by M. D. Massey
It is a great find. To pay him for helping me, he can have the gas he rescued from my SUV. Even though I might need it since I have to find another car. I want to trust him, but a part of me is skeptical. Exteriors aren’t what they seem, never have been.
12
Over noodles, he explains how we’re in the middle of the woods. A spot he uses because he only gets an occasional roamer in this area. Fine by me, so I lie down and recognize my pillow from Rhonda the Honda. It was considerate of him to grab my things. I still don’t know how much stuff he retrieved, but I’ll find out tomorrow. I also put on clean clothes—jeans and a faded black t-shirt.
Rudy has a small nightlight plugged in the outlet, and it glows as the sun sets. I turn to my back and close my eyes. A soft strumming begins on an acoustic guitar, surprising me. Rudy’s playing low, in a pattern I’ve never heard before. It flows around the vault, hypnotizing me.
“That’s soothing.” I sigh. He pauses only for a second and continues when he realizes I didn’t mean to interrupt him. I fall asleep, feeling safe for the first time in four years.
I’m cozy and don’t want to wake because I’m so warm. I stiffen, noticing my limbs entwined in Rudy’s. My head rests on his shoulder, my leg circles his thigh, and I’m keeping my hand warm on his chest. Under his t-shirt, his chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, and a soft padding that can only be chest hair scrunches under my fingertips.
I untangle our legs. I don’t want him waking up and finding me like this. His body tenses when I lift my head. The next thing I know, I’m flat on my back as Rudy holds my wrists above my head. I must’ve startled him. He inhales close to my neck, causing my brain to fog.
“Good morning to you, too, darlin’.’’ His voice vibrates on my neck.
My eyes close as warmth spreads through my body to my nether regions, reminding me how long it’s been since I’ve woken up next to someone. I need to rectify the situation.. “I–”
He cuts me off when he raises his head. “Thought I was someone else?” He lets go of my wrists and sits up, kneeling.
“Um,” I definitely am not thinking of someone else. Not wanting him to know, but not wanting to lie, I shove my palms into my eyes to rub them and say, “Sorry.”
“You were cozy.” The way he says it makes my cheeks flush. When I glance at him, he’s grinning. Oh. He’s messing with me, which is the dash of cold water I need.
“Didn’t mean to get cozy with you,” I mumble.
He shrugs, not bothered by it. “Kept me warm. Don’t be ashamed. It’s a small space with one rinky-dink mattress. It only makes sense, but if it makes you uncomfortable, we’ll figure something out,” he says, trying to ease the situation.
I nod and eye the shallow bench above the mattress, padded, but short. With my body’s obvious attraction, I don’t think it’s a good idea sleeping next to him, but the bench looks even more uncomfortable. I sigh, knowing it won’t be a problem because I don’t plan on sticking around.
“I should go soon.” I bite at my cuticles. Maybe he can take me somewhere I can get a vehicle. Not knowing his plans keeps me from asking. Also holding me back is the fact I have no idea what I’ll do next.
He rises to peek through the small windows. “I want to show you something if you’re up for a walk.”
“That might be a good idea.” Even though my body is sore, I am ready to get out of here, to stretch my legs and calculate a plan.
We tread through a wooded area. Rudy seems to know where he’s going with no obvious path.
It’s a cool morning. The clouds droop in the sky, letting no sun through. I pull my black fleece sleeves over my hands. Rudy seems warm in his dark green, hooded sweatshirt and bandana. The enormous bow is strapped to his back.
I recognize it for what it is—a reflex compound bow. The technology of it gives great accuracy and speed. The bow’s anatomy is complicated with axels, risers, strings, and cables. The decoration is simple camouflage and a wood grip. I tried one in the old life, but it had been awkward. I love my pistol crossbow for its accuracy and simplicity. You shoot it like a gun. I should give the compound bow another try. It’s the more advanced weapon, and my pistol crossbow has proved unreliable.
Even with his bow, I’m sure he has a whole armory on him. I grip my crossbow and familiar machete, keeping a sharp eye on my surroundings. I won’t be caught unawares again. My pack rests against my back, and my hood’s up with my locks loose, covering me like a shredded curtain down the front of my body. They swerve and bounce around my breasts, stomach, and waist as I stumble after him.
“When we get back, we’ll need to leave. I’ve found a road into the heart of Clarksville. It’s dangerous with the amount of famished, but I want you to see what it’ll be like now, at a safe distance,” he whispers over his shoulder.
I nod, surprised to learn we’re so close to my destination. “You can drop me anywhere I can get another vehicle.” He stops, turning to study me. I blink, keeping my face passive. He gives no affirmation, his face blank.
We walk the rest of the way in silence. Mature colorful oaks, maples, and pines give way to a scenic trudge through the woods, bringing along a misty scent of damp forest. Trudging is hardly the word for it because he moves silently, stepping over things that would snap. He makes himself a part of these woods, dominating them like a predator stalking prey. The guy has a large build—big-boned and muscular. I admit he’s better scenery than any of the trees surrounding us. It’s surprising, with his size, to see he can move so furtively. He watches for any sign of movement. From time to time, he peeks over his shoulder as if to make sure I’m not falling behind. Maybe I surprise him with my ninja stealth skills. At one point, I raise my eyebrow at him, and he never checks after that.
We clear the trees about an hour later. Before us, a broken-down warehouse stands tall. I imagine it was broken-down before the outbreak. The red bricks and mortar are blackened and cracked in several places. Shattered windows line the top to light the inside of the warehouse. Rudy goes to a rusted door on the side of the building, alert. With the trail of worn-down brush, it’s obvious he’s been here before.
“Hurry, try not to make any....” He catches himself, trailing off.
“Noise,” I finish with a smirk.
When we are in, Rudy shuts the door with a loud screech and bolts it shut. We both cringe at the sound. The warehouse has an open space broken up by several pillars. Boxes and paper litter the place as a musty smell catches my nose. The concrete flooring is dull and cracked, settling into the earth. Dock doors occupy the right side. The farther I walk, the more this place smells like foul urine and mold. Maybe homeless folk lived in here before the outbreak. The opposite wall has a rusted staircase leading to the first floor landing with a door bent on its hinges. Even though it looks unstable and noisy, Rudy has no qualms using the staircase.
The door leads into an old office. The smell of mold is stronger, almost unbearable. The damaged windows visible from outside are cracked and boarded with a few boards missing. A couple of old metal desks sit between cloth-covered, cubicle walls, and I notice it’s the source of the mold. Broken windows, moisture, and fabric do not mix well. I resist the urge to put my shirt over my nose. Following Rudy to the window, what I see makes my heart sink.
The outskirts of Clarksville are destroyed. A strip mall across the street has fragmented windows with vines and weeds overgrown throughout. Motor vehicles of all sorts—the old rusted and the new shiny—sit randomly and closely on the street. Some block the sidewalks. There are trucks, luxury sedans, vans, SUVs, semi-tractors, and compact cars. Among these are groups of famished—there must be hundreds. They aren’t acting like famished zombies. They walk together, grouped. Occasionally, a small fight breaks out between them. Every few minutes they change direction. The moans and groans they make are in unison and unsettling.
They have the jerky movements of the dead. Every type of ethnicity is present, each special in their own, cad
averous way. The scene before me is ghastly. Splotches of blood scattered on them seem to be the only color in the whole surreal picture which is saying something because the blood is old and brown. It’s worse when the sun breaks through the clouds. They come alive with movement as if the sun energizes them. I know they can run, and can run fast. Dawning horror sweeps up my spine.
“Puppets being pulled on strings,” I whisper, not meaning to be heard.
“What did you say?” Rudy whispers.
“They look like they’re being controlled like robots. Why aren’t they in a frenzy looking for food?”
“You’re right. I’ve never thought of it that way. There’s nothing to be in a feeding frenzy about. The zombies at the army base are the same way.”
I look at him. The sun glints in his eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen them. When people say, “The eyes are the windows to the soul,” I had never understood until now. They’re hazel, like mine, but more green than gray. The bronze brown around his pupils is the color of his hair and it fades into an evergreen color then goes lighter to jade speckled with gray. Heavy with amusement and light, they cut sideways and peer at me.
I laugh. “Sorry, uh, your eyes are something else. I haven’t seen them until now.” I shrug and grin.
“Your eyes are the same color,” he muses with a slight raise of eyebrow.
I don’t know what to say, so I observe the unbelievable scene below us. I can see him watching me in my peripheral vision.
I decide. “And there are more famished at the base?” I ask, letting the previous subject go.
He’s still watching me when he speaks. “Yeah, many more, at least there were when I escaped their clutches.” He gestures outside. “They behave like that though, unless they see or sense us.”
“What’s your friend’s name?” I ask, thinking it will be a difficult rescue.
“Julie.” I open my mouth to say something, anything, but he does first. “We grew up together, even though we’re not the same age. She attended LSU and was living with me at my apartment. She’s all I got…”
I think about how close they had to be if this is true. He helped me, and I feel like I owe him.
“I’ll help you, if you would like. After that, I’m on my own.” I offer my hand to him. He seems reluctant, but he shakes it.
With that, I dig through my pack and boot up my laptop. I don’t know why I keep trying for a signal. It’s hopeless. I haven’t been able to connect since power went down in my home town. I know enough to know if I ever came close to a survivor who could keep a connection, I would get some type of signal for communication. It’s not like I want to use Google, but knowing there are people still alive keeping a network of ISP’s would be a comfort, even if they chose not to communicate with me. I’d also do better if I had a working LAN line in an area with power. My power cords are in the bottom of my pack, just in case.
No such luck—I knew I wouldn’t get anything from wireless. At home, even connected to power and satellite, all I got was “router failure” and “requested time out” on my screen. It was only because my family’s satellite provider crashed. I hope someone’s out there to restore power. I know deep down, all I have to do is find the right people and place. Civilization might’ve gone downhill, but technology is man-made. As long as there is someone out there who can do it, technology can survive an apocalypse.
Rudy said there are people. I don’t know how many, but it gives me extra hope that people all around the world are still alive. We don’t have to reverse a hundred years. We have the resources to keep it going.
I sigh and realize Rudy is observing me, curiously. I shrug. “Never know unless you try.” I shut down and shove the laptop in my pack. He raises his eyebrows. I explain my theory on modern civilization.
“Makes complete sense. If it makes you feel better, I’m sure someone is out there.” He looks lost in thought.
I clap my hands and change the subject. “Time to figure out a way to get into the base.” I jog the steps, eager to be out of the smell. I barely hear him behind me. He grabs my shoulder before reaching the door. With a finger on his lips, he puts his ear to the door and listens. He unbolts it and peers out, jerking his head to let me know all is good. The fresh air hits me like cool water down a dry throat. I breathe in huge gulps.
We dash into the tree line, only to find the famished kick up in sudden aggression when they see us. They are headed for the cover of trees, away from the sun. We’re roughly seventy-five yards ahead of them, but we’ll wear out way before they will. Shrieks split the air. I grip my weapons, at the ready.
Rudy’s eyes widen at the sight of hundreds of famished dashing toward us. “Fuck! Run!” he growls, urging me forward. I notice he has a gun out. Where did that come from? I run, but my body does not want to, feeling drained and hot. Now is not the time to be battling an army of zombies.
Any signs of stealth leave us, and I feel some kind of pride Rudy can run as fast as I can. He leads because I don’t know the way. We run for less than half the time we walked to get to the warehouse. I thought it’d take us longer to get back. My body’s familiar with running, but it’s screaming for me to stop, and I can only assume it’s from my injuries. My right knee pops, achy joints seize, and my leg muscles cramp. The truck’s through the trees, but my vision blurs, making me dizzy and I stumble.
I fall to my left knee, further injuring my right as it bends awkwardly. Picking myself up, my chest heaves. “My vision,” I explain while Rudy’s form blurs. Then, Rudy does something amazing. He slows to help me. I spare a glance over my shoulder and almost stumble again when I notice the famished have gained ground.
Rudy grabs my arm, bringing it over his shoulder. “Jump and hold on.” I do, but he does most of the work by hauling me piggy back, gripping my thighs. Where’s the gun? We might need it. Rudy slings his bow around my arm for me to carry, running like I’m nothing but a sack of potatoes. I hold on, dizzy and light-headed. His hair blows in my face as he runs. Something snags my jacket from behind, followed by a snarl. Rudy jerks forward and out of the famished’s grip. I maneuver and slash at the zombie with my machete, catching two of them in one swipe. They fall, tripping other zombies in their wake and buying us precious seconds.
We arrive at the truck with no more problems. His breath heaves from running with me on his back, but he opens the passenger door and tosses me in.
It’s amazing because I have my pack and his bow, while gripping my crossbow and machete. He has the magic gun again and hurdles in on top of me.
Several bangs and screeches of frustration follow the slamming of the door. I scoot over, taking off the pack and bow. We both sit breathing while the truck rocks.
My vision swims as blood pounds in my head. I ask, “What are we doing?”
A smile splits his face. “Taking on the dead, darlin’.”
“No, I mean what are we going to do?” I clarify before returning his smile.
“We better go before they cover us. They can’t get in or do any damage, but I don’t want us to be living needles in a zombie haystack.” He climbs over me. I catch a whiff of leather and sweat.
Starting the truck with a key from his pocket, he drives off. The truck being tall and having nothing to grab, the famished are easily knocked abroad. I’m relieved we got away, but ashamed he had to pick me up and carry me.
I stare out of the window and have no idea where we’re going. It’s crowded in the cab with my boxes. I find a comfortable place for my legs as my body aches in waves.
“You okay?” he asks when his blood pressure presumably returns to normal.
I shake my head, laying it against the seat.
“I’m sorry.” He pulls off his bandana to run a hand through his hair. “If we would have waited five minutes, I would’ve seen them headed into the woods from the windows.”
My head shifts on the seat to look at him. “We would’ve been stuck in the warehouse for God only knows how long. Bes
ides, I’d rather face hundreds of zombies than the stench of piss and mold.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, revealing a dimple.
At some point, I fall asleep, and when I wake, my body’s worse. Dragging, now I know my original recovery time is extended. After Rudy inquires about food, I eat what he gives me without tasting it. We’re in a parking lot at an old gas station off the highway. I can’t believe how bad I feel—normally, I would feel the need to pinpoint our exact location.
I take another short nap, this time in the vault. Rudy can tell I’m not feeling great and doesn’t talk so I can rest.
When I wake again, the sky darkens and the air’s chilly.
“I don’t think we should leave,” I suggest as I open food, willing myself to be better. “We don’t have a plan.”
“Yeah. You might be right. About a plan, I’ve been thinking there might be a way I can get some people to help.” He hands me some Advil, and I take it. “I can tell you don’t feel well. I know that’s why you faltered back there. You need to sleep more, and we can worry about the rest later.” He’s shaking his head at me.
“Yeah, sure.” I smile and lift a can of beans for him. I don’t know what to think about getting help, so I say nothing. I want to feel better. My head’s hurting. “Thanks… for helping me.”
He shrugs. “I’ll add it to your debt.” He smiles and I see a flash of something that evaporates. He takes the beans and clears his throat. “I don’t know how we can pull this off.”