Those Who Remain (Book 3)

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  “Because she’s being an idiot.”

  “Ha! I knew it! We are following her.” I point a finger at him. “Gotcha!”

  With a roll of his eyes, he says, “Good work, Sherlock.”

  I smile, very proud of confirming my suspicions. “So what’s her name?”

  “Lily. Like the Lily of the Valley, pretty but deadly.” He adds in a lower voice, “I picked it.”

  “That’s nice. I like it.” Still, after hearing it, it bothers me a bit. “When we get there, are you going to apologize?”

  Jacob snorts. It sounds like a boar messing around in the dirt: dangerous if you get too close, but cute if you don’t provoke it. “No.”

  “You should. You should totally apologize and give her a hug for being pigheaded.”

  He looks at me from the corner of his eyes. “And you shouldn’t get involved in my business. We’re just following her. That’s it. Not talking. Not getting close. You understand?”

  His grim tone leaves no room for discussion. I don’t really get it, but he’s right. It’s none of my businesses. I won’t even be there when he reaches her anyway.

  “Okay, okay.” I shrug and slide down a little on the seat, resting my head on the window again.

  After that, Jacob isn’t in the mood to talk anymore, so I distract myself looking at the snow-covered pines. The inside of the car is now warm and cozy. If I’m hungry, there’s food in the back. I feel safe.

  Maybe I even feel happy.

  I fall asleep at the sound of a sax doing the “Jingle Bell Rock”.

  The car slows down and the change in speed jerks me awake. Heart racing, I look at the driver’s seat. Jacob’s still there, driving. It’s his frown that worries me. In front of us there’s an abandoned pickup truck parked on the side of the road with smoke pouring out of its open hood.

  “We can go around it. Right?” I ask, eyes fixed on the vehicle. I take one hand off the panel and point at the road. “We could turn back.”

  Jacob isn’t listening. “Now we’re talking. That’s better than this sardine can.”

  “But it’s broken. Just leave it.” Even I can hear the desperation in my voice. This reminds me of the supermarket and the thieves Peter and I encountered.

  Jacob parks the Smart car a good distance away from the broken truck. He takes a gun out of his jacket and places his hand on the door. In panic, I go to his side and hold him down by the arm.

  “Don’t go out there. It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap.”

  Jacob lets go of the door handle, turning to me. “Do you really think anyone would be out in the cold for hours waiting on a deserted road just on the off chance some car passes by?”

  I’m biting my lip so hard, I taste blood. “Maybe.”

  He frowns, but nods. “Alright. Let’s say this road, in the middle of nowhere, that didn’t even have that much traffic before all this crap, is the first choice of a group of looters living in the woods. So what?”

  “So, it’s dangerous! We should leave the truck alone and turn back.”

  Jacob shakes his head. “I’m not turning back. We don’t have the time. Lily is already two days ahead of us.”

  “Then rush by, full speed ahead?”

  “If they are this patient for prey, they probably have snipers. Our only chance is catching them off guard. We’re still far enough away to do that. Where do you think they’ll wait to ambush us?”

  I scan the scene. There’s nowhere to hide but among the trees. “Behind the trees? On both sides of the road?”

  “Good. That’s a good assumption. So, what would they expect us to do?”

  “If we park to check the truck, we stay in the middle of the road, where they have a clear shot of us.”

  “So we go into the woods and catch them by surprise.”

  “But which side?”

  “Both. We split up.”

  I shake my head and take a peek at the broken pickup truck. “I don’t want to go alone. We don’t know how many there are and I can’t shoot!”

  “If there were many, they wouldn’t need traps to get what they want. They would barricade the road instead.”

  Already my heart races. He makes it all of it sound so easy, but I stayed alive all this time by hiding and avoiding danger, not running toward it. I’m going to mess up.

  “Can’t we just leave it? Please?”

  He stares at me and for a moment I think he’s going to give up, but then he opens the door. “This is going to be good training for you. Keep your head down, gun ready, and don’t let them see you. If your side is clear, go back to our car and wait for me.”

  And he’s gone, moving like a ghost into the woods on the left side.

  I hate you, Jacob! You can’t just leave me like that, you... idiot! Crap!

  Scrambling to get ready, I pull out the silver gun and slide the barrel. There’s a bullet or whatever it’s actually called in there. I think. Shaking my head and trying to keep calm, I slide it again and notice the hammer ready. I hope this works. If it doesn’t, I’m gonna die.

  Oh crap, I’m so going to die.

  I open the door on my side halfway and slip away slowly. Crouched, I enter the woods on the right side. I check for the broken vehicle between the trees: it’s still there, untouched.

  Each step is like the end of the world. First, I crack a twig, then my steps are heavy and snow crunches below my feet. I feel like I have a big red target on my back. The closer I get to the broken truck, the slower I move. I’m practically a turtle, crawling forward inch by inch.

  I lurk behind the wider trees, hands gripping the gun. My fingers are sweaty and I keep checking the grip to be sure it’s not going to fall and fire back at me. Shadows and tall bushes scare me, but besides the stupid girl panicking over wind blowing, there’s nobody around.

  Maybe Jacob was right and this wasn’t a trap.

  The broken pickup is just to my left, behind the tree line. I bypass it to make sure nobody is waiting ahead.

  On my way back, something moves beside me and a group of bushes shake madly. I raise my gun, moving a step back without taking my eyes off it. My hand trembles. With heart racing, I wait.

  A rabbit jumps out of the bushes, scurrying away in a blur of gray. I let out a sigh of relief and a small nervous laugh.

  And then birds scatter above me.

  They are coming. I hear them growling, laughing. So close. Too close. Dark shadows move between the trees, bald, with clothes rotting away. There are so many. I’ve never seen so many at once. The nearest ones have no faces, just blobs with big black scabs all over them.

  I twist my body and race away back to the road.

  “Jacob! Jacob! They’re here!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

  I make the mistake of looking back: the monsters are out of the woods now, racing toward me. They’ve heard me. There’s a dozen or more, mouths open in a deadly grin. No, no, I should’ve hidden!

  Breathing hard, I look for our car, but it’s too far and I don’t have the keys to start it. Jacob, I really hate you, you stupid, grumpy old man!

  Their growls are close now, sending shivers all over my body. I’m too slow. My only chance is the truck.

  Forcing myself to run faster, I reach the truck’s front door, swing it open, and slam it. I close my eyes for a second, filling my lungs with air again. Then I feel it: a cold breeze on my cheek and the foul smell of rot and vomit.

  The window is open!

  The guy’s hand grabs air as I scurry to the other side of the car, hitting my back on the driver’s door. He yells and screams, half of his body already inside. I search for the handle with my hand while watching the sides. There’s no way out. The crowd has already reached me from both directions. They bang against my window with their filthy hands.

  I’m stuck. I’m stuck and I’m alone and I can’t aim.

  The monster crawls forward, arms extended, fingers flexing to catch me. His left eye is bloated, eyeball practically poppin
g out. Hair falls down on the seat along with pieces of clothing and drips of blood as he crawls in my direction.

  I kick his face, but he holds down my left leg. Mouth open and salivating, ready to bite me.

  My shaking hands rise, both holding the gun. Please, please work.

  I pull the trigger hard. The shot fires. I hit his shoulder and he grunts. I pull the trigger again. And again and again in a series of loud blasts.

  He stops moving, blood spurting from his skull and shoulder. I shake him off my leg, panting hard.

  There’s no time to rest: another one—a woman this time—tries to climb inside. Desperate, I yell and push the man’s body to block the open window. He’s bigger and taller than me, and I have to use all my weight to keep him from falling on me. The woman keeps pushing back. I hear a loud crash behind me.

  They’ve cracked the other window. This isn’t going to work.

  My eyes race for anything to help me.

  The seat belt.

  While one hand holds the body, I stretch my arm to grab the belt behind the front seat. It’s far, but I manage to grab it and pull it.

  With my shoulder now pushing against the monster, I use my other hand to open the glove compartment and shove the seat belt in, closing the latch after it.

  It won’t hold the zombie for long.

  Using the butt of the gun, I smash the back window. Or, at least, I try to. I hit it again, but manage only to crack it.

  Oh, duh! You dummy!

  I aim and shoot at the glass repeatedly, emptying the magazine—or is it called a clip? It’s very confusing. Then I kick the part of the window that’s marred by holes and create an opening I can fit through. On my way out, pointed pieces of glass rip my pants and skin. I yell in pain but keep going. Bleeding, I fall onto the hard metal bed with a thud.

  Pushing myself up, I take a deep breath. My eyes water from the pain. There’s no escape: they surround the pickup from every side.

  Now what, Laurie? You’re still dead.

  Cursing Jacob for leaving me, I climb to the top of the truck and kick the hood down to see the front of the road.

  An engine roars and speeds in my direction. I turn. There it is: the yellow mini car bursting through the crowd, pushing the monsters out of the way.

  Jacob stops right in front of the hood and rolls the window down. “Come on! Jump in!”

  I don’t have time to say how stupid that idea is, I just run and jump, hitting my shoulder and side against the wheel. While I twist my body to sit down properly, Jacob shouts at me again from the passenger side, “Close the window, close it!”

  Teeth still rattling from the impact, I press the button. A hand with black fingernails hits the glass just as the window closes. Crap! That was... Crap. Again.

  I place my hands over my ears as the car vibrates and shakes with loud kicks and punches.

  “Come on! Step on it!” Jacob shouts at me, hands on the door and panel.

  “What? I don’t know how to drive!”

  “What’s there to know! Just step on it!”

  “Fine, don’t yell at me!”

  “Then do it!”

  I yell as my right foot hits the pedals. I don’t even know how I do it, but the car races away, bumping against bodies and shaking all the way out of the crowd. My hands freeze around the wheel, eyes fixed on the front of the car, and my entire body shakes like crazy.

  “You can relax now. They’re gone.”

  My neck is stiff and won’t turn to look at Jacob. I’m stuck in the same position, completely in shock. I let out a long whine that sounds like a dying dog, I guess.

  “What just happened?” I whisper, tongue numb.

  “You survived and, apparently, learned how to drive.” There’s amusement in his voice. He’s amused.

  I step on the brakes, burning rubber and shoving us forward. “You left me! You just disappeared!”

  “No. We covered more ground and more quickly by splitting up.”

  “It’s the same thing!” Sniffing, I pass a hand over my eyes to dry them. I can’t believe I’m actually crying for, like, no reason. I hate it.

  Ashamed, I look down and try to stop the sobs. It doesn’t work and I start hiccupping instead. Finally, feeling the pain from the cuts in my arms and legs, I cry even harder. There’s no stopping it now.

  I hear a door open and then Jacob opens my side too. “Turn around,” he tells me while kneeling down on the road. “Let me see.”

  Gently, he extends my arms forward to see the damage. Small glass fragments pierce my skin and clothes. Cuts and slashes have ruined my pants. I’m a mess. I feel like a mess too.

  “Was this your first time seeing an infected so close?”

  I barely manage to shake my head. “No. This is stupid. I don’t wanna cry. I’m not scared. Back home—back when...” Sob after sob, I feel my nose running, but can’t do anything. Even lifting my arms hurts. “My parents left me alone. And a looter got in. He turned into one.”

  “But you survived back then. I bet you cried too.”

  I nod. My head is heavy, aching.

  “That’s because of the adrenaline rush. So no need to feel ashamed. This is normal. It doesn’t mean you’re weak. You just survived one hell of a thing. Your body ignored every sensation to make you ready for a fight, and now it’s releasing the tension, which means everything is going to hurt.” He lifts my arms slightly. “Especially these.”

  The explanation at least calms me down enough so I can look at him properly. “Okay.”

  He goes to the back of the car, opens the trunk, and comes back with a bottle of alcohol, Band-Aids, a small towel, and tweezers. “This is going to hurt, but don’t move or it’ll hurt even more.”

  Each shard of glass comes out slowly and painfully, but I try my best not to shake too much. It feels like hours before Jacob finally takes out the last one and we clean the wounds. After that, we trade places so he can drive. Moving any part of my body is still uncomfortable, but at least I’ve stopped crying.

  Tired and sore, I squirm in my seat, trying to find a good position to rest in. Jacob drives slowly on the slippery roads. There’s an awkwardness to our silence.

  Despite his words, I do feel stupid and mad. At myself, but at him too. And the thing is, I don’t know why. He’s not my dad. He’s not even my neighbor or friend. We are just strangers. Why would he care if I’m afraid of being alone? He doesn’t owe me anything.

  “You should be proud of what happened,” he says later, “You’ve got what it takes to survive. Maybe your parents knew this. They knew you would be fine.”

  Something clogs my throat. I shouldn’t have told him about Mom and Dad. “I... I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Some kids, they’re better off without... Well.” His voice is strained like he’s choking the words out by force. I don’t understand why he keeps talking if it’s like pulling teeth. Apparently neither of us wants to say anything more. “Don’t let that weigh you down. Whatever happened, whoever they were, they cared for you.”

  My cheeks are hot and I want to jump out of the car or close my ears to pretend this conversation isn’t happening. Still, I answer in a whisper, “If they did care, then it means they wanted to come back but didn’t. So they’re dead. And I have nobody else.”

  We ride on in silence. Maybe he didn’t hear me. Maybe he did. Either way, I fall asleep and dream of hiding in the dark closet back home.

  THE HUNTRESS XIV

  January 22nd, Friday, 10 am

  I fidget and pace around, still too wired from the interrogation. The room they gave me is small, tight. A tiny desk and chair stand next to the bed; cabinets filled with linens, sheets, and extra pillows hang above it. On the other side, the door to the bathroom shares space with a wardrobe. It’s bearable. If I wasn’t so bitter about Irons and the knife, I might even say it’s comfortable.

  Before I drill a hole into the walls with my eyes, I finally decide to shower. The CDC uniform is cle
an, and that’s the best thing I can say about it. At least I won’t smell like a wet dog anymore.

  As I finish dressing, someone knocks on my door. It’s a shy knock, followed by Roger’s voice. “Lily? Can we talk?”

  I get up and let him inside. Already changed and cleaned up, Roger seems to be back to normal—he trimmed his light, ashen brown hair and shaved, so his square jaw and cheeks will feel soft again. The white uniform with orange stripes doesn’t fit him, but at least he can meet my eyes now and doesn’t fidget as much. He finds a seat next to the small desk and takes his time before talking. Usually, I would try to fill the silence, but right now I have a feeling he’s here to talk about the knife.

  “Nice to take a shower after all this time, right?”

  I nod, knowing full well he’s avoiding the real subject of this conversation. We both are. “I guess.”

  “Lily...” He sighs. Dammit, here we go. “I saw what you did with the knot back there, and I know it was to distract the guard so you could hide a weapon. That could’ve ended badly, especially for Danny. He could’ve been killed.”

  “But he wasn’t. He’s okay.” I can already feel the adrenaline rising. If I had the knife with me right now, I could argue the risk was worth it, but since I don’t, I can only feel the sting to my pride all over again.

  He rubs his newly shaved jaw. “It was dangerous. You can’t do this type of thing again. It’s too risky. Promise you won’t do it again. Please.”

  “What else should I do, then? What else can I do? How can I make sure we’re safe without any weapons? What’s stopping any of these people from hurting Danny? From hurting you?”

  Roger sighs. “Why would they? Give me one reason you think they aren’t trustworthy.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “This isn’t about them.”

  “Then what?”

  We stare at each other for a bit. He doesn’t get it. He has no idea how this feels like for me to be exposed like this, with no control over the situation. My anger deflates somewhat, giving way to resignation. “It doesn’t matter. Irons took the knife.”

  “She did?” His shoulders relax. “That’s good.”