He tries the back door, which is also locked. The alley is dark, seemingly pitch black after the bright lights of the town, and I wonder how the hell anyone can even see anything. “Mikey, get your ass over here.”
Mikey goes to the door and pulls out some little screwdriver-type things, fiddles around for a couple of minutes and manages to get the door unlocked.
Impressive.
I look at Emily, who looks exhausted and about to collapse at any moment, but she still smiles up at me. I loop my arm around her tiny waist as we go inside, and Mikey comes back to my side.
He offers me a small smile while putting away his little breaking-and-entering tools and swapping them for his badass machete.
Once inside, we clear the place of any deaders, only finding two strolling around like they’re on their fucking lunch breaks. Hey, maybe they were? One deader is wearing what was once a smart gray suit, with a blue tie to match what I’m sure were once his pretty blue eyes. These days, they’re more milky-colored and opaque, every bit the unfocused and confused deader. I realize that even a zombie car salesman has an arrogant air about him, as he dodges us several times before we finally whisk up his brain with a knife to the head.
My limbs feel like jelly, aching and weak from the exertion of the day. All I want to do is curl up and sleep for the next year. Actually, what I’d really like to do is take a long, hot shower, have a nice four-course meal, complete with chocolate fudge cake and ice cream, followed up with a nice cold beer; but I’ll take sleep over nothing.
We pass the light switches and Britta reaches for them. She looks to us and we all nod, shrug, and grunt in agreement. She flips the switch and the place is swathed in darkness. I swallow hard, the darkness making the noise seem louder than it actually is.
“Electricity?” Crunch speaks first, and I nod, but then realize that she can’t see me. The temporary light and now darkness has made spots flash in front of my eyes.
Britta flips a couple more lights and the forecourt lights thankfully go out.
“Let’s deal with this tomorrow. We need to rest.” JD leads us into a dark room, with a small window letting in only a glimpse of moonlight from outside. There’s an old couch in there, which I think Crunch is going to nab, but she doesn’t. She pulls the cushions off it, and hands them round for us all to rest our heads on. When she’s nice like this, I feel even shittier that I stole her…what? Fuckbuddy? At least when she’s being a bitch, I can hate her for it.
None of us speak as we nestle down into our makeshift beds—we’re all either too heartbroken or too exhausted. I guess there are just no words left to describe the horror and loss of the day. Emily lies as physically close to me as she can get before passing out into her own personal oblivion. I, however, struggle to stop thinking about the day’s events. It’s been non-stop since we woke up, and while my body is aching, sore, and tired from all the exertions, my mind is still active.
I lie there for a while staring up at the ceiling, listening to Emily’s soft breathing and feeling her warm breath on my neck. Every time my eyes close, an image of death flashes in front of me. Josie’s tortured face as she screamed at us to help her while being torn apart, the echoing of the dead’s groans, the gunshots from The Forgotten—it all seems too much to take in. How the fuck is this my life now?
I force my eyes to stay open for as long as I can, the constant images battering my brain every time the weight of my eyelids becomes too much. The last time I close them, I think I hear JD sobbing. I feel guilty that I am awake—this is meant to be a private moment for him—so I keep my eyes squeezed closed. And this time, instead of fighting a futile battle to eradicate the nightmares behind my lids, I surrender myself to them.
Twenty-Nine.
It was Emily’s breath that I felt when I slipped into sleep, and it’s Emily’s breathing that wakes me, the warmth of it making my skin clammy and uncomfortable. She’s still sleeping tightly against me, her face pressed against my collarbone. My own arms are wrapped around her, clinging to her fragile body.
I release my grip, slowly flexing out my hands to get the blood flowing back into them. I pry her face away from me and roll onto my back, staring once more at the ceiling. Light is filtering in through the small window, but not enough to wake anyone else, by the looks of things.
I blink my eyes, letting them adjust to the light and attempting to clear the sleep away. The ceiling is a light gray and speckled with drops of dried blood. I close my eyes against the sight; that is not the sort of thing a girl wants to see when she first wakes up. Or ever. I roll over onto my other side and see Mikey sleeping. I was in the middle of a Nina sandwich and I didn’t even know it. He snores lightly, his face smooth of worry for a change, and I can truly take in how handsome he is.
His lips are shapely and full. His hair is beginning to grow back again; short, dark hairs cover his head, giving him an almost Hispanic look. I realize that he probably is, and wonderment hits me that none of those things seem to matter anymore. Color, race, creed—it’s all the same to the dead.
I close my eyes and try to get back to sleep—who knows when we’ll get the chance to rest like this again?—but the urge to pee is rapidly growing, and I know that I’m going to have to get up soon. I ignore it for as long as possible, but after a few minutes the urgency is too much to bear, and I get up and creep out into the hallway.
I know that we cleared this place last night, and I know it’s safe, but it still gives me the chills walking around somewhere I don’t know. It doesn’t help that the place is gloomy as hell. I pass the light switches and give them a little flick, freaking myself out when they come on. I quickly turn them off and hunt down the toilets. The smell of the toilets makes me gag when I enter and once again my hand strays to the light switch. I flick it and the lights blink twice before staying on. I stare up at the fluorescent tubing in confusion: this just isn’t fucking possible. My bladder nudges me and I only just make it to the toilet in time, breathing a sigh of relief that I chose a toilet only half-filled with…well, you get the idea. I finish my business, and when I come out I automatically turn to wash my hands. The soap dispenser is still there, half-filled with dried-up pink gloop, and the towels are on the wall. I hesitantly turn the tap. There’s silence and then a groaning, the tap splutters, and eventually water splashes out of it and into the basin. I stare for a few minutes, amazed by the sight of running water, my eyes transfixed on it. I place my hands under the steady stream, biting down on my lip as the water runs between my fingers, and I smile.
I press the soap dispenser a couple of times, until eventually a hard lump of pink soap drops out of the bottom. This was once in liquid form, no doubt, but over the years it has hardened and solidified. However, after rubbing it between my palms under the water, bubbles finally form and I relish in the feel of having clean, floral-smelling hands. I shrug out of my black hoody and stare at my reflection, my tired eyes looking straight back at me. I look older than I should, worn down and exhausted. The yellow fluorescent tubes do nothing for my complexion either. Most of all, though, I look frightened. Fear settled in me the first day of the outbreak and has been there ever since, but it somehow seems more prominent today. My hair is a mass of dark tangles on my head, my skin pasty white and covered in dried blood and grime. My body is too skinny for my height. The image makes me want to cry, not because I’m vain and give a shit anymore about image and beauty, but because I feel like I’ve been dying on the inside for the past few years and now it’s finally showing up on the outside. A tear slides down my cheek, and I watch it making a little path down my dirty face, my eyes following its journey in the mirror. Down past my nose, around the corner of my mouth, down my chin, and…drip, off the end.
“You’re beautiful.”
My eyes flick up to Mikey and I stare at his reflection behind my own. His eyes are soft and full of concern.
“You should know me better than that, Mikey. I don’t give a shit about my looks.” I shrug
, the words coming out half-choked.
“I know you don’t,” he replies, coming forward and placing his hands on my shoulders, his face close to mine, “but I wanted you to know anyway. I think you’re beautiful. Since I first met you, I can’t seem to get you out of my head.”
He buries his face in my neck, and for a minute I think that he’s going to kiss it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he smells me, taking in a deep lungful of my scent.
“You smell like home to me,” he breathes against my neck.
My body quivers against the action, embarrassed—because let’s face it, I most likely stink—but surprisingly, my heart contracts at his words. Home.
“You know what they say about getting attached to people, Mikey,” I sigh under his touch.
“No, what?” He glances up at me.
“Don’t—because we all die in the end.” I swallow down my bitter pill. We have no home, and we’ll never be safe.
His fingers trail up and down my arm, drawing lazy circles across my flesh and giving me goose pimples. “Don’t talk like that. We’ll be okay, Nina.”
I make an agreeing noise, but don’t reply. He continues to stare at me in the mirror, and I feel self-conscious and finally shrug away from him.
“I told you I’d look after you both and I meant it. Nina—” Mikey puts his hand on my shoulder and turns me to look at him, his eyes pleading with me to say something, wanting me to say anything other than just ‘uh huh,’ but I’ve got nothing. My vocabulary has gone out the window, and the only thing I can think to say is the truth, what I really believe…
“Mikey—we’re all going to die, I’m good with that. I accepted it a long time ago.”
Mikey pauses for a moment before his hand covers mine. His eyes search my face for something, but he comes away unsatisfied. I pull away from him again. His forehead scrunches up. I know he’s not confused; I mean, deep down he believes that we’re going to die too. We all know it, we just don’t want to admit it. But you can’t escape this Armageddon. This is forever. I grab my hoody and slip it back over my head like the cloak of death.
“Come on, let’s get back to the others. Crunch will have a fit if she finds us.” I smile half-heartedly and hope that he will let it drop.
“Don’t do that.” Mikey grabs my hand. “Don’t try and change the subject. This is important, Nina. I want you to know that we’re going to be okay, that we’ll be safe.”
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t do that either,” he snaps.
“What do you want me to say, Mikey? Everything’s going to be all right? I don’t believe that it is, and you shouldn’t either. We’re all going to die. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it will happen, that’s a fact, so let’s not pretend any differently. The undead always win, and as if that wasn’t enough to contend with, now I find out that we have more goddamned humans to fear as well. I thought I escaped all that when I left…but I didn’t. We’re doomed, so get over it.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Well you’re stupid then. You weren’t behind the walls. You don’t know the horror I escaped from, and for what? This?!” I gesture around us. “What do you do when hell comes upon the world? Run and hide or stand and fight?”
He looks confused for a moment before answering. “Stand and fight, of course.”
“Ha,” I scoff. “Why?”
“To survive.” He looks even more confused.
“To survive? For what purpose? There’s nothing left, Mikey! How do you survive hell? There is no escaping hell. I’ll stand and fight by your side every day, but I still don’t know what we’re doing it for.”
He stands and pulls his shirt over his head. “It doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom.” He comes forward, his hand brushing my arm.
“Doesn’t it?” I shrug him off. “Josie died yesterday. That could have been any one of us. You, me, Emily.”
“But it wasn’t—“
“You go out there and tell that to JD and see if you still feel as high and mighty about it.”
“Don’t turn this around on me, like I’m the bad guy because I’m glad it was her and not you. Does that make me an asshole? Maybe, but I am glad it wasn’t you.” His lips pinch together as he moves to touch me again. “Look, I care about you, that’s all I was trying to say. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“No, you don’t even know me, Mikey. What you want to do is to play happy families, like this shit is just going to go away. Like we’re going to wake up tomorrow and have two-point-four children, work for the government, and bring home a nice fat paycheck. Well understand this: that’s never going to happen. The government abandoned us. Years later and the dead still rise; they surround us every step of the way. There is no happily ever after—not now, not ever!”
“Nina.”
Mikey looks hurt, and I know that I should shut my mouth now, but I don’t, I can’t. I don’t want him to get attached to me. That only leads to more pain.
“What? You think I’m a bitch, right? So what? That’s me.” My arms cross over my chest so tight I’m struggling to breathe.
Mikey shakes his head at me and throws his hands up in the air. “I give up, Nina. I can’t win with you.” He stalks away from me.
“That’s right, Mikey, you go on back to Crunch, she has less baggage than I do,” I spit after him.
He stops in the doorway and looks at me, his jaw grinding at his teeth as he tries to come back with a retort.
“You’re such a fucking bitch sometimes, Nina.”
“Didn’t I just say that?” I shout after him.
The door slams shut behind him, and I’m left feeling empty once more. I can’t even cry, I feel that sorry for myself. Sad, pathetic little me.
I get back to the room as some of the others are stirring. Emily is still fast asleep, but Britta is awake, though she isn’t looking too good—but hey she’s not dead, so that’s a small victory. Still, after what happened with Duncan I’m keeping her away from Emily and keeping my eye on her. Mikey has gone and sat with Crunch, but I refuse to acknowledge his presence even though I long to go over and apologize. JD has emptied out most of his pack and is sorting through his supplies while munching on another delicious ration pack. My stomach gurgles in response, as if sensing the injustice of another stomach but itself being filled. I root through my bag and pull out some of the cereal bars from Old Man Riely’s house. Damn, that seems like a lifetime ago.
My head is pounding from dehydration; I don’t remember the last time I actually had a drink. Emily is going to be thirsty when she wakes up too, I realize. I should have gone looking for a drink while I was up and about. Yesterday was too much for her—she’s still just a child; I think that we all keep forgetting that. I stroke a hand across her brow. How had she survived all this time on her own with no one to look after her? I care for her deeply, I suppose like a mother would feel toward a child—though I’m not her mother and a huge part of me doesn’t want to her to think of me as one. I want to be able to leave her here with the others and strike out on my own. I know that they will protect her, that much I do trust of them, but I also know that I am already too attached to her to let her go.
“Nina, come with me and Mikey. We need to find some keys for those cars out there and get the fuck out of this town.”
I look up at JD, nod and stand, all without saying a word, following both of them out the door. Crunch moves over to take a look at Britta’s arm as I leave, giving me a barely concealed glare as she does. I don’t care—she should be glad that I’m out of the picture, not even more resentful. We creep through the darkened corridors of the showroom and toward the front, keeping low and out of sight. Deaders are milling around outside, doing their usual deader thing of moaning and shambling and just being generally stinky. I wonder why no one has mentioned what happened to Josie. Why no one is talking about the elephant in the room, but when I look at JD’s face, his grim and determined expression tells me everything
I need to know.
A small piece of him died with her yesterday. His guilt for leaving her is eating away at him. I feel his pain, but it’s human nature to want to survive at any cost, and deep down he knows that he couldn’t have saved her anyway. I’ve been there. Worse, though, is that no one is talking about her, and I can’t help but wonder if this is what it will be like for me. When I die, will no one speak of me? Mourn me?
Thirty.
Lucky for us, we find a small cupboard full of car keys in the dead—um, re-dead—saleszombie’s office, and we pick through them all until we get several sets that look like they could be a good shot. Walking to the front of the showroom, though, we realize that that’s where our luck ends. The car yard is still full of deaders. Old deaders, new deaders, stripper deaders by the looks of some of them—though most deaders could be strippers by their lack of decent clothing these days. I shudder. They all look hungry and eager for a feast on some flesh, their emaciated frames withering away.
Marvelous. Just fucking marvelous.
We shuffle through the keys, choosing which ones supposedly go with certain cars. The keys all look the same to me, but JD and Mikey have gone all macho-men on me like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“Jesus, woman, how can you not see the difference?” JD snaps exasperatedly at me with a shake of his head, and continues to go through the pile.
I shrug noncommittally. There seems no point in arguing since they do all seem the same to me. Well, apart from the symbols on some of the fobs. I’m not completely stupid, I know that they’re the car logos, but Ben was the car man in our house; I just drove the damn thing and never really paid attention to this stuff. I always wanted a Ford Mustang for some reason, though, but it doesn’t seem like the time or the place to bring that up.
There’s nothing amazing in the lot, but thank God there’s something at least half-decent there. I don’t know what we would have done if all we had to choose from were convertibles. Can you imagine anything more horrendous than driving through a zombie-infested land with a drop top? Jesus, the smell alone would be enough to kill you, never mind the mindless zombies that would rip through your roof in seconds.
Odium (The Dead Saga.) Page 22