I’ve heard anyone say since arriving here. It makes me reluctantly warm to Jenna.

  “What were your distances in track?” I ask, intrigued despite myself.

  “I did hurdles and the mile. I originally signed up for track to get back at my mom for trying to make me into a cheerleader, but I ended up really liking it.”

  “Maybe you should give us all hurdle lessons,” I say. “That could come in handy if we need to make a run for it and jump over zombies.”

  Her answering grin is tentative. “Maybe I should. I could set up a course in the hallway.”

  I raise a brow. “Coffee tables for obstacles?”

  “No, too wide. Maybe some pillows. They would be about the right size.”

  The mental image of the hallway lined with pillows, coupled with the idea of making Carter, Reed, and the others leap over them, brings a laugh bubbling up. Jenna laughs, too.

  It’s a nice moment. I let it stretch out, enjoying the sensation of sharing a chuckle with Carter’s girlfriend. Maybe this won’t be as awkward as I’d feared. Maybe I won’t completely mess it up.

  “Should you be moving on that ankle?” she asks.

  “A normal doctor would tell me to ice it, elevate it, and stay on my backside for a week or two,” I reply. “But it will loosen up and heal faster if I move it gently.”

  Jenna frowns. “No offense, Mrs. S.—Kate—but I don’t know if walking up and down the stairs is considered gentle.”

  “It’s gentler than running up and down the stairs.”

  A crease dents her brow. “Do you run up and down a lot of stairs?”

  “There’s an ultramarathon called the Quad Dipsea. It’s twenty-eight miles of stairs.”

  “Twenty-eight miles of stairs?”

  “Yeah. They go up one side of a mountain and down the other side. You run them four times in the race. There’s over nine-thousand feet of vertical climbing.”

  Jenna digests this. “You know,” she says after a minute, “that sort of sounds fun. If you had time to train for it.”

  I look at her askance, trying to discern if she’s being sincere or sarcastic. As far as I can tell, she looks sincere. “It is fun.”

  “I’d say maybe I’d run it sometime, but I doubt there will be any ultramarathons in the near future.”

  Her words surprise me. “Why do you say that?”

  “The world as we knew it is over,” she says. “I know it’s gone, even if everyone else is in denial.”

  “I noticed.” It’s a huge relief to know someone else sees the true state of the world. I thaw a bit more toward her. “Can I join you?” I gesture to the stairs.

  This time, her smile is less forced. “Yeah, okay. Honestly, it would be nice to have company. The stairwell is kind of creepy.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way. After being out on the open road, the stairwell seems like a safe container.

  We tread up to the third floor in silence. When we reach the landing, we turn around and go back down. My bare feet are soundless on the concrete steps. Jenna, in her workout shoes, keeps her steps light.

  I attempt to make conversation. “Has anyone, ah, noticed that there’s an ant problem in the kitchen?”

  Her grimace tells me she’s well aware of the disgusting state of things. “Things pretty much went to shit when the power went out. We have water for drinking and keeping the toilets full, but no one wants to go to the creek to get water for washing dishes. We all talk about how great it is to have a nearby water source, but no one has used it yet.”

  I glance at Jenna through my periphery, an idea forming in my mind. “Any chance you’re up for a mission?”

  “You mean go to the creek for water?” Her eyes widen.

  “There’s two of us,” I reply. “As far as I can tell, the immediate area around here is pretty clear. We can watch each other’s backs.” It wouldn’t be a bad idea for the two of us to spend time together. What better way to get to know one another? I’m sure Carter would approve.

  “What do you say?” I ask.

  9

  Water Run

  KATE

  Armed with my screwdriver, Jenna’s wooden spear, and good intentions, we head to the first floor. Except for Johnny, who’s up talking on his ham radio, everyone else in the dorm is still asleep, even though it’s almost nine in the morning. I forget how much kids in their late teens and early twenties like to sleep.

  When we told Johnny our plan, he didn’t offer to help. He was too absorbed in a conversation with some guy named Foot Soldier on the other end of the ham. It’s nice to know he has his priorities straight.

  My battered feet are encased in my trashed running shoes, the same ones I wore all the way here. It was too painful to put on socks. As much as I prefer to be barefoot right now, going into the woods without shoes is plain dumb. The laces are loose, just tight enough to keep the shoes on my feet, but not so tight as to pinch the various blisters and other pain points.

  Between me and Jenna is a large plastic tote we pulled from the hall closet. It had been filled with someone
’s shoes until we dumped them out.

  “If you told me two weeks ago that I’d be filling someone’s shoe tub with drinking water, I’d have rolled my eyes,” Jenna says.

  “Dish water,” I remind her. “We’re getting water to wash the dishes.”

  “I know, but if there’s any leftover there’s a good chance we’ll use it for cooking or drinking.”

  “True.” Another thought occurs to me. “What are you guys doing with dirty clothes?”

  The look she gives me is one I know all too well. It’s a sheepish grimace that tells me I’ve asked the very question she doesn’t want to answer.

  “Um, we sort of toss them into the dorm next door.”

  Well, at least they’re not letting dirty clothes and dirty dishes pile up in their dorm.

  “I know it’s not a long-term solution,” Jenna continues. “To be honest, I’m not looking forward to washing clothes by hand.”

  “Understandable. Doesn’t sound fun.”

  We stand at the double glass door entryway of Creekside, peering out into the parking lot. The sky is overcast, the air foggy. The vultures and flies are the only things moving.

  “Come on,” I say, taking the lead. “Let’s go.”

  I step out into the parking lot, holding my screwdriver at the ready.

  I considered bringing one of the guns from the drug dealers but ruled it out. Firearms make my skin crawl, and not just because I don’t know how to use them. Accidental deaths are too likely with guns in the hands of rookies.

  I left them wrapped in a towel with Reed’s acid underneath the living room couch. Gauging by the other odds and ends under the sofa—a pair of underwear, a shoe, and a spatula—I’m not worried about anyone poking around and finding them.

  Also under the sofa is my railroad spike, the only remnant from my journey to Arcata. The sight of it fills me with a montage of nightmares I’d rather not think about. Tucking it away is the easiest way to keep the memories at bay.

  Jenna and I hold the big plastic tub between us. We also each wear a backpack filled with empty water bottles.

  I pause as we step outside, once again scanning the parking lot. I strain my ears, listening for the telltale moans. I also listen for voices or any signs of people. To be honest, I’m more wary of people. Zombies I can handle.

  “Looks clear,” Jenna whispers.

  I nod in agreement. We head around to the back of the dorm where Skip is parked.

  “Carter told me about your plans to start a business together.” I scan our surroundings, never resting my gaze in one place for long. “I like the beer labels you designed.”

  “Really?” Her back straightens, eyes brightening.

  “Yeah. You did a great job capturing the ultra experience in your art. My favorite is the Vert.”

  “Thanks, Kate.” Emotion swims behind her eyes. She looks both pleased and upset at the same time.

  “Did I say something wrong?” It seemed like we were getting off on the right foot, despite my issues. I don’t want to ruin it.

  Jenna shakes her head. “I was just thinking about my mom. She thought my art was a waste of time. She thought everything that didn’t involve snagging a rich boyfriend was a waste of time.” She looks away. “I know it’s dumb, but I wouldn’t mind hearing her insult my art right now.”

  My throat tightens in empathy. All of Carter’s companions are separated from their parents and families, both physically and electronically. Not knowing if they’re safe or dead can’t be easy on any of them.

  “When was the last time you spoke to her?” I ask.

  “A few days ago. She and my sisters live in Southern California. They were heading out to our family’s cabin in Big Bear.” Her voice drops, thick with emotion. “I hope they made it.”

  I struggle to find the right words. Jenna deserves more than empty assurances. “I hope so, too,” I say at last.

  This gets me a weak smile. We pass Skip and head into the redwood forest that grows behind the dorms. Carter and I used to take walks through these trees when I came to visit him. There are numerous footpaths, as well as a Frisbee golf course.

  Morning fog sits on the ground, lowering visibility in the trees to a twenty-five-yard radius. This makes my shoulders itch. Mouth dry, I press forward, keeping my ears peeled for sound. I do my best not to limp on my injured ankle, to move as quietly as possible over a forest floor covered with pine needles.

  It takes us five minutes to reach the small creek. Due to the fog, I hear the soft tinkle of flowing water before I see it.

  I pause, looking around and listening. Jenna does the same. I can’t help but approve of her caution. Of everything about her so far. My son snagged himself a girl with a good head on her shoulders.

  “Looks clear,” Jenna murmurs.

  I nod in agreement. We drop our backpacks on the bank. Staying silent, we fill the bottles in our packs. Anything used for drinking will need to be boiled first. Even better would be water purification tablets.

  There’s an outdoors store in downtown Arcata. I make a mental note to plan a trip there in the next few days. Water purification tablets aren’t the only things we could use. General camping and survival supplies would be handy.

  They also have running shoes. I most definitely need a new pair. Come to think of it, all the kids could use a decent pair of shoes. Being able to move fast on foot is essential.

  Beside me, Jenna stiffens. I sweep my gaze across the forest in response, looking for whatever caught her attention. All I see is redwoods, ferns, and fog. The sound of running water is the only thing I hear.

  Jenna’s hand lifts, finger pointing. I study the spot she indicates, searching for movement.

  A deer emerges from the fog, ears flicked forward as she stares at us. We could be staring at our next meal if either of us knew how to hunt. Or shoot a gun. Or had a gun with us, for that matter.

  Even if I did have a gun with me, the only thing I might succeed in doing is drawing attention of anyone or anything that’s nearby. Nope, better to coexist with the pretty deer.

  The doe continues to stare at us as we fill our bottles. Her ears swivel, flicking first in our direction, then rotating away to the rest of the forest. What I wouldn’t give for rotating ears.

  Jenna and I finish with the bottles and move onto the tote. The deer bounds away.

  We shift, tipping the tote into the water. Something stirs on the edge of the fog again. I look up as two zombies lumber into view.

  They’re students, each of them dressed in jeans and sweat jackets. They move without sound, lifting their noses to scent the air.

  My wrist locks around Jenna’s arm, freezing us in place. I gesture ever so slightly with my chin, bringing her attention to the two zombies standing where the deer had been.

  Jenna and I exchange looks. Do we dispatch the zombies, or ignore them and hope they go away?

  The tote, half filled with water, gives me my answer. We can’t hope to lug the tote away if the zombies are still alive. We’ll make too much noise and draw their attention.

  When Jenna’s hand snakes to her wooden spear on the ground, I know she’s reached the same conclusion. I nod to tell her I’m on the same page, drawing my screwdriver from my belt.

  The creek lies between the zombies and us. I step carefully into the water, ignoring the cold bite as the current laps up to my ankle. Normally I would try to step on rocks to keep my feet dry, but I can’t risk any of them shifting under my feet and making noise. Or, even worse, slipping and causing me to stumble. Stealth is our best friend right now, which means walking through the creek bed.

  Jenna follows me without protest. When we exit the water, the zombies sniff the air. One of them grunts. The other lets out a soft moan in response.

  I make eye contact with Jenna, holding up three fingers. She nods in understanding.

  I count down, dropping a finger each time. Three. Two. One.

  We charge forward, weapons raised.

&nb
sp; It’s impossible to move silently. Our shoes scuff against the pine needles and dirt, bringing both zombies’ heads whipping around in our direction.

  We’re on them before they can do anything more than let out dual moans. Jenna strikes first, the length of her spear giving her an advantage. She jams it straight into the eye socket of the first zombie, driving the beast to the ground under the force of the impact.

  I’m a heartbeat behind her. My screwdriver forces me into close quarters with the remaining zombie. His nails scrabble at me, his jaw unhinging as he lunges forward.

  My screwdriver hits him in the nose. It drives through the soft cartilage and up into the brain. Thick, dark blood squirts onto my hand and wrist.

  I leap sideways, letting the body thunk to the ground. My harsh breathing fogs the air in front of my face.

  My eyes find Jenna’s. We grin at each other, sharing a moment of silent triumph.

  And then a grayish hand reaches out of the gloom, latching around my injured ankle. I yelp as I’m pulled backward.

  10

  First Fight

  JENNA

  Kate goes down, her ankle snagged by a zombie that crawls out of a cluster of ferns. Its back legs are ruined, forcing it to pull itself forward like a seal.

  Jason. The name flashes through my head. That was the name of the boy before he became a zombie. I had a class with him, though I can’t recall which one. Jason.

  He has Carter’s mom.

  Kate flips around and delivers a vicious kick to Jason’s head. Her legs are bare between her shoes and her capris pants. Jason snarls, but doesn’t release his hold. He drags himself forward, jaws yawning. The bare skin of Kate’s leg is only a few inches from his teeth.

  I leap forward, bringing my spear down like a club. I smack it as hard as I can into the back of Jason’s skull.

  The soft thunk of wood hitting bone sends a chill up my spine, but I don’t let up. I bring the spear back up and deliver a second blow. This time, the spear sinks all the way into his skull.

  The creature that used to be Jason rolls sideways. Viscous blood seeps out of his head.