Die Trying: A Zombie Apocalypse

by Ryan, Nicholas

  Harrigan glanced at me again. “Did I miss something between you two?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to answer – this wasn’t the time to go into it – but in the end, I couldn’t help myself. Somehow the words just spilled out.

  “Jed’s going to kill me,” I said suddenly, my expression as dark as the night. “My brother is going to kill me as soon as we get to safety.”

  Harrigan flinched in stunned silence.

  He gaped at me. “Are you serious?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  I sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  Harrigan leaned forward, and his voice was a hushed conspiratorial whisper. “Are you really serious? You’re not making this up?”

  “I wish I were,” I said, and leaned heavily back against the wall. I stared at Harrigan and held his gaze. “I mean it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I killed his wife and child,” I said, and my gaze went down to the bright little flame of the candle, and my mind drifted back to the first days of the apocalypse. I sighed, seeing the bloody horror in my mind once more – scenes of madness and terror that haunted me in my sleep.

  I glanced up at Harrigan. His eyes were wide, his expression confused.

  “Jed had been in prison,” I said. “Not for anything as simple as stealing candy bars, either. He was there for murder,” I said flatly. “It was an armed robbery that went wrong. He shot a man and did eleven hard years. He was released the day before the world went to hell and the zombie virus started sweeping down the east coast.” I took a deep breath and then went on. “I was supposed to look after his family while he was inside. He had a wife, and a baby girl. He went to prison before the girl was born. He’d never even seen her. I was taking care of them. I helped with the bills, mowed the lawn – that kind of thing,” I said carefully. “I was watching over them until he got out. He was on his way home – taking the overnight bus. I went to the Greyhound station to pick him up – and by the time we got back into town, we could see streets on fire and hear sirens. The cops had the roads blocked off, and the army was moving in a convoy of trucks and armored vehicles. There were helicopters swarming all across the sky. They were strafing the streets.

  “We tried to go round the roadblock. We went cross-country, but I crashed the car and we had to hike the rest of the way. It took us three days. By the time we reached his house, they were gone. His wife and child. The door had been broken in – windows smashed. We found blood on the walls, but nothing else.”

  “Infected?” Harrigan asked softly.

  I nodded. “I guess so. Or torn to pieces. I honestly don’t know. All I know is they weren’t there, and Jed blamed me. He blamed me for not taking them to the depot to meet him. He blamed me for leaving them alone. And then he vowed to kill me.”

  Harrigan shook his head. “But he never said anything to me. Not in all the time I was in that house with you. Not once. I mean, sure, I saw the way he looked at you sometimes, and I knew he had an attitude, Mitch – but I thought that was just a brotherly thing. You know. I had no idea he wanted you dead. Are you sure he’s serious?”

  I smiled wryly. “It’s family business,” I said, and my voice was tight and heavy. “It’s a feud. It’s between him and me. And yes – I’m sure he’s serious.”

  Again Harrigan shook his head. “But why didn’t he kill you there and then?” he asked macabrely. “If he blames you and hates you, why are you still alive?”

  “Because we were in the middle of bloody Hell,” I said. “He needed me. We found a car and got away. Made it as far south as this town before the car gave out. Made it to the house – and were there ever since. You see, he’s waiting. He’s waiting until we’re clear of the infected areas, or until the army gets control of the plague and starts to fight back. He’s waiting until he doesn’t need me anymore,” I explained. “That’s when he’s going to kill me.”

  “But, Mitch. That could be any time. It could be tonight or tomorrow….”

  I nodded gravely. “I know,” I said, and sighed. “I thought he was going to do it a week ago when you first appeared at the front door of that house, covered in blood. I thought maybe your arrival would be enough to convince him he didn’t need me. Now it’s something I have to deal with again. This new guy and his daughter – maybe he will think he now has enough support to make it to safety.”

  There was another long silence. It stretched out between us until finally Harrigan slowly raised his eyes.

  “That’s why he was suddenly looking at you like he wants you dead?”

  I nodded. “Maybe. Maybe he’s getting ready – preparing himself for the moment,” I said. “Each time we move, he thinks it brings us closer to safety – closer to the time when he can put a bullet in my head and take his revenge for the death of his wife and daughter. Maybe he’s out in that kitchen right now, planning my murder.”

  “Good Lord,” Harrigan said in an awed, horrified whisper. He stared at me hard for long seconds. “What are you going to do?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing,” I said, and then sighed heavily. “The truth is, I don’t blame him.”

  “But… you could…”

  “What?” I interrupted, and my tone was harsh – crueler and more abrasive than I had intended. “I could kill him first? Kill Jed?”

  Harrigan nodded, but said nothing. He was a Christian, and maybe his own question left him a little ashamed.

  The big man lapsed into tense silence, and we stared at each other for a long time. Maybe Harrigan thought I was using those moments to contemplate the idea of murdering my brother – but I wasn’t. It was something I had already dwelled on for days – weeks – when we had first stumbled upon the safe house and hidden from the zombie holocaust. God knows I am ashamed to admit that I had thought about it. I’d visualized putting the Glock to the base of Jed’s neck when he was sleeping. I’d thought about it constantly, trying to muster the will for a cowardly killing. But in the end, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him in cold blood, and I couldn’t summon the terrible hate and desperation needed for even the instant it would require to pull a trigger.

  Living with the guilt of my brother’s dead family was a weight like a stone. Living with his murder – for that is exactly what it would be – was simply too much.

  I shook my head slowly. “I can’t,” I said at last. I pushed myself away from the wall and stared at the ceiling. “Maybe the zombies will do it – but I can’t murder my brother.”

  Sudden soft noise drew my attention and my eyes snapped towards the hallway. The girl and her father were standing there, faces up lit by the candle cupped in the girl’s hands. They had both changed. The man was rolling up the sleeves of a checked shirt, and the girl’s slim frame was swallowed up by a thick woolen jumper and slacks that were a couple of sizes too large for her. She looked like a school-kid playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

  She came into the living room shyly and set the candle back on top of the television set. Her hair fell forward over her face and she scraped it back with her fingers and then perched herself on the sofa, legs together, hands tucked nervously between her knees. Her father dropped down to the floor beside her and sighed with weary exhaustion. He thrust out his hand at me.

  “Colin Walker,” he introduced himself, and then nodded at the girl. “And this is my daughter, Millie.”

  We shook hands – his grip was firm, like a mechanical claw. “Mitch Logan,” I said, and then nodded at Harrigan. “And this is Clinton Harrigan.”

  The men exchanged nods, and there was a moment of awkward silence. Then Walker glanced in the direction of the darkened hallway. “And who is the big guy? He looks like a thug.”

  I smiled wryly. “He is,” I said, “and he’s my brother, Jed.”

  More awkward silence. Walker cleared his throat. “What’s wrong with his face?”

  I sighed. “Well, his eyes are too close together, he’s got a
big nose, and his ears are a weird shape,” I said.

  Walker frowned. Clearly, the man had no sense of humor.

  “No. I mean his jaw.”

  “Infected tooth,” I said. “He’s had it for over a week. It’s getting worse.”

  “Have you tried to remove it for him?”

  I shook my head. “Have you ever tried wrestling an angry bull? There’s no way Jed is going to let anyone touch that tooth.”

  Walker’s expression became more serious. “Well it won’t get better by itself,” he said flatly. “If it’s not removed he’s going to get sick. He’s probably already got a fever. It will get worse.”

  Harrigan interrupted, his expression quizzical. “Are you a doctor, Mr Walker?”

  The man shook his head. “No, but I was in the military. I did some basic first aid training, and some not-so-basic first aid training. Nothing surgical – just the kind of stuff that might get a man out of trouble.”

  Harrigan nodded, then lapsed back into thoughtful silence. I stayed silent too. So, Walker was military, or ex-military at least. That made sense, and fitted with my first impressions of him back inside the hull of the wrecked helicopter. He looked like he was about to say more, but then seemed to stop himself.

  We sat watching the candle flame for a few moments and then I got to my feet. “Clinton, we need to get out of these wet clothes, otherwise we’ll have to deal with pneumonia.”

  Harrigan got to his feet. My clothes clung to me like a cold clammy second skin. I unwound the strip of cloth I had wrapped around my forearm and peeled off my heavy leather jacket. I wasn’t prepared to discard it, so I left it draped over the back of the television and let it drip a wet puddle onto the carpet. Harrigan shrugged out of his heavy coat, and then we carried a candle down the hall towards the bathroom.

  There were jeans that didn’t fit, shirts that were too big, and pullovers that were too tight. I came back into the kitchen looking like I had been dressed by a blind man from clothes in the children’s section of a department store. It was worse for Harrigan. Nothing fitted his big solid frame.

  Harrigan found cans of beans in the pantry and a can opener and spoons in the cutlery drawer. Jed was standing by the kitchen window, the curtains drawn an inch apart, and his face pressed close to the glass, watching the moving, swishing shadows of the night. He had a bottle of whisky in his hand. He must have found it in the pantry. I let it go.

  “The new guy has some medical experience,” I said to the broad shape of my brother’s back. He had found time to change out of his sodden clothes into jeans and a t-shirt that stretched across the muscles of his back and shoulders. “He says that infected tooth has to come out, Jed. He says it isn’t going to get better, and unless you do something about it, you’re likely to get sick. Real sick.” I braced myself for the onslaught, like a man who has just prodded a very big snake with a very short stick.

  Jed turned slowly round to face me. I could see the swelling around the side of his face quite clearly, even in the light from the candle. His face was dark. It was cold in the room, yet he looked like he was sweating.

  Fever.

  He cleared his throat and made a hideous face, filled with sudden pain. He nodded. “I know,” he said. He was suffering.

  I blinked in surprise. “So… you’re okay about it?”

  “No, I’m not fucking okay about it,” he snapped in a voice that was slurred and misshapen by the swelling. “But it’s gotta be done. Just not by you.” Jed stabbed his finger at me.

  I raised my eyebrow. “You don’t trust me?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well the new guy said he was military. He’s done some first aid…”

  Jed nodded reluctantly. He took a long drink from the whisky bottle. It was already half-empty. He held the sloshing contents up and showed me. “When I’ve finished this,” he said. “It’s anesthetic.”

  I nodded. I glanced at Harrigan, and he followed me back towards the darkened living room.

  Walker turned and looked up at me as I came back into the room. “I just spoke to my brother,” I said quietly. “He needs that tooth removed. Will you do it?”

  Walker nodded. “I overheard the conversation,” he said, and then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ll do it – if you can find me a pair of long-nosed pliers.”

  Harrigan handed the cans of beans, the can opener, and the cutlery to the girl. She took them without a word.

  “This place might have a work shed or a garage,” I said. “Maybe out the back. I’ll take a look.”

  I left Harrigan with Walker and his daughter huddled around the candles, and re-traced my steps into the kitchen. Jed heard me. He turned, stared hard at me, but said not a word.

  “Anything moving outside?” I asked, nodding at the kitchen window.

  Jed sucked in a breath, and grimaced with a sudden flash of pain. “Fucking everything,” he said. “The wind is still blowing and the storm is still right overhead. Everything is moving.”

  I went to the back door. It was locked, with a big brass key still in the key-hole. I unlocked the door and cracked it open. A blast of howling icy wind slapped me in the face. I couldn’t see anything. The night was pitch-black.

  “Where you going?” Jed asked suddenly.

  I glanced at him. “To find something to remove that tooth with,” I said.

  “From where?”

  I shrugged. “There must be a shed or a garage in the back yard,” I said. “It’s bound to have tools – maybe even things we can use as weapons. I’m going out to take a look.”

  Jed seemed to freeze for a moment, and I saw his expression change. It was like he was dealing with a split-personality disorder, not knowing which part of him would speak next. Finally he sighed, and stepped close to me. I could smell the fetid stench of his stale breath, mingling with the fumes of the whisky. But his eyes were clear and sharp. He reached into a low kitchen cupboard and handed me a flashlight. It was a long, heavy thing. I hefted it in my hand. It hadn’t been there when Harrigan and I had searched the kitchen for food and drink. It was the kind of heavy blunt object that murders were committed with. “Take this,” he said reluctantly. “I found it in one of the bedside drawers.”

  I flicked the flashlight on, and the beam cut through the night like a laser, seemingly brilliant white to my night-adjusted eyes. The flare of light bounced off the kitchen walls, illuminating the entire room. I flicked it off immediately and stared down at it, contemplating.

  “You were going to keep this for yourself, right?”

  Jed said nothing. He glared at me, his body bristling with defiance.

  “You were going to take it when we left the house, but not tell anyone you had it.”

  Jed said nothing.

  I pulled open the door and went out into the night without another word. I snapped the flashlight on for not more than two brief seconds – but it was enough to get my bearings. The light sliced through the driving, misting rain, and cast the back yard of the home under an instant flash like daylight.

  There was a small garden shed to my left, set against the side fence of the property. In front of me was level grassy lawn, studded with low trees and shrubs, tied to wooden stakes for support. In the far right corner of the yard was the dark brooding shape of a garage, connected to the side of the house by some kind of a concrete driveway.

  The garden shed was closer. The garage in the back corner offered the most likely solution.

  I hesitated – and then went left across the lawn towards the tiny garden shed.

  It ghosted out of the dark night, and when I felt I must be standing right in front of it, I cupped my hand over the lens of the flashlight to mute the glow and flicked it back on. I was still three feet away from the structure, and I had somehow veered further to my left than I had intended. I was just about to walk into the damned fence.

  I finally found the door. It was a thin metal thing with tiny plastic handles – a pair of doors that slid apart. I
slid the right-hand door open a couple of inches and clenched my jaw tight as the bottom of the door scraped on broken rollers. I paused – stood perfectly still – and waited for snarling sounds of death to fill the night.

  Nothing. Just the howl of the wind and the drumming of the rain on the aluminum roof of the shed. I slid the door open wide enough for me to squeeze into the darkened opening – and kicked a wheelbarrow with my shin.

  The shed was tiny – maybe six feet square. I cupped my hand over the lens of the torch once more and switched the flashlight back on.

  There was a lawn mower, a couple of cans of fuel, some bags of potting mix and dirt – and a shelf of gardening tools. I snatched at the tools quickly, but nothing looked or felt like pliers.

  I flicked the flashlight off and backed out of the shed. I left the door open.

  In my mind’s-eye I could see the big garage, and I veered back across the sodden muddy lawn towards the rear of the property until I felt hard concrete under my feet and knew I was standing on the driveway. I took short steps until I sensed a solid dark shape before me. Again, I used the flashlight only briefly. I was in front of a roller-door.

  The garage was wide enough for a single car. I skirted round the side of the structure carefully and found a door. It was locked. I tried the handle, and leaned my shoulder against it, but it remained stubbornly shut. I went back to the roller door and felt until my fingers found the handle and lock. I lifted. The door rolled up effortlessly – and silently. I lifted it no more than a couple of feet and then lay on the wet concrete and crawled into the dark cavernous space.

  The sound of the rain on the roof was deafening. The garage was empty. I smelled oil and fuel, but there was no vehicle. I flicked the flashlight on and swept the harsh beam of light swiftly around the interior.

  The garage was the kind of place where a very bored, or very old man spent his time. It was organized with military precision. Against the far wall was a sturdy timber work bench with a vice, and a drill on some kind of a metal frame. The wall was covered in all manner of tools, each item hung on hooks, within a painted outline, so that every piece went back in the right place and could be accounted for.