Zed's World (Book 3): No Way Out

by Rich Baker

  DJ falls back into the tub and starts to cry.

  Six

  DJ wakes up in the bathtub and a moment of panic sets in. For a moment, he forgets where he is, but when he moves, the pain in his foot wakes him up in an instant, and he remembers where he is and what happened. He looks over the edge of the tub, and his sister’s body still decorates the floor. He checks his watch and realizes he slept for fourteen hours.

  Passed out is more like it. The Voice says. Eat something. You’re going to need your strength.

  He reaches over his sister’s body and grabs the backpack. Inside he finds the bag of raisins. He eats a handful, washes them down with a few swallows of water, then uses a granola bar to scoop peanut butter from one of the single serving containers he packed. He grabs the pain pills, takes two of them, and tosses the bottle into the pack with the food. He lays in the tub for a few more minutes, giving the pain pills time to start dissolving in his stomach.

  Where are we going? What are we doing?

  “I don’t know,” he says aloud. “I’m sure as shit not looking forward to telling Mom about this.”

  Who says we have to? She tossed us out, remember. She doesn’t get it. Get up, get in the Ranger, and head into Longview. Find the Puckett’s. End this. Then deal with what comes next.

  He knows the Puckett thing will be an itch he can’t scratch if he goes back to his family. He's made his decision.

  He gets up and sucks in a deep breath as his foot sends lightning bolts up his spine. He leans against the wall, putting more weight on the bad foot until he finally lifts the good one out of the tub and places it between the arm and torso of the thing that was his sister. He lets out a big sigh, thinking he should say something.

  “I’m sorry, Bonnie. I’d give you a proper burial, but it’ll be a miracle if I can even make it down your stairs, let alone dig you a hole. I’ll miss you, sis. I’ll try to make things right for you, somehow.” He stops, not knowing where he’s going with this. “Hope you’re in heaven with Steve shooting pool and playing cards. At least you’re together.”

  Good enough. Get moving.

  He listens to The Voice and puts the backpack over his shoulders, grabs the rifle and the ZAK and limps out of the bathroom.

  Once he gets moving, the pain in his foot isn’t as bad, or he’s getting used to it; either way, he makes it down the stairs and onto the porch without any trouble. He thinks about getting Steve’s truck and heading out in it, but it’s loud, with a big V8 engine, and he doesn’t know how the roads will be in town. The Ranger is smaller and can maneuver in and around things that the big truck can’t. He decides to stick with the Ranger.

  He throws his gear in the passenger seat, gets the APV started, and heads out of the dairy farm, turning right onto Granite Road. Next stop, Longview.

  He weaves around a few wrecks as he gets closer to town. He takes this as a sign that no one has come this way recently or the vehicles would have been pushed out of the way. When he gets to Gypsum Highway, he has a choice – right, or left. He chooses right, as there’s a bike path less than a quarter mile from here that will give him access to the Meadowlark subdivision. From there he can access the main streets in Longview, or if they’re impassable, the robust pedestrian trail system Longview has spent years building will get him through a good portion of the town.

  The hippies finally did something useful.

  He chuckles at The Voice’s joke and hits the gas. He keeps his speed down, avoiding some wreckage and car parts littering the highway. The last thing he needs is a flat tire from some random shard of metal left by some other unlucky bastard. He spies the bike path ahead and slows more in preparation for making the turn.

  The path is opposite an entry into a strip-mall with a couple of clothing stores, a local grocery store, a Super-clips hair cut place, and a couple of other places that rotate business through them. One month there may be a sandwich shop, another it’s a tax prep place, a few months later a mobile phone store. The path was put in along with a crosswalk to give disabled residents access to the mall without making them go another half mile west to the next intersection.

  DJ turns the Ranger onto the eight-foot-wide path and drives into the neighborhood. He knows right where he is, and he turns left once the path ends, and then makes the next right. He gets light headed as he makes the turn, feeling better once he straightens out. He navigates through a few more wrecks, going right and left, the dizzy feeling hitting him again.

  Uh-oh.

  “What?” he asks aloud.

  Those pain pills are hitting you hard.

  He shakes his head to clear the increasing cobwebs, but they linger. The Voice is right, he thinks.

  Of course, I am. I’ve been with you every time you’ve drunk so much you pass out. I know the signs. You’d better find a spot to hole up in because you’ve got about ten minutes of consciousness left.

  He starts looking at the houses as he passes, looking for a good one to break into, when he sees the curtains move in a house to his right. A blonde woman, early, maybe mid-twenties peeks out, then shuts the curtains as quickly as she opened them.

  Bingo.

  He pulls the Ranger up onto the driveway of the house, avoiding the damaged Ford Explorer broken down in front of it. He grabs his backpack, rifle and ZAK and heads for the door.

  He pounds on it three times, then calls out to the occupant.

  “I know you’re in there, I saw you! I need some help! Please, I just need to crash for a couple of hours. I’ve been hurt.”

  There’s no response, at least not from inside. He hears a growl from behind him. He turns and spots a zombie coming from the fenced yard across the street. The gate is open, and several more undead are following the first one, though they don’t seem to have spotted him yet.

  He raises his rifle and peers through the scope, but his eyes aren’t focusing. He fires a couple of shots anyway, missing on both.

  He pounds on the door a couple more times.

  “Please, I need your help!”

  The lock on the door clicks and the woman opens it.

  “Jesus, make more noise,” she says.

  “I'm hurt, and the pain meds I took are making me loopy,” he replies.

  She grabs him and pulls him into the house, then raises a rifle of her own and fires several shots, then shuts and locks the door.

  DJ starts to speak but finds the barrel of her rifle in his face.

  “Shut up,” she says. “Put your gun down.”

  He complies leaning the rifle against the wall in the corner behind the door.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  “Thank you, asshole. I got the one that was closest to us. Hopefully, the rest were far enough back that they didn’t track where we are. If they come breaking through that door, I’m feeding you to them.”

  She gestures for him to move to the living room. She follows and peeks through the curtain. A half dozen undead are poking around on the Ranger, but none are paying attention to the house.

  “We may have gotten lucky,” she says, turning back to him. “So, what’s your deal?”

  He gestures to his bloody foot and says “Shot” before falling toward her. She hip-checks him to keep him from falling onto the coffee table, watching him tumble to the floor, unconscious.

  She goes back to the tablet she found in the little kid’s bedroom and resumes playing Angry Birds until the ‘low battery’ warning comes on. She sighs, turning it off and putting it on the table. It’s been forty-five minutes, and the man is still out cold.

  She watches him and almost immediately gets sleepy. She’s bored, and tired and maybe if she shuts her eyes just for a minute…

  She startles awake. The clock on the wall tells her she’s been asleep for two hours. The sun has dipped low, putting the eerie orange-red glow over the neighborhood. She looks at the floor, still groggy, and feels a surge of adrenaline when she sees the man is gone.

  She’s surprised that her ri
fle is still on the couch next to her. She grabs it and peeks out the window. The zombies have gone, and the dune buggy-like thing the guy drove in is still half in the yard, half on the driveway.

  She hears the toilet flush in the hallway bathroom and points the rifle at the door. The knob turns, and the man limps out.

  He’s not bad looking, she thinks. He’s built like an athlete. He’s old - probably, what, thirty-five?

  “Oh, shit!” he exclaims when he sees her pointing the rifle at him. He raises his hands. “Sorry! I hope it was okay I used your bathroom. You were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Oh, right, I guess I never made it to an introduction. Thanks for letting me in, by the way. I’m sure you saved my life. My name’s Dale, but everyone calls me DJ.”

  “Okay, DJ, I’m Danielle. What the hell’s going on with you?”

  “I got into a fight with some zombies yesterday, and I got shot in the foot.” He lifts his bloody foot into the air to show her he’s telling the truth. “This morning I took two pain pills I found in my sister’s place, and I think I should have only taken one. I started getting dizzy, and I could tell I was about to pass out when I saw you peeking out the window. So, I pulled up, and you know the rest. Thanks again, by the way.”

  She stares at him for a minute, then says “It’s not my bathroom.”

  DJ looks confused.

  “I broke in here yesterday. It’s a long story, but that’s my Explorer out there. Er, kinda. I was driving it. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “Okay, well, I appreciate you letting me in nonetheless. Like I said, you saved me. So, if there’s anything I can do for you, you let me know.”

  She continues to eye him warily.

  “Danielle, as much as an accidental discharge would probably end my misery, could you maybe point that rifle somewhere else? Or at least take your finger off the trigger?”

  She blushes and moves her finger and aims the barrel at the floor. Robert had taught her that much before all the a-holes at the Puckett’s decided she was too unstable to have a gun.

  UGH! she thinks. I hate the fucking Sims kids. I hate all of them!!

  “What misery are you going through?” she asks, her anger at remembering the Sims rising to the surface. “Were you essentially kidnapped, only to have your boyfriend ditch you for a big-titted, lock-picking, sharp shooting, deaf whore?”

  “Um, wow, that’s a lot to process,” DJ replies. “No. Can't say that I went through that. If we’re comparing shitstorms, I just had to shoot my brother-in-law in the face and cave in my sister’s head to keep their zombified shells from eating me, after being kicked out of my mom’s house for trying to protect my family.”

  “Oh, shit,” Danielle says. “That is effed up! I give, you win! Hanging with the Puckett's wasn't as bad as all that.”

  Holy shit! Jackpot! The Puckett’s just fell into our fucking lap!! The Voice is jubilant.

  “What did you say?” DJ says aloud.

  “What? I said you win; your life sucks worse than mine. I shouldn’t have laid all my crap at your feet, anyway. I guess we’re all screwed up right now, some worse than others. And look, we both wound up here, right, so you know, there’s that.”

  “No, I meant who were you with?”

  “My boyfriend - EX boyfriend – and my friends and their families. And these three people we picked up, and they were nothing but trouble from the jump.”

  “Did you say you were with the Puckett’s?”

  “Yeah, why? Do you know them?”

  “I sure do. I'd love to know where they are.”

  She looks at him warily.

  “How do you know them? Can you give me their names?”

  “It’s more like I know OF them. I’ve wanted to find them for a while now.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s personal,” DJ says, his tone gaining an edge.

  Danielle moves the barrel of the gun toward him again and puts her finger on the trigger guard.

  “We’re friends now, aren’t we?” she says, her tone matching his. “Friends share things.”

  Just get it over with and tell her, The Voice says.

  He sighs, limps to a recliner, and drops into it, the frame protesting.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. The night of the Turn, two trucks came through our land. They were armed, and we defended our property. My dad, my brother, another brother-in-law – not the one I just had to shoot - and our foreman were all killed. The people got away, but we know we shot at least one of them, and they left one of their trucks behind. It was registered to Ben Puckett.”

  DJ notices the change in her expression.

  “By your face, I can tell you know him, this Ben Puckett. And you’ve been staying with the group, which means you were probably in one of those trucks, and the person we killed was one of your friends. Which means you’re probably going to shoot me.” He slides his right hand slowly between his leg and the arm of the chair, wondering if he can get his little .22 pistol out of his cargo pocket before she shoots him.

  After a long, uncomfortable pause, Danielle moves her finger away from the trigger and relaxes her posture.

  “She’s not dead. The girl you, or whoever was with you, shot. She’s hurt bad and still can’t use her arm, but she’s alive.”

  “That’s good,” he says, hoping he sounds sincere.

  “The Puckett’s are okay people. My boyfriend – EX boyfriend – Keith and Ben’s families are neighbors. That’s where we were holed up. You shot Ben’s girlfriend, Toni. Our friend Andy and his girlfriend Natalie, Ben, Toni, me, and Keith escaped Fort Collins that night, just barely ahead of the hordes of zeds. It was fucking crazy, man. Way worse than here. They’re not the ones you have a beef with. It’s the Sims you want.”

  “The Sims?”

  “Yeah, these three assholes we met on the way down here. The brother, Robert, is real bossy, a total dick. The older sister, Annie is alright, I guess, but the young one, the blonde, deaf, big-titted whore, Stephenie, she’s a total cunt.”

  DJs eyes widen at the venom behind the C-word. He’s never heard a word sound so deadly before. Danielle continues.

  “Stephenie is the one who picked all the padlocks to get us on to your land in the first place. She’s the one who did most of the shooting. I heard the Sims talking, and I think she killed all four of your people.” Danielle doesn’t care if that’s the truth or not. She’s formulating a plan.

  She’s going to give them up. Feed that fire, The Voice urges.

  “And stole your boyfriend?” DJ prods.

  Danielle’s eyes go cold.

  “Yes. And stole my boyfriend.”

  You set the hook. Let her run for a while.

  Danielle turns this conversation over in her mind. He wants revenge, that much is clear, she thinks, but to his credit, he’s not pushing me. If I were in his shoes, I’d want revenge. What am I saying? I tried to kill Stephenie! I DO want revenge! Christ, I’m no better than this guy. I wonder what he’s willing to do for me if I tell him where they are?

  “So, for the sake of argument, let’s say I tell you where you can find the Sims and help you get your revenge. Would you be willing to help me do something?”

  DJ smiles.

  “Of course, that depends on what you want me to do. But if it’s reasonable, I’ll do my best.”

  “My family is in California. San Diego. There’s a big military presence there, and if anyone is going to survive, it’s going to be people near the military, right? Plus, they have their back to the water, and my dad has a boat. I think they’re alive and I want to get to them. You help me get to California; I’ll give you the Sims.”

  DJ mulls this over for a minute.

  This is what you wanted. You get your revenge. Hell, look at her. She’s good looking, a survivor. Mom kicked us out. Our sister is dead. The rest of the family hates us. Go and kill these Sims, then go to Cali with this broad. Help
repopulate the planet.

  The Voice, as usual, is persuasive.

  “You’ve got a deal,” he says.

  “Good,” Danielle replies. “I’ll take you in the morning.”

  Seven

  Little Nicky wakes up, sweating, breathing hard, and flooded with guilt. He looks over at Lucky, sleeping peacefully, completely unbothered by what they did the day before. His mind races against his will, taking him back to that attic and reminding him of their crimes.

  It’s one thing to kill someone because of the situation. They stand between you and survival; it boils down to you or them. The smart man chooses himself, at least that’s what Nicky told himself when he shoved the old woman down the stairs in one of the first houses they raided. She would not let them take her food, was striking at them. She had a frying pan, and if he didn’t do something, she was going to bash his head in. It was her, or him, and Nicky chose self-preservation. But this, what they did to this family, was something different.

  He knew there would be problems when they found the family in the attic and Lucky didn’t just kill them right away. It was just an accountant and his wife and two smart-assed kids; it would have been easy. Sure, they had guns, but it’s not like they were killers, not like Lucky and Little Nicky. Well, Lucky, anyway. He was a killer before the Turn, an enforcer for their gang. Nicky had never killed anyone before, though he’s killed plenty since. Nicky saw how Lucky looked at the woman, though, and he knew what was coming.

  Lucky could charm a snake out of its skin when he wanted to, and he convinced the family that he and Nicky meant them no harm. He offered to share some food with them, in return for their hospitality. With their supplies running short, they practically jumped at the chance. It was a fatal mistake.

  After drinking some of Lucky’s drugged coffee, they realized too late what was happening, and their fate was sealed. Lucky had his way with the woman and goaded Nicky into doing the same with the older daughter, and in truth, he didn’t take much convincing. She had been mouthing off from the minute they broke into the attic, mere seconds ahead of the running zombies, and it took a lot of restraint to keep from backhanding her, but Lucky was working his charms on the family. With her passed out and helpless, it didn’t seem right, but he was angry, and his adrenaline was pumping, so he did it. “Break off a piece, Nick. You earned it!” Lucky had said to him. And he did as Lucky told him. He’s never done anything like that before, and this wasn’t an ‘us or them’ situation. It was rape, and it weighs on him like an anchor around his neck.