They’d waited until nightfall to leave the farm. When they did, the zombies didn’t notice the RV moving down the road and past them.
Frank and Sammy quickly realized that their best chance for their future survival was in the heavily populated areas of the mid-Atlantic region and New England. While more people meant more of the living dead to contend with, Frank’s reasoning was that more people also meant more survivors and a greater chance of food supplies. It made sense. To flee to less populated areas, thus diminishing the zombie risk, meant less available supplies they could scavenge, and less food.
Plus, there was the very real chance that, once winter set in, the zombies would freeze.
They lost Gus and Robert in that melee in Kansas City, and then three months later, they lost Frank and Jason just outside of Memphis, Tennessee, while foraging through an abandoned grocery store. The place had been deserted–Sammy was certain it had been, otherwise, they wouldn’t have gone inside. They’d walked through the shattered front doors to see what could be taken, when they’d been ambushed by two men who’d set up shop in the grocery store’s storage area. They were passing the meat counter when the two men stormed out with axes from the storeroom. One of them swung his axe and Sammy ducked back in the nick of time. The man surged forward in his attack and pushed Jason, who fell into a stack of wood, much of it from a ragged hole in the building’s ceiling. Jason’s ear-piercing screams shattered Sammy’s senses the moment the second man swung his axe and Frank’s head was detached from his shoulders and went flying through the air.
Despite the attack being so sudden to all of them–even Melissa was caught off guard–they’d reacted quickly. Sammy and Olivia had pounced on the man that had pushed Jason into the pile of wood and killed him instantly, and Melissa took down the one that killed Frank.
Sammy had taken care of Frank, then had knelt by Jason and closed his now dead eyes. He’d fallen directly on a sharpened, thick stick of maple that had been jutting out from the pile of wood; it had impaled him through his back. The stick’s tip stuck out through his chest amid a gout of black blood. “Jesus,” Sammy had muttered, feeling sick. Olivia had buried her face in Sammy’s shoulder, shocked and repulsed by the scene. The suddenness of what had happened, the finality of it, was overwhelming.
Frank’s death had thrown them all for a loop, but it affected Melissa the most. She’d been with Frank far longer than anybody.
Sammy drove the RV down 772 through the cold December night. This area of Pennsylvania was rural, small town all the way, and whenever they passed one town they drove through farmland, with occasional convenience stores and farm equipment dealerships, then hit the next small town. Abandoned cars were parked every which way, some crashed into each other. Olivia was sitting next to him in the front cab, looking out the windshield.
Sammy motioned up the road. “Gas station,” he said.
Olivia nodded. Sammy piloted the RV to the gas station and cut the headlights as they pulled up to the pumps.
“Do we need gas?” Melissa called out from the back.
“We’re down to a quarter of a tank,” Sammy said. He turned the ignition off and slid out of the seat. He reached for a piece of hose and a plastic ten gallon gas can behind his seat. “There’s a couple of vehicles here. I’ll see what I can get.”
Sammy stepped out of the RV and looked around. There was a red pickup truck parked near the air pumps. A blue BMW and a late model Ford were parked near the entrance of the convenience store, which was dark inside.
Olivia came out of the RV too. For a moment the two of them stood there, listening for any sounds. There was none, of course. There was nobody living to make any sounds. Nor was there any walking dead.
They walked to the parked vehicles at the entrance to the convenience store. The windshield of the BMW was shattered, the driver’s side door open. A body laid half in and half out of the vehicle. Sammy braced himself for movement and took a step forward. The body was that of a young man in business attire. He’d been shot in the head. Blood and rotten brains caked the entire front compartment of the vehicle.
“See anything?” Sammy asked.
“Nothing,” Olivia replied.
“Cover me.” Sammy got the door to the BMW’s gas tank open and unscrewed the cap. He snaked the hose in, moved the plastic gas can he’d brought from the RV into place. He placed his lips around the other end of the hose and began the process of siphoning gas.
He struck paydirt a moment later as a rush of fuel hit his mouth. Sammy spit it out and tilted the other end of the hose into the can as the gas began to spill out. He regarded Olivia as she returned from her brief inspection of the convenience store. “Several bodies in there,” she said. “Looks like they were shot. None were the walking dead. Looks like they were looting the place and somebody shot ’em.”
“Or maybe they got into a fight with another group,” Sammy said. “It happens. It happened to us, with Frank and Jason.”
Olivia nodded.
Across the street was a small mini-mall. From this distance, it was hard to tell what businesses it might have once contained, but Sammy made out the H&R Block logo and the words PIZZA a few doors down. Money and food. There looked to be over a dozen stores there, all probably yielding all kinds of stuff, anything from firearms to camping equipment to food, or what remained of it. Sammy wondered if it was worth it to even check the place out. Every time they came across a place like this, they were always too late. Other survivors had already picked them clean.
“There’s no survivors here,” Olivia said. She looked at Sammy.
“I know.”
All the gas was now siphoned out of the BMW. Sammy pulled the hose out of the car’s gas tank and picked up the can. The weight of the fuel felt reassuring. “We got enough to put the RVs tank at over half-way, which should give us a few hundred miles. C’mon, let’s go.”
They headed back to the RV. As Sammy refueled the vehicle, Olivia went inside to check on Melissa and Lydia. She came back out as Sammy was screwing the gas cap back on. “Melissa doesn’t think Lydia’s going to make it,” he said.
“She’s gonna make it,” Sammy said.
“How do you know?” Olivia sounded worried. “She’s really weak… and so pale… so thin.”
“She can hold out a little longer,” Sammy said. “It hasn’t been that long–”
“But she’s so young–”
“You’re the one who insisted we pick her up,” Sammy said, his voice firm. His eyes narrowed. “Remember?”
Olivia regarded him a moment. Sammy didn’t break his gaze. Olivia had felt sorry for Lydia, who they’d met in Las Vegas. Lydia was an obvious teenage runaway. But she’d been a good kid. She’d pulled her weight. Sammy was sure that with time, she’d be a great asset. But she was too young. Two months after they picked her up in Las Vegas and integrated her into their group, the dead began to rise.
Olivia stepped away and began to head inside the RV. Sammy reached out and grasped her arm. Olivia flinched, angry, and Sammy said, “Manheim Township is only a few miles from here. We’ll head over there, see if Lydia’s parents are still alive.”
“And if they aren’t? If there’s nothing in that house?”
“We’ll find somebody. We’ll drive to Lancaster. That’s a bigger city. There’s gotta be people there.”
Olivia didn’t say anything. Sammy could see the beginnings of despair on her face. “For our sake, I hope you’re right.”
****
They reached Manheim Township in no time.
They encountered very few of the walking dead. Most of the zombies they came across stumbled along in bad shape; most were a good six months gone, their flesh rotted and leathery, various body parts missing–a limb or two, a piece from a torso. A few were nothing but living skeletons with rotted skin and flesh still clinging to them, bones exposed in various sections of their bodies. What the hell would happen when winter was over and it began to heat up again? Would
their bodies disintegrate and rot further, leaving nothing but bones? How would they move about then, with no muscles? How the hell were they moving around now with so much muscle loss as their flesh rotted away?
These thoughts often occupied Sammy’s mind as he drove through the night to the next city, the next town. He kept trying to draw comparisons–he failed each time.
“Nice area,” Olivia said from the front seat. She tapped the GPS system on the dash–they were less than a mile away from the address Sammy had programmed in: Lydia’s parent’s place.
“Yeah, it is,” Sammy said.
They were entering a development called Woodland View. The development consisted of McMansions, most of them constructed by brick, some with elaborate designs, nearly all of them with three-car garages. Hell had reached the upper-middle class, too, with debris scattered about–car parts, a washing machine lying on its side by the curb, the handlebars of a motorcycle on the sidewalk, other odds and ends; strewn clothing, broken pieces of furniture, stereo equipment and broken computers. Sammy drove slowly down the street, making his way carefully around various household items and the occasional corpse.
“You see any walking dead?” Sammy asked Olivia.
“No. I haven’t seen any since we left the main drag into town.”
“I haven’t either,” Sammy said. He pulled slowly to the curb and killed the engine.
They sat in the RV for a moment, the silence deafening.
“Are we almost there?” Melissa asked. She was in the rear bedchamber with Lydia.
“The house is about four blocks away,” Sammy said. He motioned ahead. “Two blocks down, then we make a right, then a left. Should be the third house on the right. 272 Spring Meadow Road.”
“What if we come across–” Melissa asked.
“We haul ass back here,” Sammy said. He reached for the AR-15 between the front passenger seats. “And we remain armed.”
Olivia turned toward Melissa. “Can you get Lydia up?”
“I’ll try.” Melissa scooted back into the bed chamber.
As Sammy made sure he and Olivia were equipped for the walk to the house, the women’s voices floated toward him. Melissa sounded more together now, more like her old self. Maybe the hope Sammy had was beginning to rub off on her–he could feel they were close to saving Lydia. Her people were close by; they were doomsday preppers, they would have food, supplies, weapons. Being with them would turn the tide. She would have a chance at sustenance. She would get stronger. They would all have a chance.
Sammy waited for them at the side entrance to the RV. Olivia emerged first, then Melissa and Lydia. Melissa was supporting Lydia, who was fighting to remain conscious. Her eyes were ringed with black, her face was deathly pale. Sammy thought he could see her blood vessels beneath her thin, white skin. Her hair hung in damp clumps about her face.
“We’re almost there, Lydia,” Sammy said. He helped Melissa get Lydia down the steps outside the RV. A moment later, all four of them were huddling together in the cold, December night.
A cold drizzle was coming down. Four blocks away. They could make it if they got going now.
Sammy shut the RV’s door, not bothering to lock it in the event they had to hightail it back in a hurry. With Olivia on one side and Melissa on the other, they supported Lydia’s prone, barely conscious form, and trudged as quickly as they could down the street.
They were silent as they made their way through the development. If Lydia recognized the development as the one she used to live in, she showed no signs. She appeared to be trying to help them, moving her feet along, but she was mostly half-carried, half-dragged by Olivia and Melissa. Sammy kept in the lead, the muzzle of his rifle pointed ahead of him, finger near the trigger guard. Melissa had a high-powered sniper rifle strapped to her back along with her ammunition, and Olivia had two handguns in a holster she wore low over her hips. Her own AR-15 was strapped to her back.
Twenty minutes later Sammy slowed down. He motioned for the girls to stop. He motioned toward a house to his right, about two houses down. “This is it,” he said, his voice low.
They stood silent, watching the house. Lydia didn’t notice; she was so out of it, she looked like she was about to pass out again.
“You think they’re still there?” Olivia asked. “If Lydia’s right about them, they might have survived… might still be holed up in there…”
“They might shoot first and ask questions later, too,” Melissa said.
“That’s why we parked four blocks away and came on foot,” Sammy said. “We’re gonna have to chance it. Come on.”
He started toward the house.
The girls followed him. When they got to the house, they stopped.
The house was indistinguishable from the other McMansions on the block at first glance–it was large, two stories, with a three-car garage, a large driveway, and large picture windows in the front. The windows on the first floor had been boarded up. Trash was strewn along the lawn. Sammy saw no flicker of candles anywhere on the upper floors. The house looked dark, silent, empty.
Sammy started for the front door.
The women followed him, supporting Lydia between them.
Sammy could tell they were being watched. He sensed it the moment they stopped in front of the house. Somebody on the second floor, peeking behind the drawn curtains.
He stepped up to the front porch. The girls hung back on the front walkway, giving Sammy some distance. Sammy inspected the door, listening for any sounds within.
Whoever was inside was trying to be quiet, but he could make out their voices from upstairs. “… No, Doug…” “… but it’s Lydia… it’s her!” The sound of footsteps along the top landing, down the stairs…
Somebody coming to the front door.
From upstairs, a woman called down just as a spotlight shined down on the women. “Stay right where you are! Don’t move!”
Olivia and Melissa froze, Lydia positioned between them. Sammy braced himself for an attack.
Whoever had come downstairs was proceeding more cautiously. Sammy heard a round being chambered. Felt the person behind the door tense up.
Then, from upstairs: “Lydia!”
Bolts were thrown and then the front door was open and the muzzle of an AK-47 was stuck in Sammy’s face. “Hands in the air and do not move!”
Sammy did as he was asked. Despite the situation, he felt strangely calm. Everything was going to turn out fine. “It’s okay,” he said. “Your daughter Lydia is with us. She’s… she’s in bad shape–”
A woman appeared at the door, blonde hair tangled and tied back in a ponytail. She was wearing a dirty bathrobe, an oversized T-shirt, and gray sweatpants. She was brandishing her own high-powered rifle, but when she saw Lydia being supported by Olivia and Melissa, her hard-edge melted. “It’s Lydia,” she said, her tone on the verge of breaking.
“Put your weapons down on the ground,” the man barked at Sammy. Despite being in the shadows, Sammy could tell the man was large; he had the bulk of a man who used to lift weights, but had let his physique head south from inactivity.
Sammy did as the man asked. The man barked the command to Olivia and Melissa, and they set their weapons down too. “It’s okay,” Sammy said to the man, his voice soothing. “Lydia told us where you lived, we were just–”
“Doug, they brought Lydia back!” the woman said. She was at the doorway now, rifle forgotten as she held it nonchalantly. “They brought–”
“Amy, get back in the house!” Doug barked.
Something about the exchange got through to Lydia. She turned her face up to the house and something sparked in her eyes. “Mom? Dad?”
She feels it, Sammy thought. She feels it, and if she can just hold out until we can get her inside–
Olivia and Melissa had set their weapons down on the lawn and took a few steps toward the front door, Lydia supported between them. Lydia looked more alive and healthy than she’d looked in weeks–it was probably
the sight of her parents that did it. It seemed to give her hope, a new sense of energy.
“Sir,” Sammy began, hands still held out, “we aren’t here to hurt you. Swear to God, man. Lydia, she told us you guys were doomsday preppers. We just wanted to bring her back to you. That’s all.”
“Mom, Dad, is that really you?” Lydia asked. There was a new spark in her eyes. She was actually smiling–her face was completely lit up with joy.
The sound of her voice, that look on her face, was what did it. The man let down his guard. He moved the muzzle of the rifle away from Sammy’s face and stepped aside. “Get her in here,” he said.
Sammy entered the house. Olivia and Melissa were close behind him, supporting Lydia. The moment they were inside, the front door was shut, the bolt was engaged, and Lydia was enveloped in her mother’s arms. “Oh, Lydia, Oh God, you’re home, you’re really here!”
Sammy stepped back, watching as Lydia’s mother enveloped her daughter in a hug. Her father hung back a little, eyes sweeping over Melissa, Olivia, and Sammy, still brandishing that rifle. For her part, Lydia was doing exceedingly well. She was clinging to her mother, her shoulders trembling as she began to hitch her breath in the beginning of sobs.
“Are you friends of Lydia’s?” Her father asked.
“Yeah,” Sammy said. “We met her in Las Vegas.”
“Las Vegas?” Her father looked surprised. He turned briefly to Lydia with a look that seemed to suggest he was going to lay in on her, but he held back. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and sighed. “Man, I don’t know how to thank you guys, but… we’ve been worried sick about her since she took off. She never called us, and then when… shit started happening…”
Olivia appeared supportive. “I know,” she said. She laid a hand on Doug’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”
Better Weird: A Tribute to David B. Silva Page 17