“When I d-did wake up. I couldn’t get out of my r-ra-room. I had to break my window. Somebody had p-p-p-painted it sh-sh-ut.” He was getting upset again. Charlie could see in his eyes that he had tried hard to put it out of his mind. Whatever he saw when he came back to the real world, must have put his OCD into overdrive. Not knowing what had happened would have driven anybody insane. He adapted by resuming his regular routine, waiting for his tyrant crew and bosses to return. She had to tell him the truth.
“Byron. I hate to tell you this…” she took a breath and readied herself. “Everybody is gone and they are not coming back.”
“But…wa...where did they ga…go?”
“They’re dead.”
Byron’s eyes widened at the last word.
“Something happened, everyone got sick. Well, everyone except us. And they died.”
Byron screwed shut his eyes and shook his head. “But that can’t be. If that’s true. Where are all the b-b-odies?”
“You probably aren’t going to believe me, but some of the ones that died, didn’t stay dead.”
Byron’s face remained deadpan. He did not display any surprise at all.
“Whatever was going around turned everyone into zombies. And the zombies ran around and ate everybody else.”
Bryon dropped his face into his hands. He did not know what to think. All of his bosses and crew bullies were dead. He felt a bit of mixed emotions there. He was the loyal golden retriever, waiting for a master that was never coming home.
“I believe you. It...it explains all of the bluh…blood everywhere. I tried to wash away, to make this place like...like home again. But they are never coming back. Are they?” He threw his hands up. “What’s the point?”
“I have been fighting them, you know. They are still all over the place.” Charlie offered.
Bryon looked again over to all of the weapons. She was serious about all of this zombie business. This girl had to be some kind of strong to fight off monsters that literally wanted to make a feast out of you. He was glad that they must have moved on to some other town. He sincerely doubted that he would have been able to fend off one zombie let alone a whole hoard of them.
“They aren’t here in town. I would have seen them. I’ve checked every place in this town. I haven’t seen anybody. Not even zombies.” Charlie hid the rising tell creeping up into her face, looking back down into her plate. She did not want to tell him just how close he was to meeting his first zombie. Eventually that wrestler zombie would have found him, drawn out by all the noise Byron was making and he would be dead.
“I guess everyone tried to run away. But I’m telling you, you are the first living person I’ve seen in weeks. I’m beginning to think we’re the only ones left.”
Charlie let out a sigh and rubbed her belly. She was full to bursting from eating so much. It felt oh-so-good to be full for once.
Byron felt a question bubbling inside of him, not sure, where it was coming from. “Have you ever been bitten by one?
Charlie shook her head. “I came pretty close at the beginning of all this. As a matter of fact a couple of them did manage to get a few of good scratches on me.” She twisted her leg out to display a couple of jagged scars on her calves. But as you can see, I didn’t get zombified or anything. I don’t think whatever it is they got can be transmitted that way. Or it could be that I am just immune. Either way, I would rather not test it any other way, right?” she smiled.
Bryon nodded. He had seen the occasional zombie flick before and agreed he was not in any hurry to put him in a walker’s maw to experiment on. Being eaten is being eaten, simply put. He figured they would not stop with just one tasty bite anyway.
“Well the sun will be setting soon. I need to get some more wood for the fire tonight, I..I try not to use the generator at night. It keeps me up, so I brought a fire pit in a..an..and use it instead.” Byron stuttered a bit while he slid out of the booth. Charlie just looked at him as if she understood his uneasiness to falter from his routine. “Ok, Byron. I’ll help you.” Byron smiled brightly at his new friend and showed her to the back of the diner where he kept the spare wooden pallets he had collected and broke apart for firewood to keep him warm at night.
Lost to his thoughts while preparing a fire, Byron caught on to the nervousness that seems to ooze out of his new acquaintance. He tried to reassure her by giving her the distance she requested. She’s been in the same position for over twenty minutes now. Sitting on one leg with the other brought to her chest by her left hand, the right hand absentmindedly drawing her nickname repeatedly on the floor. Her eyelids grow heavier as she keeps her vigil over the warming flames. Her small gestures might seem routine to her and others, but not Byron. Like the small “spasms” that rake over her figure, she just brushes them away like the dust on her pants. Her eyes, forever keeping their pace with the movement of the wind even in its stillness. Lastly, those small, beautifully, calloused hands that twitch relentlessly, even if their master was in a deep slumber.
Byron knew to tread carefully with women, especially one like her. Upon his first meeting with Charlotte or “Charlie” as she was so quick to correct him, “It’s Charlie, nothing else, just Charlie. Got it?” she all but growled at him through mouthfuls of food. He noticed how she watched his every move out of the corner of her eye, like a hawk. It was clear she was very hesitant in trusting someone, let alone a man. Whomever this man was from her past was evidently nothing but a repeated disappointment.
Finally taking more time to go over the layers of her true appearance, he noticed her attire. Making her look ever much the strong, lone, warrior she personified. Weapons strapped everywhere she was able to place them comfortably and within immediate reach for her to clear her path through the undead. Her ungodly amount of ammo was just the same. She was this generation’s female version of a crazed ‘mad max’. A slight movement caught his attention yet again. The once delicate fingers of her right hand twitched in anticipation towards her thigh ready to grip the weapon that was holstered there. She was on constant alert, always waiting. The sound of the howling wind and the beginning onslaught of the rain brought them both to their feet.
The flames rose a little in height and reflected off the leather of Charlie’s boots. They were knee high and sporting bright red and “Barney” purple shoelaces. The colors were morphing into the other and back again. Dried blood and mud seemed to have crusted over each other on the once shiny leather.
Byron looked down to his own feet and noticed that he still wore his trusty, black, nonskid work boots. They were still clean, not even an ounce of dirt on them from the few blocks they had walked to get back here. Apparently, my anal retentiveness deems me incompetent to survive this new world…or has it saved me... Byron thought to himself.
A question was whispering in the back of his mind repeatedly, and growing louder and louder with every breath he took.
Can we trust her? ...Can we trust her? ...Can we trust her? ...Can you trust her?
“Why in the hell are you staring at your feet?” Charlie asked with a little smirk taking over her normally emotionless face. “Huh. Oh it’’s nothing, just lost in a thought” Byron mumbled out. “I know the feeling” she whispered as she turned her face away from his view.
“Can I..can I..ask you something without you being of..of offended?” he stuttered out as his eyes flickered between hers and her antsy fingers. His question would have thrown her into a fit under normal circumstances but she caught onto his hesitation and the glimpse towards her hands. Her right hand stilled by her thigh, and she was quick to shove both of them in her pockets to calm her frazzled nerves.
“Sorry” she said quickly and looked down embarrassed, “habit.”
The loud popping and crackling of the fire broke the awkward silence that had fallen between them once again. Byron kept his gaze on her as her cheeks began to redden, lightly kissed with faint touch of rouge.
“How old are you Charlie?” he asked w
hile taking a seat on the stack of pallets near the door. Just in case, he thought. Looking into the flames, hypnotized, she responded robotically.
“Eighteen, my birthday was just the other day. Four days ago to be exact.” She knew she looked younger than that, hell she had been hearing that her whole life. Her innocent look was how she caught everyone off guard especially when it came to her fighting style. Her small and delicate looking frame was strong to the core making her speed and accuracy she dealt with every blow just as deadly as the one before it. She had proved herself a force to be reckoned with. She backed up a few steps until the wall blocked her from escaping his gaze. She slouched down the wall and let out an exasperated sigh.
Byron knew the look she was trying to control from taking over her. Her ironclad shield had cracked. “Anything memorable happen?” Keep her talking; build her trust Byron thought. “Besides the norm you mean, no. It was actually nice, didn’t run into any walkers at all that day.”
“I was in the men’s barracks down by the motor-pool looking for some food. I hadn’t eaten anything except stale bread in about 2 days. So I was searching everywhere in hopes of something, shit anything eatable….” Charlie closed her eyes and let her mind rewind once more.
Charlie braced herself for anyone to pop out and attack, with a shot gun in hand; she brought her knee up high and kicked the door with so much force the lock shattered to the floor and the door bounced on its hinges. The metal door echoed the sound of the kick back to her, sent a chill through the air that reverberated down her spine. Hoping that if any walkers were nearby, they didn’t hear her attacking the door. Releasing the breath she was holding she hurried herself inside. The Barracks were small. 3 bedrooms tops, an office, the showers, and a small kitchen. For the soldiers that left in a hurry there wasn’t much debris scattered about.
She opened the doors to the showers and sent a little prayer to whoever was listening that she hoped the pipes ran deep and were connected to the main well. She inched forward towards the faucet while taking “Dinky One” out of her top. She used it to twist the handle to the left. The water sputtered out in quick succession, and then finally came to life. Charlie lifted her head while dropping her hands to her sides and her knife clinked against the white and black checkered tiles at her feet. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!” Charlie shouted.
Quicker than a hormonal teenager eager to have their ‘cherry popped’, she stripped out of what has become her armor and rushed into the now steaming water. With closed eyes, she raised her head towards the flowing water. She let its beads wash away the mud that had crusted over on her arms from the digging of her parents graves. Charlie stood there until the water finally ran clear again. Showing no more signs of the impurities to which she had to commit. She was again untainted, for now. She reached for her pile of clothes and began to wash them as well. Never know when I will be able to again. The water began to weigh down the shirt in her hands as she stilled, almost as if in a trance. She watched the blood fade from the shirt and followed its path towards the center drain. It disappeared down the pipes, to be forgotten just like all the others.
The sound of the clothes plopping to the tiled floor startled her back to the present. Upon finishing her first real shower in weeks, that didn’t consist of baby wipes or rain water. Laughing to herself she still can’t believe she had actually ““danced in the rain” naked none the less. Clad in nothing but an army t-shirt she found abandoned in one of the rooms, she preceded on preparing for the lonely night. She busted to pieces an end table and one of the chairs to make firewood for the night. That should do for now she thought as her stomach began to rumble and growl so loudly that it had actually echoed off the walls. Her soft cheeks began to redden just slightly, embarrassed she was. It would have been worse if someone was actually around to hear it.
Fighting off the hunger for any longer wouldn’t do her any good. So she began to search the empty kitchen in hopes of something, shit anything left behind.
The Fridge empty.
The Freezer empty.
Cabinet after cabinet empty.
Not even those damned tasteless MRE’s.
Ending back at the fridge, she looks up and notices one cabinet still unharmed from her search. She had a feeling that nothing good can come out of that one. It’s the one people throw stuff into in hopes of forgetting where they put Aunt Ruth’s decorative yet hideous idea of a teapot she gave you 2 years ago for Christmas. Because God forbid if you threw the damned thing out. Yeah, it was that cabinet. The continuous growling of her stomach had made the ultimate decision for her.
Charlie jumped up on the counter, grabbed ahold of the small square handles, and swung both doors open. “Shit” she whispered. On one side was a can of beanie weenies, expired by at least 6 months and on the other side a huge rat laid ensnared in a medieval death trap. Its eyes were bulging, straining against the sockets, ready to pop at a moment’s notice. Charlie had a decision to make and quickly before her stomach betrayed her and started to eat her spine.
“Botulism or Hepatitis?” Charlie voiced her dilemma aloud. What to do, what to do. She chanted in her head as she strummed her fingers against the cabinet doors, she sighed and reached in….
“Botulism it is,” and closed the door on the rat.
Byron looked up from the fire trying to hide the grin on his face and reign in his laughter. “By the look on your face right now, I can tell you paid a hef..hefty price for that meal.” Charlie barked out a dry laugh “You have no idea. Two words, Explosive Shits.” Byron began to laugh so hard that he tumbled off the pallets hitting his side on the ground beneath him. “Oww,” he said between clenched teeth as he tried to calm his laughter down. Charlie rose to her feet and closed the distance between them. “Serves you right” she laughed out at him. He looked up to her and saw pure amusement in her eyes. She could see the bruise start to form on his arm from hitting the concrete. “Suck it up buttercup” she said while kicking it lightly with the tip of her boot.
In just that instant, he could see a glimpse of the little girl underneath her many layers of emotional armor. The carbs of the meal finally doing her in, she did not attempt at stifling the yawn that threatened to dislocate her jaw. Byron took this as his cue. He went back in the storage area. He returned after scuffling about for a few minutes, producing several blankets. After some masterful origami folding, Charlie had her own pallet complete with a heavy cover. Like a teenager exhausted from an all-night sleepover, she poured herself into it.
She popped one eye open before she succumbed to her personal blackout. “You’re a nice guy Byron. Just make sure you stay that way.” She yawned again. “I wouldn’t want to get all stabby with you . . .” She trailed of and out into Neverland.
Byron shook his head. He did not have a violent bone his body, at least none that he was aware. He suppressed a shudder, wondering what these zombie walkers looked like. If they were as dangerous as Charlie had suggested. Not knowing whether these things could turn door handles or not, he remember the old adage from Shakespeare. Discretion is the better part of valor.
He walked over, latched and dead bolted the front door before proceeding to secure all the windows. A final test push on the back door finished his security check. He was not going to let anything happen to his new acquaintance. He sat down on his own pallet, legs and arms crossed, looking like a swami. It was then Byron fell neatly into his role as the first watch.
(May 17, 2014)
When Jace’s eyes adjusted to the light of this particular “drop-in” room, as his captors affectionately called theirs, it looked dreary much like all the rest. The last room he was in the had cheap wood paneling with the vertical black lines, the kind of walling one could find in any trailer manufactured in the eighty’s. But this room topped the cake in the creepiness department. The room felt like a funeral parlor. It even smelled like moth balls and disinfectant spray. He coughed and spit down on the retro looking linoleum floor. He looked up on the wall
s and found several timer-run air freshener dispensing units. The air was thick with the miasma. Even the floor was not even carpeted. Everything about this chamber seemed to be dressed to stop the smells that came up from solitary.
Ellie pulled her brother up from the ground, scraping his hands and knees in the process. She slung his arm over her shoulder and maneuvered him as fast as she could towards the door. The antiseptic stench of the room was getting to her as well, and he knew she was trying to rush them out of it as fast as her little arms could do so.
“Jace,” Ellie whispered. Her voice was down to setting one. Almost mute. She leaned close to his ear. “We have to be extremely quiet. Our footsteps are going to echo and we don’t want that. It will draw their attention.”
Jace grimaced. “Get whose attention? The nurses? The guards? I owe them big for throwing me down there. Why wouldn’t I want to get their attention? I got some skulls I need to bonk for this?
Ellie stopped and leaned out to look both ways through the doorway down the corridor. She could almost feel the steam coming off her head in irritation. But he had no clue what was going on, so what little temper she had, it needed to stay in check.
“Shit, I think I might have hit your head a teensy bit too hard on the car door. I need you to remember this, you’re not at rehab anymore Jace. We’re at Mercy Hospital, getting supplies. And your revenge is gonna have to die on your lips because all those nurses, doctors and guards…well they are all undead.”
“What do you mean they are all dead? I mean, I heard there was some kind of ruckus up there, but I didn’t know what was going on. How could they all be dead?” He said while rubbing the goose-egg protruding from his temple.
Ellie pursed her lips and took a slow breath. Man, this was starting to become annoying having to explain again.
“I didn’t say they were dead. I said they were undead.”
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