by T. A. Sorsby
The kitchen was all decorated in pastel shades. Blue cupboards, yellow curtains, green worktops, relaxing colours that were totally failing me. I remembered helping Katy paint it. But she wasn’t here now.
‘She wanted us to go with her, said we might be safer at the hospital, that there were soldiers and police there. Talk of forting County up or something. But we couldn’t, didn’t want to go, we listened to the news. We thought she’d be back again, when she saw how the roads were. But her bike must have gotten through.’
Her bike. Why didn’t I notice her bike wasn’t outside?
‘Her parents,’ I stammered, ‘her parents live in Linkoln, she must have gone to them - can’t have really gone to the hospital...’
‘You know she’d have sooner chewed a wasp mate – I thought she’d made it to your place.’ Laurel said, stepping up behind me at the sink.
‘Maybe she’s still at the hospital?’
‘Maybe Kell, maybe they managed to hold out in County…’ Laurel said, like she was trying to appease me. But then her voice changed, almost to a whisper. ‘They bit Danni.’
‘You already said they…they…’ I said, mouth hanging open, ‘Oh my Gods. They bit Danni. She’s infected?’
‘She was bitten,’ Laurel repeated, ‘That doesn’t mean she’s infected, does it?’
‘I think so.’ I turned to see her, my face probably as sour as her’s.
‘I’m gonna to need more than “I think so”, Kell!’ Laurel yelled, her voice fracturing.
‘What happened to the hunter?’ I asked.
‘Perry…’ Laurel said, taking a step back from me, realising she was in my personal space now. ‘He was mobbed by them in the living room. When I went back to his place, there was a pool of blood…’
‘And?’ I asked, casting a glance back to Neville and Damian, wisely waiting out in the hall, both trying to blend with the wallpaper.
‘And his body was gone.’ she murmured, a tear forming in the corner of one eye. She bit her lip and stared at the kitchen cupboards.
‘Were there drag marks, or footprints?’ I asked.
‘F-footprints…’ Laurel said, lowering her head.
‘He got mobbed by a dozen zombies, infected, murdered, and I’m guessing a few hours later, you put a bullet through his head and threw him on the bonfire.’ I said, losing patience. ‘Fucking hell, Danni’s infected and you’re keeping her upstairs?’
Laurel nodded, and turned away from me. That put her looking at Damian. She looked back to me again.
‘Why does that mean she’ll turn, huh?’ Laurel growled, pushing me back against the fridge. I could see tears rolling down her cheeks, glinting back the candlelight in the kitchen.
I stepped forward again, put my arms around Laurel, and drew her close to me before she broke down completely. She knew what infection meant, she just didn’t want to admit she didn’t have the power to do anything about it. Laurel and Danni were like family, and Laurel knew that she would have to watch her sister die…or even help her along, like Anita and Becky Mason. Those planks in the hallway, they weren’t for barricading the front door. She’d have done that already. They were for whatever room Danni was laid up in.
Laurel balled her hands into fists, scrunching my jacket up in her grip. She shuddered violently for a moment, as the tears finally burst out. We stayed that way for a while, Damian and Neville never coming into the kitchen.
‘I’ll go and see what I can see,’ I said eventually, mirroring what I’d said at the Jamesons. It had only been that morning, though now the sun has set it seemed like a week had passed; after their deaths, fighting those freaky dogs and Anita’s impromptu-surgery, everything was moving so fast.
I gently pushed Laurel away from me, and rested my hands on her shoulders. ‘Pack up all the supplies you can, we’ll be leaving soon.’
‘You think your flat is safer than here?’ she asked, her voice shaking, her face ruined with tears.
‘Lots of stairs, you know they’re not good with stairs. Plus, we don’t have a big bonfire outside advertising our dramatic last stand,’ I smiled, ‘Go on, pack up your stuff.’
‘Already done,’ she sniffed, tilting her head to the living room, ‘Packed up to move to Perry’s, I’m all set, and…and without Danni…I’ll be ready.’
I left her crying in the kitchen, Damian sweeping in after me with a nod, and joined Neville in the corridor.
‘Infection probably passes through bites.’ Neville said.
‘I know,’ I said, scratching my chin, thinking.
‘That means she’s infected. She’ll turn into one of them soon.’ he continued.
‘I know that too,’ I grunted, shaking my head.
‘What’re you going to do about it?’ Neville asked, folding his arms.
I knew what I’d want done to me if I was infected. The thought of becoming one of those mindless bastards was enough to make me understand Rosie’s choice – and she hadn’t even seen them. I saw myself, empty eyed, wandering the streets, looking for the living to eat. Then I saw in the distance; a woman in biker leathers with short blonde hair and a cute piercing. I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes tightly.
‘What are you going to do?’ Neville repeated.
‘The humane thing.’ I said, putting conviction in my voice even if I didn’t feel it in my bones.
I walked up the stairs. I knew I was in the right house, all the boards creaked in the right places and the banister wobbled enough to let me know it needed fixing. But I felt like I was in a different world as I took the first steps onto the landing, and saw the candlelight coming out from underneath Danni’s door. It was a back bedroom, not visible from the road, or I’d have seen the lights earlier. I wondered if any zombies were making their way across the back gardens, drawn to the light peeking around the curtains.
I pushed the door open until it knocked against the wall, but it took me a few more seconds to work up the nerve to step through it.
Danni, Katy and Laurel could have passed for sisters. I hadn’t really thought about it until now. All three of them were blondes of one flavour or another. Laurel’s ashen hair was a dirtier shade, Katy’s was almost bleach blonde from the dye, and Danni’s was usually the colour of cornfields in summer. It wasn’t that colour now. It was heavy with sweat, clinging to her cheeks and her neck as if she was in the grip of a terrible fever.
Her eyes slowly turned to watch me enter the room, but there wasn’t much left of Danni looking out from behind them. She wasn’t a zombie yet, but if I needed anything to convince me she was infected, it was the look in her eyes. She knew she was dead, it was just a matter of time…and circumstance.
Bloodied bandages made from bedsheets were wrapped around her forearm and held in place with cell-o-tape, and several more cuts and scratches were exposed on her arms, probably from jumping out of that upstairs window.
‘Danni…’ I said softly.
She didn’t say anything, but she nodded her head weakly, almost so little that you wouldn’t notice.
‘Danni, I know you’ve been bitten.’
Another nod.
‘Do you want us to leave you here, or do you want me to…’ I started the sentence strong, but I couldn’t finish it. The words caught in my throat, and I swallowed hard to clear them.
For all I knew, Danni wasn’t seeing me, I could have been just some feverish illusion. A guy she knew, offering to take the pain all away. Danni just nodded. It wasn’t subtle this time. She gave it her all, which wasn’t much.
I pulled Edgar’s wartime sidearm out of my pocket, thumbed the hammer and aimed it at Danni’s head, from not ten feet away. I meant to pull the trigger as soon as I saw the sights were lined up, but my finger wouldn’t stick to the plan.
Euthanasia had been legal for decades, people with fatal illnesses or untreatable chronic pains had been able to go through a process of dying on their own terms since I was born. I’d grown up with the concept of putting som
ebody out of their misery. But my finger remained unresponsive.
My guts were in on it too, alive; writhing and struggling as I tried to come to terms with ending the life of my friend. Pulling a trigger is different to pressing the plunger on a needle. But she was infected, and this wasn’t just a matter of whether or not I wanted to pull that trigger. She wanted to die. I’d want the same, but my finger wasn’t listening to reason. I started to sweat, and my breath quickened.
Then thunder clapped in the room, with a burst of light like the flash of a photograph. The picture of Danielle’s brain matter splattering an old foreign movie poster was imprinted in my mind, forever.
*
Sixteen
I turned and stumbled, pushing Neville and his smoking gun out of the doorway, and just about made it to the bathroom before my insides finally had their say.
Vomit burned up my throat and splattered down into the bowl of the toilet, as my vision swam with streamers of purple and orange, along with the image of bone fragments and gore streaking that black and white poster.
I reeled back from the toilet and fell onto my ass, propping myself up with one hand and covering my mouth with the other. I tried to get my breathing under control, I always found that helped stop more coming up.
Neville offered me a hand up and I took it, almost falling into him as the strength of his pull heaved me a little too far. I fought my stomach back in line before I threw up on his shoes, though at that point, I felt like I should have.
‘The fuck?’ I growled at him.
‘You couldn’t do it, it needed to be done,’ he replied, his voice low but even, ‘you said it yourself. It was the humane thing. There wasn’t much left of her anymore.’
I knew what he said made sense. It was what I’d been telling myself only a few moments earlier, but Gods above. If you’d have been there, maybe you’d feel the same. It was cold. And it wasn’t like Neville – not the Neville I knew.
‘I didn’t know her,’ Neville said, ‘So it was easier for me. Thought I’d save you the trouble.’ His choice of words was poor.
‘I wanted the trouble, you shit!’ I snarled, something red flaring inside me, forcing me to shove Neville back, ‘She was a friend – you were a stranger to her!’
‘Exactly. You think she’d want that eating away at you?’ Neville asked, keeping his voice quiet, despite mine. ‘It’s done now. Let’s get out of here. Let’s get back home and you can grill me about it all you damn well please, Kelly.’
He turned away and took to the stairs before I’d thought of a decent reply. I wanted to punch him, but I knew he was right, and I was only venting my own frustration, my inability to act. I wanted to go home and thump the pillows until I fell asleep. I settled for kicking the top of the banister, finally breaking one of the props out of its creaky moorings.
Ugh. Suddenly I was more embarrassed than angry. Having a tantrum, breaking something. Now wasn’t the time for that. I walked down the corridor - avoiding Danni’s room, the door mercifully closed. I opened the door to Katy’s and managed not to slam it closed behind me like an angry teen.
It was dark in her room, but I found her long-tipped lighter and knew where all the candles were. She was big on mood lighting. Big aromatherapy candles, tea-lights in little lanterns and stained-glass cups. When the room was flickering, I set the lighter down and let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding.
It must have been a big old bag she’d packed. Patches clear from dust stood out on her dressing table, where I knew a ring-bound photobook and her tiny makeup case had sat. I looked along her shelves, noticing a couple gaps in her reading library. I couldn’t find the Some Bad Men album I’d used as a ring box either.
That…cheered me up a little. She’d really taken a lot of things with her, but it wasn’t all clothes and shoes. Keepsakes, mementos, the really important stuff, they were all missing. I hoped she was out there right now, listening to that CD. I sat down on the edge of the bed. Wherever she was, she loved me. I knew that.
I tried to lay the information out in front of me, give it all a good going over. She’d taken so much stuff, it wasn’t like she was leaving the house expecting to return later. She knew she’d be gone a while. Not talking to her parents, that cut them out as an option. So she’d either packed her bags for a long stay at the hospital – Laurel did say they were “forting up”, or she’d intended to come to me.
Why the fuck had she taken off, asked Laurel and Danni to go with her, and not given me the same option? Maybe I was feeling a little shorter-tempered than usual, because I wanted to start smashing shit up again. I looked over to the corner, where she kept her and Morgan’s hockey sticks - handy clubs at this point. Only Morgan’s stood there, Katy’s gone, as if she knew she might need a weapon…or just wanted a big handle for her duffel bag.
I didn’t go caveman, didn’t smash anything else, but the urge was still there. I knew that when it was gone, all I’d be left with were tears. That grief I’d been working so hard to avoid. Edgar, Rosie, dead. Damian’s sister, his nephews and nieces, gone. The Mason family, killed by their fucking dog.
‘Where is she?’ I asked myself, my voice swallowed by the dancing shadows.
I opened drawers and cupboards, looking for some clue, some note, anything. All I found were more empty spaces where things used to be. Appropriate, I guess. Even her private drawers, the ones with the tiny locks on, were unlocked now. I felt bad for searching them, and save for the, ahem, toy drawer, even they were emptied, whatever secrets she kept were gone.
Maybe it was the aromatherapy, the smell of lavender and vanilla, but I didn’t feel like slamming the drawers. I left everything, whatever was left, as I found it. Finally I picked up Morgan’s stick and left Katy’s room, closing the door behind me carefully. At the bottom of the stairs, everyone was waiting for me. They looked up and stopped talking as I came into view.
Laurel had a camping backpack on her shoulders, and her rifle in her hands. Neville was holding two stacked cardboard boxes of what looked like tinned food and bottled drink. Damian had another one under his arm, and carried his and Neville’s bats in the other hand.
‘What’s all this about dogs?’ Laurel asked. I could see her face was still blotchy from crying. She was changing the subject, offering an olive branch to all involved.
I wasn’t sure I could take it and wipe my conscience clean of Danielle’s death. But I only had to hold it together until nobody could see me fall apart. There’d be time to dwell on it later.
A bitter, cynical part of me remembered a thought I’d had earlier. About it being tougher to deal with death when it was a friend, someone your own age, as opposed to an aging war vet and his long-suffering wife.
‘They had ghost eyes, like from haunted house TV shows, you seen?’ Damian nodded, trying to smile. Although even he couldn’t manage it for long, not tonight. ‘They bark, made everything weird.’
‘You said they didn’t make a sound.’ Laurel said, pulling off that long sniff you do after a really long cry.
‘Something subsonic.’ I nodded, heading for the front door, taking the branch and not thinking about Le Movie Poster, or Becky Mason, who looked to have gone out the same way.
We left that house with the candles still burning, and I half-hoped that the whole place would burn down. If the world ever got back to normal, I wouldn’t want Katy going back there anyway. She saw the bad side of people every day at work, but she didn’t need to see what happened to Danni.
Walking down the path, past the little front rockery and out into the street, I remembered leaving the Masons in their house, no burial, no cremation. Laurel didn’t say anything about moving Danni, or putting her on the fire in the street. Guess she didn’t want her burning with the zombies, as if that’d taint her remains.
I took the bats off of Damian when we got to the 4x4, so he could get his hands in order with the keys. We loaded the boxes into the backseats, Neville and Laurel climbing up
in there after them.
I belted up, rested my bat between my legs, and opened the window enough for the wind to batter my face when we started moving. I still felt like I was going to be sick, and Damian was looking at me like he was worried I was going to do it in his front seat.
He drove just as carefully back home, but I wasn’t watching the scenery this time. My mind was elsewhere. I swung backwards and forwards in thought, half asleep. It’d been a busy day.
If Katy was still alive, where could she be? Obviously County Hospital was a top candidate, but perhaps she’d have gotten out of there when the trouble started - but if that were true, why hadn’t she made it to my place?
What if she wasn’t alive? Was she even now walking the streets looking for…food? Or if she was still breathing, then what was she doing? Was she with this new CDC, or the Territorials, helping people? I prayed that wherever she was, whoever she was with, that she was okay. I had images, visions running around in my head.
Katy, on her massive hog, shotgun stuck down into the slot at her feet, a meaty soundtrack playing in her earphones. She rode by a zombie, and casually blew its head away as she went, riding towards a military encampment on the horizon.
I saw her kneeling over a wounded soldier, administering emergency first aid to a gunshot, some friendly fire incident. The guy was bleeding out, but she was keeping him stabilised with her hoodie, bunching it up and pressing it against his chest, like in the movies.
But then I saw the soldier reach up and grab her by the hair, pulling her down to his mouth, and it wasn’t to hear his last words. She tried to get away from the zed, but he was too strong.
‘Behave!’ Damian shouted, grabbing my arm, shaking.
I opened my eyes, and blinked them back into focus. I was still sat in the front passenger seat. Damian was looking at me, lips tight, brow furrowed.
‘Sorry…’ I muttered, voice tight.
‘You started twitching, muttering.’ he said, letting go of my wrists, ‘Shouted but you didn’t wake up.’