by Siara Brandt
Right now his senses were telling him that he was cold. That he was tired. And that he was hungry. On the bright side, at least he had found some better footwear. Gone were the expensive Fratelli shoes. They had been replaced by comfortable leather boots. Boots he could run in. Those dress shoes had almost cost him his life on more than one occasion. But his bleeding blisters were healed now and he could run when he had to without the excruciating, crippling pain he’d endured for weeks after this had all started. All that jogging had finally paid off.
His business suit had also been replaced by sensible shirts and pants and a hodgepodge of protective armor that he had devised himself. Pieces of thick leather that would protect him from bites encased his arms and legs. He wore gloves at all times, too, and a leather shield around his neck and chest. He didn’t care if he looked like some kind of ragtag biker. A zombie apocalypse tended to shift your priorities in life. Fashionable attire was the last thing on his mind.
Of course he had made the decision to give up drinking entirely. Even one glass of wine could dull the senses enough to have disastrous consequences. But sometimes, what he wouldn’t give for a single glass of alcohol of any kind. He wouldn’t be picky. Anything would do. Something to warm him and take the chill off for a while.
His rain-damp clothes under the leather made him shiver suddenly. Violently. And to immediately long for and appreciate those quiet evenings in front of his fireplace that were just a memory now, while he sipped a glass of Cabernet-Shiraz. He might long for those things, but there wasn’t anything he could do to change any of it. He’d try to find some dry clothes downstairs when it was safe. And then he’d eat the soup, which was the first and foremost thought in his mind. Being chilled and hungry for long periods of time, he had learned, could quickly sap your strength and wear you own physically.
He had been a survivor in the corporate world by using his brains. It was no different now. He just had to adapt to a different kind of dog-eat-dog world and hope the worst black swan event that the world had ever known would eventually have some kind of survivable resolution in the end. Until then, he had to make the best of things. He had to be smart.
He straightened and tilted his head to one side to listen. The sound of footsteps was muffled by the sound of the rain on the roof above him, but someone was definitely still walking around downstairs.
A door creaked open. Loudly. He didn’t hear it close again.
When he saw the dark shape of a man walking across the yard away from the house, he let out a relieved breath. His luck seemed to be holding out. He had avoided a confrontation. Maybe a violent one. Maybe a deadly one.
He whirled around, looking over his shoulder to make sure there was nothing in the attic with him. He had suddenly experienced that flesh-creeping sensation of feeling like he was not alone, that something unseen was watching him. But no one was there. His eyes darted around the dim attic. Nothing was moving. And nothing was skulking around in the shadows or hiding behind any of the boxes as far as he could see. There was nowhere else to hide because it was just one big, long, open room.
He stepped slowly forward and leaned toward the big window. He felt safe doing so now because the windows were so dusty and so dirty. Probably no one, even if they were looking, could see him. The attic was darker than it was outside.
There was no sign of the man out there. Or anything else. He leaned closer. That’s when he saw it.
It was hanging from the rafters, not five feet away from him to his right. It was far back in the shadows under the eaves, but it was definitely dead. He saw that right away. One leg was tangled in a loop of wires. And it was staring straight at him. With what was left of the eyes. If those black hollows actually held eyes. They were surely mostly gone, but not the teeth and not the hair. Desiccated by the scorching heat of summer and probably preserved by freezing winter temperatures, it hung there mummified. He didn’t know if someone had put it there or if it had died there on its own. Was it a rat? No, by the look of the long, furred tail, it was a squirrel. Or it had been a squirrel.
But those questions only came after the initial jolt of adrenaline caused him to cry out and take an involuntary step backwards. At the same time, his foot crashed through the rotted floor boards.
He had wrapped her foot with rags, just like George Washington’s soldiers had done when they were barefoot in the snow. Just like General Lee’s soldiers had also done when they had no footwear. He knew that proper footwear was important. He also knew that it was soldiers looking for shoes that had led to the battle at Gettysburg. Thayer had told them many stories of the American Revolution. And of the Civil War. Seth had tried hard to be brave. Just like Thayer who had told them that there was never a right time for heroes to give up. That you kept fighting, even when you thought everything was hopeless. Even when you were so scared you couldn’t think straight.
And they had been scared. They’d been so afraid that they’d travelled most of the night, resting only briefly when they were able to do so. Hiding when it became necessary. They tried to keep to the woods, but there were so many of the deads wandering around there that it became too dangerous. They kept running them out of every place they tried to stop.
They had a little food left. And a single bottle of water. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the day if they rationed it out carefully. Even at the age of eight, Seth knew all about rationing. Unfortunately, he also knew about hunger and thirst.
But there was no time to think about food or about hunger. A dead came out of the woods. It was followed by two others. They were terrifying, gruesome-looking deads that spotted them right away and headed straight for them. Kesi didn’t scream. She knew better.
Seth grabbed his sister’s hand and pulled her to her feet. In their haste, they dropped the small packet of food, but they didn’t dare go back for it.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Sidra already had her hand on the doorknob. She hesitated but she didn’t turn around. “I really don’t think there’s any point in us wasting any more time arguing about this.”
“Who’s arguing?”
He was right. He wasn’t arguing. He was telling her what to do. And that was the problem.
She stopped and turned around to face Lawton Quaid squarely. She was not going to let him intimidate her. She stared at him for a moment before she said in a low, deliberate voice, “I think it’s best if we- ”
“Don’t open that door.”
Law saw her back straighten. He was becoming familiar with the gesture. His words had come out a little harsher than he had intended, but she needed to stop fighting him. Even if he had to make her stop.
“Dammit. Listen to me.” Without saying another word, he stood up from the cot and moved towards her.
With her back against the door, she froze there and stared up at him. She had been alarmed by the tone of his voice, but that didn’t keep her from glaring hard at him from beneath her lashes. “Are you really going to try and force me to stay?”
“If I have to.”
For a few moments she didn’t seem to know what to say. But she quickly recovered. “You’re wrong if you think you can order me to do anything. I have no intention of obeying any man on command. Not anymore.”
Law noted the anymore.
“So I noticed,” he said under his breath. “But this isn’t about obeying anything,” he went on. “This is about staying alive. I think we could both agree that that’s the important thing here.”
“You think I’m not smart enough to realize that?” she asked a little breathlessly. “You think that I- ” She immediately broke off what she had been about to say. There was a loud crashing thud outside, followed by a familiar snarling sound.
Law didn’t say anything. He just stood there, calmly looking down at her while he slowly crossed his arms over his chest.
“Still want to open that door?”
His raised eyebrow and his deliberate sarcasm made her clench
her teeth and tighten her hands into fists at her sides. In an undertone, she lashed out verbally, “What exactly do you want from me?” All her frustration was behind her words.
“I want you to stop being so stubborn and realize that you can’t make it without me.”
“You’d like to believe that.”
“I can assure you, it would be a lot easier for me not to believe that.”
“Really,” she said coldly. Obviously she didn’t believe a word he was saying. Or maybe she couldn’t let herself believe that.
Their stare-down ended abruptly when something thumped against the door behind her.
She jumped, moved away from the door and whispered in an accusatory tone, “You- you didn’t even ask first.” Then she waited, listening, but whatever it was must have also moved away from the door. Maybe it was the zombie from last night. The one with the sprout growing out of its eye. Maybe it was a different one. “You just assumed you could order me around,” she went on.
“Would that have made a difference? Asking first?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
He remained silent, his expression not telling her anything about what he was thinking. Not that she cared what he thought. His opinion wasn’t going to make any difference whatsoever in her decisions.
“If you will allow me to- ” He exaggerated the word. “I’ll help you get back to your family. Someone has to make sure you don’t get into any more trouble. And believe me, there’s plenty of trouble out there between here and Lacombe.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “How do I know you don’t have some kind of ulterior motive?”
“Like what?”
She didn’t answer him. She turned her face and remained motionless while something scratched on the wall by the window.
“Hear that? Those predators that we share the world with are just part of the reason why you need my help. If I hadn’t been there last night, you know damned well you wouldn’t be here arguing with me right now. I saved your life last night. You gotta know that.”
What he said was probably true, but she couldn’t help reminding him, “And I saved your life last night, too. If you’ll recall.”
“So you did.” He ran a hand along his unshaven jaw. Maybe he was a little frustrated knowing how to deal with her. He was still trying to figure her out. “But I wouldn’t have been in that wash if you hadn’t knocked me down there in the first place. After I saved your life.”
Technically he was right, but she had no intention of admitting that.
“Look, I’ll admit I’m no Sir Lancelot,” he said in a low voice. “But there’s no way I’m sending you off on your own out there. So why don’t you just get used to the idea.”
“Maybe I could if you weren’t- weren’t so- ” She threw her hands out as if she couldn’t find the right words to express it all.
“Weren’t so what?” One dark eyebrow lifted as he waited for her to elaborate.
“Well, for one thing, you cover your face,” she whispered tensely. “Just like a Mulada soldier.”
“It’s not covered now.”
“It was last night. It made you look- ” she faltered again as if she couldn’t find the word she was searching for.
“Save your breath. Obviously, you’ve got a problem with my looks, but now’s not the time to discuss whatever it is. Because I am not,” he emphasized the word. “Going to leave you to die out there by yourself.”
“And you’re so certain that I would die out there without you?” she asked in a forced whisper. In spite of the dead right outside, she couldn’t help it.
Undaunted by her suppressed sarcasm, he replied, “Oh, I’m certain of it.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“Being a woman has nothing to do with it. If you need to know, it’s because you’re unarmed. And you’re obviously not used to dealing with scavs.”
“How could you possibly be so sure about that?”
“When we were down in that hole with that scav, what did you do? You covered your eyes with your hands. How long do you think you’d last if you did that every time you came across one of them? Have you actually ever had to kill one of them before last night?”
“Of course I have.”
“How many?”
She stared back at him but she didn’t reply.
“How many have you had to kill?” he repeated.
“One,” she finally blurted. “But you still don’t have any right to judge me because of that.”
“Judging your performance under fire is something I will do, whether you like it or not.”
She huffed out a frustrated breath of air while he quickly shifted gears.
“Let’s stop wasting our time arguing. You at least need me to look at that arm.”
Her gaze flickered to the spot where the bullet had grazed her.
“I get I,” he said with a knowing look. “You don’t want to take your shirt off in front of me.”
Without giving her a chance to protest, he grabbed the sleeve in two hands and tore it open, exposing the wound.
She gasped and sputtered, “What- What do you think you’re doing?”
“We can get you another shirt. We can’t get you another arm. At least trust me enough to believe me when I say that I know about gunshot wounds.”
He didn’t give her the chance to refuse him. But while he inspected her wound, she wouldn’t look at him.
“We should have taken care of this last night,” he muttered half to himself.
“It’s- not so bad,” she said to the opposite wall.
“It may seem like nothing,” he murmured as he continued to clean out the wound. “But if it gets infected, you’re going to be in trouble. You’re right. It’s not so bad. But there’s no sense in taking a chance that it will get bad.”
“Did you actually have any manners before this zombie apocalypse started?”
Without lifting his head, he glanced up at her. He didn’t seemed perturbed in the least by her statement.
“My manners, or my lack of them, aren’t important. They won’t keep either one of us alive.”
She didn’t have a comeback for that. She didn’t want to admit it, but he was right of course.
“I have some antiseptic in my pack,” he said as he turned away from her. “We’ll bandage this up and . . . ” He paused. “Then I’m going to look at my own wounds.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“That barbed wire tore me up last night. In case you hadn’t noticed. I want to see how bad it is before we leave.”
She asked inanely, “You mean you’re hurt?”
Of course he was hurt. He’d just told her that. But she wasn’t prepared for his next move.
“What are you doing now?”
“Taking my shirt off.”
“Why?”
“I just told you. I have to look at the damage.”
She had seen evidence of the damage earlier. There was just the one visible puncture mark on the back of his hand, and the teeth marks, but now she realized that those probably were blood stains on his clothing. Sidra experienced a sudden stab of guilt. He had been right earlier when he had said that she was the one who had made him fall into the barbed wire in the first place. But she wasn’t prepared for what she saw when he took his shirt off. Her stomach immediately clenched when she saw the painful-looking mutilations marring his flesh. There were puncture marks all over him. She also saw a long red slash across his chest. From a knife. Her knife, she realized.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt last night?”
“It was too dark to see anything. And admit it, you were too skittish for me to start taking my clothes off in front of you.”
He was probably right.
He looked down when he saw her staring at the knife wound on his chest.
“You caught me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting it.”
The barbs had done a lot of damage. The puncture marks we
re red and swollen. Some of them had bled some. Some were raw-looking gashes where he must have pulled the barbs free by force. But this was no time to be squeamish.
When she moved toward him, he held up a hand to hold her off. “I can take care of this myself- ”
“You don’t have to do that.” He had, after all, just tended to her wound. “I had no idea you were hurt so badly.”
Frowning, he said, “I’m sure you’ve seen a lot worse than this.”
The truth was she hadn’t. But she didn’t want him to know that. She walked around him and looked at his back. It was worse than the front. Much worse.
“You’re going to have to let me help you,” she told him. “There’s no way you’ll be able to reach your back.” The shoe was on the other foot now and she surprised herself by taking a perverse delight in admonishing him, “Don’t be so stubborn.”
Law knew that she was right. He wouldn’t be able to reach his back, let alone see the damage there. He was going to have to let her help him.
For Sidra, however, when confronted with the prospect of getting up close and personal and actually touching the man, she experienced a moment of unexpected uncertainty. The thought made her beyond nervous.
There was a breathless quality in her voice when she asked, “What should I do? Should I use the same antiseptic that you used on me? I don’t want to hurt you. I- ”
He held up a hand again. “First off, you need to relax. You’re making me nervous.”
She was making him nervous? And relax? She doubted she was going to be able to do that.
“What’s it look like back there?” he asked when she moved behind him.
“It looks- a little worse than the front.” She didn’t want to tell him the truth, that it looked like someone had used him for a giant pin cushion. With some very large pins.