Will To Live

by C. M. Wright

  I head straight for the farmhouse and buildings, doing my best to ignore the old pain of my ankle, and the new pains from the tumble. I reach the large barn first and give myself a second to see how close the nearest undead are. Deciding I have plenty of time to try and make it to the farmhouse, where I probably have a better chance of finding food and water, I turn away from the barn and continue on.

  The farmhouse is two-stories, three if you count the attic, and has a wrap-around porch high off the ground. I rush up the side stairs closest to the front of the house, then make my way to the back door of the house.

  The zombie moans and groans are loud, and I know if I look back, I'll be able to see their faces through the bottom part of the rails on the porch, but I refuse to look. Instead, I grasp the knob of the door as I send up a quick prayer that it opens.

  It does, but now I wish I'd included the house being empty in that prayer.

  The momentum of my body as I hurl through the door, sends me straight into the arms of an older man wearing overalls and a long sleeve plaid shirt. I immediately start fighting, and it takes a minute before I realize he's yelling at me with actual words instead of moans and groans. When I finally do realize he's still alive, and his words of comfort sink in, I collapse against him and sob like an idiot.

  I hate it when people see me cry, but there's no stopping me now. I'm on a roll.

  He pulls me over to a small kitchen table and gently pushes me down into a chair. Then he kneels down in front of me and asks gently, but firmly, “Have you been bit?”

  I shake my head no.

  “Are you alone?”

  I nod my head yes. Then my eyes widen, as I realize I probably shouldn't have let him know that.

  I mean, just because he's in his late sixties or so, and would make a damn good Santa Claus without needing a fake white beard or wig, he could still be a rapist, or a serial killer, or...something!

  He smiles and assures me he won't hurt me, which tells me he's easily able to read the expressions on my face.

  “My name is Ernie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ernie. My name's Canada.”

  I jump when a soft female voice comes out of nowhere and says, “Ernie? Everything okay?”

  Ernie pats my hand in reassurance before standing and looking toward a door on the other side of the room. “Every thing's alright, Mama. Come on out.”

  I watch as the door opens wider and a short, plump white-haired woman hesitates for a few seconds before entering the room.

  Ah, this must be Mrs. Claus.

  “Canada, this is my wife, Bertha. We call her Bert.”

  I stand and take a few steps toward her. She steps close to me and surprises me with a warm, tight hug. I surprise myself when I realize my arms are wrapped around her just as tightly. I sigh in relief from just being able to relax for a minute, to feel safe, which is something I haven't felt in so long.

  Then my mind catches hold of something, and I start to giggle. Bert doesn't release me, but leans back so that she can see my face. Her ice blue eyes are sparkling and her smile almost makes me start sobbing again because it's so beautiful...and just what I need right now.

  “Papa, I think she may have just caught on to the significance of our names,” she guesses correctly.

  “I think you're right, Mama,” Ernie is wearing a matching grin to Bert's.

  Bert squeezes me tight once more, then leads me to the table, pushing me down into one of the chairs. “Let's get some food into you. Then you can get a shower. Then after that, some rest. No arguing!”

  As if I would!

  Ernie sits back down after Bert refuses his offer of help, and proceeds to ask me about myself. I tell them everything...and I do mean everything.

  “...so now I'm pregnant, and have no idea where my family is. They most likely think I'm long dead...or undead.”

  My chest hurts knowing how true that probably is.

  They've all probably given up any hope by now. I miss my husband, my kids, and the rest of my family so damn much.

  Ernie places his hand over mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. I clear my throat several times to keep the sobs from escaping, and am relieved when the distraction of a plate is placed in front of me. It's loaded with a cheese and ham omelet and buttered toast. I almost start to literally drool all over the plate. I don't start eating immediately as I'm too overwhelmed by the sight and smell of the food, but when Bert encourages me to, “Go on. Eat up, while it's still hot!” I dig in, and have to remind myself to breathe in oxygen instead of food more than a few times.

  After I completely clean the plate, fatigue washes over me and I want nothing more than to lie down and sleep for the next few days, but Bert insists I shower first.

  Apparently, camping and lying in a cow pasture doesn't give one a very pleasant scent.

  I take my time in the shower, even as tired as I am. It's been awhile, and totally worth it, to have hair that actually smells good and a body to go with it, including shaving off the forest of hair growing on me. I slip into the dreaded granny-gown Bert had given me, but this time, I enjoy the feel of the warm cotton against my skin.

  Now...where the hell's that bed!

  Bert shows me to a guest bedroom and lifts the blankets, as I let myself sink into the bed. She then tucks the blanket around me, and even kisses my forehead, before telling me to sleep tight. I try to stay awake until she leaves the room, but I can't even remember seeing her move away from the bed before sleep pulls me down into sweet nothingness. Even the zombies raising hell outside can't keep me awake.

  Chapter Nine

  I feel myself being pulled from sleep. I turn my head to see that the bedside clock shows 8:32 a.m. in blood red numerals. Sighing, I stretch while still lying in the warm comfy bed. I debate whether I truly want to get up or not, but the insistent urging of my bladder makes my decision for me.

  My toes curl from the shock of the freezing hardwood floor, and I hurry a hell of a lot faster to reach the bathroom, praying it's empty. It is – Thank you, Lord! – and I finish my business. Afterward, I stand at the sink, my face dripping with the water I just splashed on it, but I make no move to dry it off. Instead, I place my hands on each side of the sink and stare into the mirror in front of me, listening...thinking...planning.

  I hear nothing inside the house, and nothing outside the house either, but my gut – my instincts – are screaming at me that something is wrong.

  I suddenly feel scared and shaky. I know I can't stay in this bathroom forever, but I really don't want to just walk out blind into whatever the hell is going on.

  Slowly and quietly, I pull the hand towel off the metal ring beside the sink and dry my face. Then I sneak over to the window and peek out the side of the heavy curtain. The thick winter clouds block almost all the light from the sun so that it's still fairly dark outside, but there's still enough light to clearly see that there are only a handful of zombies – some are just standing in place, staring out across the fields, while others wander about, searching aimlessly for some good human meat.

  There are several undead that are lying on the ground, dead for good this time. Their heads are split wide open, which answer the question of why my sleep hadn't been disturbed by gunshots. The dead zombies, I'm sure, weren't here last night. I ran right by this side of the house, so I would have seen them, or at the very least, tripped over them. I'm also pretty sure the old man couldn't have done this, not by himself, and I highly doubt with Bert's help either. So, my conclusion is...someone else is here.

  But who? Sure, it could be someone I don't even know, but what if it's someone I do? Is it the ones who left me after I flew off the truck, or is it Paul and Jake? Or could it be marauders – come to steal, rape, and kill?

  Terrified that if I open the door I might come face to face with Jake, who is by far the worst of them all, I instead focus on the window. The wrap-around porch will protect me since it's so high up, but if any undead do happen to see me, the excited
noises they're going to make will be sure to bring more zombies, and will definitely give me away to everyone inside. But if I can go unnoticed, and get below the half wall of the porch, I should be okay.

  Risky, but what isn't a risk here lately?

  I look down at myself and mentally groan. I'd much rather make my escape in something more than the long flannel “grandma” nightgown and ballerina slippers Bert had loaned me.

  But...it is what it is, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it now.

  I ease open the window carefully, so as not to make any noise, and I keep an eye on the undead the entire time. Once it's up as high as it will go, I step up on the toilet lid and lift myself up and over.

  I would love to tell you I slithered through the window and out onto the floor of the porch like a stealthy snake...but we both know I'd be lying my ass off.

  It wasn't so graceful, but I managed it. I didn't even excite the undead or alert anyone inside, so that's good enough for me.

  I debate shutting the window, but decide that standing for as long as it would take to close it, quietly, would be pushing the risk factor more into the dumbass zone.

  So instead, I leave it wide open and crawl alongside the house toward the front. I stop when I get to the window I think should be the room I stayed in, and slowly ease myself up just enough to peek in through the bottom gap of the curtain. The room looks the same as I left it, so I continue toward the front.

  When I reach the kitchen window, I do the same as before, and peek inside. Instantly, I fling myself back down, my cheek pressed tightly against the ice cold wooden planks of the porch. My body had already started shivering from the cold, but now, I feel nothing except total terror causing my body to tremble.

  Jake!

  Chapter Ten

  Jake is right on the other side of this window, and I'm too frikken terrified to breathe, let alone run!

  I have no idea how long I've been lying here, fear making my muscles tight and my body immobile. I finally fight with myself to move – to just do something for God's sake! – and I lift myself back up on my hands and knees. Taking a deep breath, I slowly ease myself up and prepare to peek inside the window again.

  I just know his face is going to be right on the other side of the glass, his eyes boring holes into mine, and a triumphant smirk on his face.

  Fear. Pure, one hundred percent fear is all I feel, and it's almost too much for my mind to handle.

  But when I finally force myself to look, his eyes aren't level with mine just on the other side of the glass. In fact, his face is turned away from the window...away from me!

  I dart my eyes around the rest of the room, taking note of who all is there, and their location. Paul is here. He's sitting at the table across from Jake, but he too is turned away from the window. Both men are watching Bert as she cooks food at the stove. She doesn't look very happy, in fact, she looks downright pissed!

  I catch movement from the hall and focus on that area. Eventually, Ernie comes through the door completely, his body tight with anger, his face red with rage. I can clearly hear his voice as he informs Jake that he must go tend to his cattle, that he can't be forced to stay in his own damn house. He bellows out that if the damn rotting corpses can't keep him locked away inside, a mere mortal asshole can't do it either!

  The fear inside me multiplies when Jake pushes away from the table and points a handgun at the old man's head. Just as I'm about to scream and punch the glass to take his attention from Ernie, Bert screams and runs to her husband. She begs Jake to leave him alone, to not shoot him. Then turns to her husband and begs him not to leave her a widow. She insists she wouldn't make it for very long without him.

  I drop back to the floor of the porch and lean against the wall under the window. I see Ernie's body sag in defeat as he wraps his arms around his beloved wife. My throat fills with sobs of relief aching to be released, but I fight to hold them back.

  When I hear the sound of pans banging, I turn and carefully raise myself back up to the window. Only this time, I'm seen.

  Bert's eyes stare right at me. She's standing next to Jake at the table, holding a pan of eggs as he scoops them onto his plate. I stare back at her, scared to death, and wait for her to give me away. Instead, she quickly jerks her head toward the window closest to the stove, then turns to serve Paul.

  I know what she wants me to do, but I'm also aware of the fact that I risk being discovered by the undead either way I go to get to the other side of the house. Both the front and back steps are open to the yard. Yes, it's still too high up for the undead to reach me, but they could still easily see me and cause enough noise to lead Jake and Paul right to me.

  But I need to get over there in case Bert has a plan to help me.

  I debate going back inside my room or the bathroom, sneak across the hall, then out a window on the other side of the house – but, really? Would that be any safer, or would it be much riskier than just going around the porch?

  I decide to just chance the porch route, and choose to go around the back, as the back steps aren't nearly as wide as the front steps, which means less of an opening. I stop before crossing the open area, and take a moment to see how many possible tattlers I have to worry about, but I'm shocked when the only thing I see is a few zombies roaming around the yard to the sound of the house.

  Not believing my luck, I put my head down and charge across the opening, sighing with relief when nothing happens. Finally, I find myself at the right window and peek inside from one of the far corners of the window this time, knowing that Jake could still be looking in this direction. He isn't, though. He's too busy snarfing down Bert's amazing food. Bert moves back to the stove and starts wiping the surface with a wet cloth. Using her body as a shield, she motions for me to duck down.

  I do, and not a few seconds later, I hear the window raise above me. Immediately, I hear her tell the men that she's becoming too hot from the heat of the stove and that she will close it in a few minutes. No one argues with her, or demands she close it. I'm grateful for that, because now I can hear what's being said so much better than the muffled voices from before.

  Well, except for the angry shouting. That was more than clear.

  “...have to understand, I'm not in my right mind right now. I would never hurt either of you. And mister, I'm not forcing you to stay here for long, just long enough to hear me out, and to find out if you can help me. As I said, I really need to find my family. We got separated and my kids are so young, just teens–”

  My eyes widen in amazement when Jake's voice cracks and I hear his muffled sobs, which I assume means he's covered his face with his hands.

  He's a good actor, that's for sure, but I already knew that, now didn't I?

  I begin to hear moans and groans as the zombies pick up on the voices inside, now spilling out with the light of the kitchen.

  Jake rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, while dramatically sucking in and letting out a few heaving breaths, then says, “Mr. Johnson, I am truly sorry for the way I treated you and your wife. I hope you understand the way I feel right now. I love my wife and our kids more than anything. I can't stand to think they may be hurt. I see how much you love your wife, so surely you can understand how I feel. Please, forgive me?”

  It takes everything I have not to throw up when I hear both Bert and Ernie accept his apology, and offer words of encouragement and support.

  “Tell us again – now that everyone's calmer – what happened, and what they look like. If we can help you, we will,” Bert's soft voice flows out the window.

  “My kids are older teenagers. A boy and a girl. My baby girl has long blond hair and my son has dark brown hair to his shoulders...the last time I saw them, anyway. My wife – she's younger than me – and has long brown hair and beautiful green eyes. She means everything to me. She's my life.”

  Oh, lord. Really? What a joke! You aren't able to love someone enough for them to mean everything to you, Jake!

&
nbsp; Ernie's voice breaks through my thoughts, “What are their names?”

  “Vicki and Nick are my kids' names, and Canada is my wife's. Funny name, I know,” Jake gives a little sad, pathetic, chuckle, “but she's feisty and as tough as an entire country. That's why I haven't given up hope yet. If anyone can survive this, she can.”

  I almost give myself away with a snort of disgust at his lies, and his little story based on nothing but bullshit. I hear Bert's sympathetic voice come from just inside the window above my head, and my stomach clenches with fear that she's about to reveal Jake's “missing wife”.

  I feel bile rise up in my throat, terrified that they may actually fall for it.

  The way my lucks been going, it wouldn't surprise me if they chose to ignore my story and believe Jake's. He's a very convincing man. And he's magnificent at fooling people, I know, because my name's at the top of that list.

  I feel something bulky, yet soft, land in my lap. I now hear Bert's voice almost directly over my head, coming from the open window as she tells Jake how sorry she is that they can't help him, as they haven't seen his family, but they will be sure to keep their eyes and home open to anyone fitting their descriptions. Then I hear her ask if she and Ernie could pray with them for our safety.

  I figure Jake will continue to play along, for now, so I quickly turn my attention to the item Bert tossed out. It's a thick dish towel rolled up into a ball. I carefully open it and a key falls from the towel and lands on the fabric of my nightgown. Picking it up and looking at it closer, I see Chevy written on it. My heart speeds up at this golden opportunity to escape.

  Thank you, Bert! I love you!

  I clutch the key tightly in my fist and make my way to the back steps. Just like before, I see the back yard is clear of all zombies. The zombies are all congregating back near the kitchen window, entranced by the call of their prey drifting from the house. I slowly inch down the stairs, keeping my eyes open for any zombies that might come around the side of the house or from around the back of the barns.