by Rosaria, A.
Sarah gasped as iron fingers clamped around her ankles. Her body rose in the air. Her arms banged over the windowsill, and she grabbed at anything to clasp on to as she felt herself fall. Her heart beating against her chest, she pulled herself through the window. She fell down on top of glass shards. Breathing heavily, she stayed on her back.
“Are you all right?” Priss yelled. “Sarah?”
Sarah stuck her head out, gave a thumbs up, and went back inside. She took in the room. A small bed, a tiny desk, same size cabinet, and toys heaped into one corner. She felt her throat tighten. Billy. Her little brother had a similar room. Her heart ached from the memory of seeing her brother for the last time. She’d had no choice. She had to do it. She had to. A moan escaped her lips. She swallowed the sobs threatening to spill out and barged out the room and raced down the stairs. Panting, she stopped, bent over with her hands on her knees. She shouldn’t allow her emotions to get her like that. She should know better. She forced her breathing to calm down.
Sarah gathered herself and tried the door. Locked. She searched around but found no keys. She went through the kitchen and living room. Nothing. Back at the stairs, she looked up. Sarah tore away and drifted to a window. She slid it open and unlocked the shutters. Before she pushed it open, she made sure to wipe her tears.
“I can’t find the keys.”
Priss climbed in, followed by Spacey. He locked the shutters behind him and lowered the window. Next, he stormed upstairs. Priss followed after him. Sarah didn’t. Before going up the stairs, Priss stopped and faced her. “You’re not coming?”
Sarah shook her head. “Help him with whatever he’s planning to do.”
Priss eyed her for a second, sighed, and raced up the stairs.
While Spacey and Priss barred the windows upstairs with any furniture they could find, Sarah searched the kitchen cabinets and found tightly packed cans inside. She opened the fridge and recoiled back from the whiff of rot from the molded stuff inside. She slammed the door back shut. Having found nothing but the cans, she decided to rest at the fireplace. She rubbed her arms. Good thing the previous owner left the fireplace stocked with logs. She needed a fire to cook and would welcome the heat.
After wasting about half her matches, she managed to start a fire. She opened a can and poured its contents into a large pan. She looked into the pan and up at the cabinets stored with conserved cans. Not being on the road ended their need to ration their food. At least for today. She added several more cans. By the time Priss and Spacey joined her, the soup filled the room with its delicious aroma.
“Food!” Priss squealed, hugging Sarah. The short girl pressed hard against Sarah, her small breasts poking her as she jumped up and down. Sarah shooed her away from the pan toward the kitchen table. Spacey sat next to Priss as Sarah served them the soup. They dug in. They took seconds, Spacey a third. She had made enough to have leftovers for if there was a tomorrow. Spacey slurped his bowl empty when they heard the moans from outside.
They stared in silence at each other. Spacey stood up and left for upstairs. There was nothing left to do but wait. Sarah tidied the kitchen before throwing herself down on the sofa. This was becoming too unreal. What was the point of cleaning up? The candlelight made the interior cozy and it felt like home, while the outside world was anything but. A sea of teeth and claws waited, and soon they would be at the door, knocking to enter.
Priss joined Sarah on the sofa. They held each other, staring at the fireplace and waiting for the inevitable. The moans ebbed in and out, closer and closer, and then away into silence. The girls stared at each other and beamed.
“Are they really gone?” Sarah whispered.
Smiling, Priss placed her index finger to her lips. “Don’t jinx it.”
Laughing softly, they spooned on the sofa and fell asleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sarah looked up at the bright clouds in the sky and sighed, relieved. She’d won another day in an age where new days were small pickings. She strolled down the small town’s street. To both sides stood quaint little shops. Not having monsters chasing her, she allowed herself to take in the view. With some effort, they could make a base out from this place. Their very own settlement. Like Ralph’s, but smaller, more picturesque, and a lot cozier. And most importantly, with fewer people. Priss was all she needed, and she’d tolerate Spacey for now.
Sarah sauntered past a jewelry store, stopped, and doubled back. She cupped her hands on the store window to peer through. Liking what she discovered, she tried the door. Locked, of course. She pried loose a cobblestone from the paved road and smashed the window. Sarah hunched her shoulders and glanced fast up and down the road. She laughed. As if cops still patrolled the streets. This was a ghost town. Again she examined the area and stepped through the broken window, carefully avoiding the jagged pieces of glass sticking out. She stopped at the counter. Watches. Everything was still in their cases. Whoever owned this store had enough time to lock the place up but not enough to stash everything away. Sarah shuddered at the idea of the poor townsfolk careened away in yellow buses to their death.
Sarah went behind the counter and drew the tray out. She picked one watch up and jiggled it close to her ear. She kept going till she had looked at all of them, picking out one large, gaudy watch and two smaller, minimalistic ones. All three automatics. She pocketed the watches and set to leave. On her way out, she stopped at a counter with rings and stared with longing at the shiny things. In another life, a man like Ralph might have slid one on her finger. She tore herself away from the showcase and left.
A single zombie stumbled toward her. Instead of arms, it had two stumps, bound in stripped clothing used as tourniquets. Severing its arm had not saved this one from infection. Not that surviving armless would have made living worthwhile. Her bowie knife made short work of the zombie. She dragged it to an alley, out of sight. She wanted to keep the town pristine as she had first discovered it. There was no need to soil the vista with corpses. Sarah chuckled. A tad too late she remembered that she herself dented this vista by shattering the storefront window. Oh well, couldn’t have it all.
Sarah ignored the Wells Fargo building. The bank did her little good before everything went bad, and wouldn’t do her any good now. If the zombie apocalypse had not happened, the bank would have put her, her brother, and mother on the streets. Anyway, both scenarios would have ended much the same. Not much choice if the bank wanted to foreclose your house, or the government nuked your town, you ended with your home wiped out, and you were a bum on the street.
She spat the curb as she walked past the building toward a more interesting shop. FISH & HUNT, Purchase Your Live Bait And Your Ammo, At A Great Discount, read the sign. She picked up a brick and weighted it in her hand. Heavy. She could get used to this breaking and entering. She rocked her hand back to throw the stone, but before she slung it at the window, she noticed the sign at the door. Open. Sarah dropped the brick and tried the door. Of all places, the store that sold guns and ammo wasn’t locked.
The gun racks were empty but for an old bolt-action rifle and a shotgun with a green finish, a Winchester Super X2. Well, at least she got enough fishing rods to choose from. She found a canvas duffel bag large enough to store the rifle and shotgun in and leave her space for more. With her knife, she broke the lock holding the ammo cabinet. She gathered the ammo boxes, ten in total. The townspeople must have cleaned out the store before they fled. Maybe they didn’t go with the yellow buses after all, or if they did, they might have had a nasty surprise for the ones at the end of the line.
In the front showcases, there was much more to choose from: handguns, short-barreled fire breathers, and shiny, pointy things to poke holes with. She grabbed a Ruger GP100 revolver, two Sig .45 and holsters to go with the guns. They all went into her bag.
Next, she picked up a nice, new, mean-looking machete. She bet Spacey would like that one a lot as replacement for his old, chipped, and rusted hatchet. Who knew how long the old
man had been beating on skulls with it to turn it into that state. She left the store with a spring in her gait. For once things might turn out all right.
The bag dug into her shoulders. Sarah smiled. It was a nice, heavy feel filled with possibilities. She stopped to rest at a tiny supermarket. Parked in front were five empty carts. She commandeered one and went inside. The stench of rotten produce and decayed meat hit her. It smelled much like a corpse had festered inside for weeks. Wary, she stalked the aisle toward the back. Sarah braced herself, but no dead thing met up with her. The place looked safe enough for shopping. Anything conserved in a can or bottled up she dropped in the cart. She found beer, lots of beer, and about six packs of pasta. Beer and pasta, a combination to make bellies bloat. As she headed out, she grabbed handfuls of candy bars. A girl needed her sweets.
She stopped at the exit before leaving. She was forgetting something. Ladies needed more than only sweets. She returned to grab the needful women necessities, and something extra she may one day need. Done with the groceries, she pushed the cart up on the road.
Despite the cold day, the warm sun bathed over her skin and made it comfortable to stroll around without wearing a jacket. At the end of the street, Sarah stopped at a boutique shop. She ogled at a gorgeous designer dress. It would have been the perfect fit for her graduation party. She let the cart go and floated to the showroom window. The burgundy fabric would go well with her hair loose or braided to one side. She entered the shop without giving it a second thought.
Sarah disrobed the mannequin. She stood with the dress in her hand and checked the dark dressing room in the back. This being the end of the world, who was going to spy on her? Spacey was busy fortifying the house and Priss was helping him. Besides, she wouldn’t mind either of them seeing her naked. Priss had watched her naked tons of times already, and she suspected the old man wasn’t interested in her, or in fact, any other women.
Sarah undressed, being careful when sliding her ragged jeans over her bandages. Luckily, the Oxy she found at the apothecary she broke in earlier had beaten the pain into submission. All thanks to a Ms. Moarssen not being able to pick up her prescription.
Sarah giggled when she slid into the dress. Her smile died when she observed her image in the mirror. The dress draped over a wiry frame that didn’t fill the dress as it once would have. Sunken cheeks, dark patches below her eyes, and straw for hair stared back at her. She twisted around. At least her butt was nice and firm. If only she could shower and wash her hair. The dress would still look terrific then. Sarah sighed and started undressing.
Pulling the dress over her head, she got the sudden feeling something was moving outside. She whirled around, one arm covering her breasts and another holding the dress in front of her. She noticed nothing outside. It had felt like somebody was stalking her. She squinted. There was no movement. No moans. No footsteps. Nothing out there. Sarah giggled. She was being foolish. Paranoid. Spacey must be rubbing off on her.
Sarah quickly put her clothes on. She was about to ditch the dress when she thought better of it and bagged it. Now that she was already here, she could at least do something useful. She picked two leather long coats from a rack, one her size and another for Priss. For Spacey she got a bomber jacket. The price tags were beyond the realms she could ever pay. Good thing the store kept an Armageddon sale going on. Everything went into the cart. It had been a while since she shopped like this. Best day ever, considering. Before she stepped outside, she glanced to the left and right. Once she was sure no one was watching, she went up to the road toward their new home.
Back at the house, Sarah readied herself to load her wares through the window. Priss pushed the front door open. Odd, most doors opened to the inside.
“We found the key,” Priss said. “Hey…” Priss skipped toward her, pointing at the cart. “That’s pretty.”
Priss picked up the burgundy dress and held it against her body. “You got me a matching pair?”
Sarah laughed, shaking her head. Priss pouted. “You meanie. What did you get me?”
Sarah showed her the coat. Priss grasped it out of her hands and slid it on quickly and put the collar high the way she liked it, covering her throat. She twirled around. “How do I look?”
“Fabulous. And I got you this.” Sarah gave Priss the Sig and holster. Priss strapped the holster on. Gun in hand, she struck a pose, blowing the barrel. “Look at me, cowgirl extraordinaire.”
It was nice seeing Priss happy. It lifted the weight Sarah felt growing heavier on her shoulders with each passing day.
“Wear it,” Priss said, pushing the dress into Sarah’s hands.
“You want me to take my clothes off right here?”
“Why not?”
Sarah didn’t want to and pointed at the first excuse she could use. Spacey stood watching them. “Not in front of him.”
“Don’t be a prude.”
Sarah slapped Priss playfully. “You tease.”
She threw the bomber jacket. Spacey caught it. He raised his brow. “No,” he said.
“Yes,” Sarah said.
The old man frowned.
“You can’t keep strolling around bare-chested like this, you’ll catch a cold or worse.”
Spacey tried the jacket on, not closing the zipper, exposing his bare chest for all to see. Sarah sighed. Compromise was better than nothing.
Sarah wore her new leather coat and holstered her revolver. She handed Priss the rifle and gave Spacey the other Sig. He drew it out of the holster, dropped the holster, and slid the gun down his shorts at his backside.
Wearing the coat, holster, and shotgun in her hand, Sarah did feel like a cowgirl. She only missed the hat. The coat fit snugly and reached below her knees, covering most of her body. Sturdy, thick bison leather would protect against slashes and bites—well, at least human bites. Canines most likely would pierce the leather, but still, it would grant her some protection.
Spacey stared ahead and frowned. Sarah felt a chill slide down her back and faced the copse of trees. She believed she detected movement, only a shimmer.
“Who’s there?” Sarah called out, carrying her shotgun to bear at the tree. It wasn’t loaded, but whoever was watching couldn’t know that. “Show yourselves or I’ll shoot you deader than the dead.”
Something stirred. The bushes rustled. Sarah rushed forward, cursing. She didn’t have time to load the shotgun now. She couldn’t drop it either and show her hand. She reached the tree line. A deer sprung out from a brush and darted away. Sarah stared frozen at the animal and she burst out laughing after the deer disappeared. Holding her belly, she stumbled back to the house, trying to control her laughter.
“It was a deer,” Sarah managed to say between a burst of hiccup and laughter. She dropped the shotgun and fell on her knees. “A deer. I’m turning crazy.” She barked out more laughter. Priss grinned at her. Spacey peered at the forest, still frowning.
“A deer,” Sarah said. “Priss, can you believe it? A deer. A damn deer. I almost dropped my pants full when it jumped out.”
Back inside the house, Sarah rested on the sofa. She observed Spacey prepare dinner. Of all people, she least expected him to cook. He had chased her away when she tried to make soup again. The old man must be fed up with soup. Sarah sniffed the air. Pasta. Her mouth started to water.
While the man was cooking, Priss settled at the dining table, arranging the ammo Sarah scavenged from the town. “You should have grabbed more magazines. And couldn’t you have taken more boxes of forty-five caliber? We have two magnum boxes for your little revolver. One box of fifty Remington two hundred twenty-three for the rifle. Two boxes with shotgun shells and one fifty box of forty-five caliber. And two nine millimeters boxes, fifty bullets each, and no gun to use them with.”
“Sorry, princess, but that was all I could find. And I didn’t think about the extra magazines.”
Priss scowled. “You grabbed whatever fancied your eye.”
“I was on reconnaissance
.”
“Ha, using fancy words. Who is the missy little princess now?”
Sarah threw a cushion at her. “Stop being a brat. Besides, I didn’t hear you complain about your new coat.”
“The coat is nice, but you didn’t get me a matching dress.” Priss pouted. From the smile that tried to surface, Sarah interpreted that she didn’t mean it. She was being coy. Finally, after weeks of travel with no clear destination or purpose, they’d found something worthwhile. A safe haven.
“We will go shop together tomorrow. A ladies’ day out. You like that?”
Priss grinned. “I like it a lot.”
Spacey served spaghetti and canned meatballs. Not the best, but after so long without fresh meat, canned meat became a five-star-restaurant delicacy. She was not alone in gobbling the meal down. They reclined, satisfied as darkness set outside. With only minor encounters during the day, it turned out to be great. Sarah hoped many more days like this would follow.
After dinner, there was not much left to achieve as it got darker, so they headed upstairs to bed. Sarah and Priss bunked together in the master bedroom while Spacy took the guest bedroom. Priss carried in her hands the dress Sarah thought she had hidden away from Priss’s prying eyes.
“Put it on.”