Will To Live

by C. M. Wright

  He follows Gage back to the room that Joel and Gage had been staying in, and I recover from the shock of hearing my passive husband turn into a zombie-killing machine, and finally follow them. I ask Coco and Lindey to stay with my boys as I pass by them on the walkway. They nod and head that way, while the others turn and follow me.

  Once inside the room, we stand on our feet like humans should, and wait for Gage to finish dragging out all his bags. He's got at least a good dozen: leather, duffel, thick padded cases, and odd-shaped ones too. One by one, he opens them up and reveals all kinds of items that, to me, look like just a bunch of odds and ends. Fascinated, I watch intently as he shows Will how to put all that mess together to make a very scary weapon. They look so innocent, just a bunch of metallic balls about the size of softballs really, with complicated insides. It's a little hard to see the threat in these things.

  After they get a half dozen assembled, we all head back out onto the walkway. Dozens of fears run through my head, like, will the walkway collapse under one of the bombs and kill us all? Will one go off prematurely up here with us? What if we throw them, but few, if any, actually explode? What if those little things only take out a couple of the zombies, but leave the rest? We could no longer pretend not to be here, and I'm sure the undead would never give up and leave then.

  Before we ever get to alleviate, or confirm, my fears, a piercing scream comes from close by. Startled, we all stop, quickly scramble away from the edge, and lean our backs against the building. I'm only there for a few seconds before I begin crawling so fast down the walkway to my kids' room that I don't even feel the layers of skin rip from my palms. I don't feel my knees where the concrete first tears away the fabric of my pants before taking a few layers of skin from there too. I only have one thought on my mind...

  My babies!

  Chapter Twenty

  When I reach their room and burst inside the door, I find both boys and their aunts sitting across the room, behind the bed, with their backs pressed against the wall. Both of my sisters-in-law have an arm wrapped around one of my boys. The overwhelming feeling of relief that they are all fine, almost makes me pass out.

  I collapse on the bed because either way, I'm going to pass out!

  After a few moments of remembering how to breathe, I look back up at them and make eye contact with first Lindey, then Coco.

  “Who was that, Canada?” Lindey asks me.

  “I have no idea. I don't even know where it came from. I was terrified it came from here,” I explained.

  “Nope. Wasn't us,” Coco tells me.

  I drop my head back down on the bed until a new fear propels me back out the door at a full-speed run, stopping just inside the doorway long enough to tell them to stay inside and that the screams weren't from anyone in our group.

  Back out on the balcony, I crawl to the edge and peek over. The zombies are becoming frantic, their moans so loud I doubt they could hear us up here even if we all screamed at the same time. So if the mysterious screamer is still screaming, we can't hear it to know it.

  Then I realize the zombie's attention is focused solely on a room below us. The frenzy of mad hunger is going through the crowd in a ripple effect, causing the zombies to push hard into each other, all intent on getting inside that room.

  And who says they haven't gotten in yet. Everything inside me is screaming for me to help, to do whatever the hell I can...to do something!

  But what the hell can I possibly do?

  I crawl back over to the others and overhear that a plan of action is already being worked out. The relief I feel from being back together with my family, who know how to fight and would never think to leave someone behind, is almost overwhelming me to the point of tears, especially when flashes of all the people Jake could have saved, but instead laughed at or injured so that they could easily be attacked flood my mind.

  Once a plan is made and agreed on, we move back into the room directly behind us where we think the screams from below came from.

  The guys run over to the bed and lift it, then shove it, base and all, into the wall on the other side of the room. We're counting on the rooms being the same in layout, and also that the person is nowhere near the bed.

  Sometimes, you just gotta take some chances.

  Will takes his automatic and begins shooting the outline of a decent-sized circle in the floor. The bullets don't cut a complete hole, but it's enough so that Joel is able to stomp his foot down on it and, before long, the floor gives way, slamming onto the bed that is directly underneath. And fortunately, there's no one knocked out by a circular hole pattern lying below us, or full of bullets.

  I drop to the floor on my side of the hole, while Ryder and Will drop down on their own sides. We lean our heads down into the room, but see no one. We do, however, see the bathroom door closed, which if I were stuck inside that room, I would definitely prefer two doors between me and the undead too, what little good it would do me in the end.

  I look across the hole to Will and watch as he lifts his head and turns to Ryder. “Guess I'm going down.”

  I open my mouth to argue on why it has to be him, but then realize if not him, then it would have to be someone else I love. So I bite my tongue and don't even bother trying to offer to go down myself, we already know how far that will go.

  Will looks directly into my eyes and tells me he loves me, then the next thing I know, he disappears through the opening. I stick my head back down and watch as he steps off the bed and makes his way to the bathroom door. I almost laugh when I see him knock on the door, as if this were all normal. But then I realize just how smart that move probably was, especially if the person inside is armed.

  I hear Will say, “I'm going to open the door now. Don't be afraid, I'm only here to help you.” Then I watch him cock his head as if he's listening to someone. When he calls out a “Yes,” then another “Yes,” I realize he really is talking to someone.

  “Will!” I yell down. He turns to me and raises a brow in question. “Hurry the hell up! Those things could be inside before you can frikken blink.”

  Will scowls at me and says, “No shit.”

  He turns away and I act like the mature grown woman I am and stick my tongue out at him. The bathroom door finally opens and those of us watching from the ceiling gasp in surprise. A blue wrapped bundle is passed to Will, then a woman emerges from the bathroom, clad in only a Seymour Hiney hospital gown. Behind her, another woman in a nurses uniform appears. Will carries the baby over and steps up on the bed. He lifts the bundle and Ryder takes it from him. Then Will helps the mother – at least, I assume it's the mother – up next, taking care on where he places his hands...and his eyes.

  He then turns to the nurse to help her, but before he can get her within reach of us at the top, the window down below explodes inward.

  Shards of glass fly everywhere and I notice Will's body jerk as if he's been hit, but he says nothing. Instead, he gives the nurse an adrenaline-filled boost, and she comes flying up through the hole in the ceiling. Once we get her out of the way, I turn back and look down, preparing for Will to come up next.

  Only...Will's gone!

  In his place stands a zombie whose eyes are locked on us. I watch as he opens his mouth, then snaps it closed again.

  Quickly, that one corpse multiplies into an entire roomful. But the others care nothing for us, they want in the bathroom.

  “Oh my god! Guys, Will must have run into the bathroom. What the hell are we gonna to do?” I look at my brothers and nephew, begging them to already have a plan.

  They don't.

  I search frantically around the room, hoping to think of something...anything! There are too many to try and shoot them. By the time we clear out the zombies that are downstairs now, the room will fill back up before we can do anything to help Will. Joel finally comes up with an idea.

  “Let's make a hole in the bathroom. We did it in here, so let's just do it again.”

  Well...duh! Why didn't
I think of that?

  The tiny upstairs bathroom fills up fast, and Gage and I end up standing in the tub to make room for a hole to be made in the floor. Then I realize we forgot something.

  As Ryder aims his gun toward the floor, I scream, “Stop!”

  Everyone jumps and Ryder gives my ass a good chewing – not the zombie-style chewing, thank god – for scaring him while he's holding a gun in his hand. I pretty much ignore him.

  “What if you shoot Will?”

  “Shit” is all he replies.

  We already know trying to yell through the floor is useless, as the zombies are just too damn loud. So we all stand around and try to come up with a different plan, our frustration and fear increasing by the second.

  “Oh!” I cry out, then run back into the main room, out the door, and into mine and Will's room.

  Grabbing our weapons bag, I find a couple swords and a few heavy and thick-bladed daggers. Laying them across my arms and not caring about the nicks and shallow slices, I race back to the bathroom and drop the tools on the floor. Then I pick up one of the daggers and start pounding it into the linoleum. Soon I see other blades digging into the floor along with my own. Eventually, a hole appears under each of the blades. The we move in a circular pattern, making the hole as big as possible.

  Finally, a large chunk falls to the floor below and I see Will standing just to the side of the hole, looking up at us. He screams for us to hurry and we pick up the pace, although I'm sure my arm isn't the only one screaming for me to stop.

  I drop down to the floor on my stomach and reach for him, but then my body is slid away from the hole when Ricky grabs my feet and gives a good yank.

  “Just get the hell out of the way. You're not strong enough to lift him,” he informs me.

  I almost argue, but I know he's right, and I need to just let the guys handle it. Ryder and Ricky reach for Will and soon I see Will's head pop up through the ragged hole in the floor. But, in a loud bang, the bathroom door below us gives in from the pressure of the undead and slams to the ground. Will is still within reach of the deadly teeth, so Gage, Joel, and I grab anywhere we can reach on him and help Ryder and Ricky pull him up.

  Will collapses on the floor next to me, breathing hard and fast. I cover his body with mine, the terror not yet receding. I have no idea what I'm saying to him, but words tumble out of my mouth in a rush. I'm pretty sure “love” and “scared” came out a few times.

  He finally pushes me off him gently, then sits up. He pulls me with him as he moves further back from the hole. The growls and moans coming from below become louder each second, letting us know the bathroom underneath us has probably reached maximum capacity, but as long as they know we're here, they'll just keep piling in, crushing each other with the promise of a bite to eat.

  My brothers and nephews pull us to our feet. We leave the bathroom and shut the door to try to lessen the roar of the undead. It works, slightly. In the bedroom, I send the guys out on the walkway so that I can check over the newcomers, look for bites, and hopefully be able to calm them down as much as possible.

  The two women are huddled in the farthest corner of the room, away from the door and us. Once the room's door shuts, I turn to the women.

  “Hey,” I softly call out to them, but keep my distance so they don't become even more scared than they already are. “My name is Canada. We won't hurt you, we just want to help you. Can I sit by you?”

  The women look at each other, then the young mother nods to the nurse. The nurse turns to me and nods silently. I walk over, taking care to move slowly so that I don't spook them. Stopping about ten feet from them, I lower myself to the floor.

  I can probably get a little closer to them, but if they can hear me and I can hear them, why push it?

  Sitting Indian-style, with my hands in clear view resting on my thighs, I begin a conversation that could end in so many different ways, “I can help you, we can help you. There are a lot of us who have begun building a little community, it's even been named, Rose's Refuge. We would love to have you join us. We can offer you protection, and a place where your little one can grow and have as normal a life as possible. I can't promise it will be easy, or that it will even be close to the same as it was before all this happened, but it's better than trying to survive on your own.”

  The women look at each other again, but say nothing and turn back to me. I notice the mother hold her baby a little more tightly, and I start to wonder if the baby is even still alive, as it's made no sound this entire time. I swallow hard, knowing this situation could turn ugly when I open my mouth again.

  “I hate to ask this, but I have to know. Is your baby alright?”

  Instantly the mother turns her torso with the baby pressed tight against her breasts toward the nurse. The nurse tightens her arms around the mother, whispers in her ear, then turns to me.

  “The baby is a mute, but he's alive. I understand you need to be sure, that you can't take any chances, and so we will let you search us. I only ask that you don't separate us.”

  I immediately put their minds at ease, reassuring them that I have no intention of ever separating them. The nurse whispers to the mother for several minutes before I see the mother begin to relax, slightly, and turn away from the nurse to face me. She pulls the blanket away from the baby's face and I feel a jolt of fear run through me.

  I'm sorry, but seeing a baby with its mouth wide open and tears flowing freely down its face, yet with no sound, is a little disconcerting.

  Then I feel a deep jolt of pain from seeing its little face contorted in such anguish. The poor little guy has got to be pretty damn miserable. I mean, he just went through being in his mother's womb, safe and warm, to being thrust in a situation where his safety is unknown, his warmth and comfort being last on a short list of survival. Having to handle being jostled about as his caregivers run for their lives, his meals probably not on any dependable schedule, and the cold night air being the worst thing for a newborn, the baby has every right to be one pissed off little dude.

  “Are you breastfeeding him?” I ask the mother, assuming she probably has no choice.

  She nods her head slowly. Then the nurse begins to tell me their story, an astonishing one at that.

  “First off, my name is Cindy. I was the nurse attending to Kris,” she waves her hand at the other woman, indicating she is referring to the young mother, “when this whole zombie shit happened. Kris had a cesarean done, so she wasn't capable of taking off and running. Lord knows I couldn't carry her and a baby. So I locked us inside a surgical suite. Fortunately, the surgical unit was, for the most part, empty, as we had no surgeries scheduled for that evening, and we had a well-stocked breakroom inside the unit. The few nurses that were there left the unit in a panic, unaware of the degree of danger, even though I tried to tell them. I guess they wanted to see for themselves, or maybe the need to be with their families made it impossible to think rationally. I heard their screams before the doors to the unit slammed shut. It's easy to leave the unit, but impossible to get back in, unless you have the code and a working brain to remember how to use it.”

  Cindy takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. She's exhausted, and I want to tell her to just get some rest, and she can tell me the remainder of their story later, but we don't have that kind of time. And it's better that we know what they've been through. It's better for them to tell their story so that they have to deal with the events. Maybe it will help them to move on and focus on surviving. Not that they haven't done a damn good job of it already.

  “So, we stayed in the surgical unit for the last few months. I smashed in the front of the vending machines when we ran out of the food in the fridge, and the water in the sink sustained us long after the water and sodas in the other machines ran out. But finally, the food ran out. By that time – a few days ago, to be exact – Kris had healed enough that she could take care of herself, for the most part. There were no clothes except for the hospital gowns in the surgical
unit, and there was no way I was going to risk our lives on worrying about clothes, even though poor Kris just about froze her butt off at times, and would have without the blankets and heater inside the ambulance we took. But we had to leave. We just couldn't stay any longer.

  “The hospital had cleared out by that time – not completely, mind you – but enough that we only had to fight our way past a dozen or so, which weren't grouped together, to leave. It gives me chills to think what would have happened had we been faced with a horde of those things. Outside the emergency room, the ambulance sat waiting for us, its keys in the ignition. So we took it. About a mile from here, we wrecked the ambulance when we came over the top of a hill and slammed into an abandoned car that was invisible until we started down. We knew the noise of the crash would definitely attract the undead, so we took our chances and ran across the fields into this town. Sure enough, we were quickly followed by what you now see outside.”

  While Cindy talked, I noticed Kris discreetly begin to breastfeed her silently screaming baby. When his movements settled, I let out a sigh of relief, knowing his hunger, at his age, means all the difference between his survival and his death. It's really all he needs at this point in his life, besides love, warmth, and safety, of course. Except for those three things, his needs aren't much different from the zombies.

  Funny thought, that.

  Kris looks up from her child and focuses on me. “My husband,” she chokes out with a sob, before taking a deep breath and continuing, forcing her voice to be stronger. “He was at work. I made him go to work the day after I had our son, even though he didn't want to leave us. I told him there was nothing he could do while I recovered. I sent him out with the undead. I sent him to his grave!”

  The young woman's dark hair shook as she lowered her head, crying with all the pain she's likely kept deep inside during her months of survival. Doing her best to be strong for her baby, but neglecting her own mental needs.

  Well, that's got to change. Hopefully, being able to let her pain out now will be the beginning of that change. This baby needs her, desperately.