We Are The Infected: Dext of the Dead

by Steve Kuhn

  He nodded his approval and held out his arms to illustrate that he had no luck with the hunting. He said to me, “Rained out before I got anything goin’. How’s Kylee? Are the others back yet?”

  I had barely gotten the words “not good” out of my mouth when Cutty emerged from around the corner, machetes drawn. He said, “Heard da shot. E’erybody okay?”

  We nodded, and he went back inside, but not before he told us, “Hurry yo’ ass up, nigga. You may have drawn us a crowd wit’ that shootin’.”

  Fuck! I hadn’t even thought about that.

  Anyway, we got sorted out, but now I’m fucking muddy as hell and soaked through to my dirty-ass drawers, which are uncomfortable and itchy and cold.

  Kylee woke up for a few minutes and tried to talk to me. All she managed to say was that her guts felt like they were in knots and that she felt cold. That was weird to me considering her fever was silly high. I asked her if there was anything I could do, but she shook her head. She just whispered, “Please wait until I turn. Don’t do it before I turn. I’m going to try not to… but… I want you to…”

  That was pretty much all she could say before she fell out again. I was holding her clammy hands, but it wasn’t long until Fart came over and shoved her nose and face between us. She butted her way in and grunted at me to fuck off. I did what she wanted me to do. Fuckin’ with Fart is kinda like fuckin’ with Cutty. You just don’t do it.

  It’s been about an hour or so since noon, and still no JC and Fool yet. Hopefully they didn’t run into any serious problems, but we can’t help but be worried. On the bright side, we only spotted two or three more dumbshits since the shooting, and they wandered right past.

  This place sucks. It’s been looted and picked over, so there isn’t so much as a Slim Jim to be found as far as grub goes. I did manage to find a stale-ass pack of smokes—menthol, which I hate, but beggars can’t be choosers. I was just about to fire one up when I realized we had no fuckin’ fire. Everything was soaked.

  I asked Rebecca if she could figure out some way to make a flame for me. No lie—I winced before she answered, because I was expecting her to blast me, but she didn’t.

  She casually walked past the empty rack where the lighters used to be kept and to the back of the counter, where she pulled out a little, plastic pack full of black pellets. It looked like mouse shit or something. She shook them with a smile and said, “Flints, like for Zippo lighters.”

  She told Cutty, “Gimme those little pliers you carry.”

  Cutty pulled ’em off his hip and tossed them to her, and she smirked at me. It was like she was happy to be able to school us on something. I understood that, and it seemed like her whole attitude became clear to me. See, Rebecca knows all the shit Trey taught her, and it’s so rare that we actually give her the opportunity to use it. And here… now… we needed her—not just so I could have a cigarette. We’d be without fire for a few days at this rate if she wasn’t able to pull this off. It’s good to be needed, and it’s a fitting tribute to Trey that his skills often keep us going—interestingly enough, in the worst of times. Rebecca just wants to be treated as one of us and not like Cutty’s niece. How could we have been so stupid? She’s a strong woman, and we’re assholes to think we’re any better or more capable than her. In fact, she’s earned her emotional stripes just as much, if not more, than all of us.

  Rebecca sauntered back around to us and peeled six or eight small strips of cloth from these crappy bandanas that were lying on the floor next to an overturned rack. Then she scurried over to where the register was lying on the floor and rummaged around for a second or two before exclaiming, “Ah! Here we go.”

  Murphy, Cutty, and I craned our necks to see what she had as we watched her work. It was awesome! She found one of those waxy, gummy things that you rub your fingers in when you’re counting money. You know what I’m talkin’ about… that pink shit so your fingers stick a little bit. Anyway, she smeared the cloth strips with that pink stuff and then twisted them up like little joints.

  Her last couple of moves were the icing on the cake. She found an empty soda can and used the pliers to tear it open and flatten the tin out into a little plate before laying one of the cloth-strip-waxy-joint things on it. Then, reaching into her personal bag, she pulled out an emery board, a nail file. Finally, holding a tiny piece of lighter flint with the pliers, she struck it across the nail file until a spark lit up the bandana joint.

  “Voila! Candles!” she exclaimed happily. “The waxy stuff will make sure they burn for a while.”

  We were amazed.

  I’m going to try and get some water into Kylee. Murphy had the presence of mind to put out some of our containers to catch the rainwater, and they’re looking quite full now. It’s not the Hilton, but we’re doing the best we can with what we have.

  Entry 79

  I think my hand is broken. Luckily it’s not the hand I write with. There are bodies lying in the doorway, and JC is unconscious. Kylee’s condition worsening, my potential injury, and having to leave here in a hurry are all just the tip of the iceberg, because we just crossed a line that we can’t step back from.

  JC and Fool returned late, but unharmed and entered the gas station with their arms full of goodies. It felt like Christmas or something. There was food and not just canned stuff. Real food! There was even some good shit like Gatorade and a few sodas. The best part was they had managed to get some anti-inflammatory stuff to maybe get Kylee’s fever down. We went to work getting that into her immediately. She didn’t stay with it for very long and just asked if she could sleep a bit more. No one objected.

  Once that was sorted, and show and tell was over, Cutty said to them, “Nice goin’, y’all. Dis what I’m talkin’ ’bout!”

  JC and Fool beamed proudly and were clearly pleased with themselves. Fool told us, “Yeah, no sweat, know what I’m sayin’? Me an’ JC got it covered.”

  JC nodded his agreement and said, “That group that passed by wasn’t that big. They didn’t mind trading some stuff off. The only thing we didn’t really get was fuel.”

  Murphy shrugged and noted, “Well, we can always handle that after we get fed and what not. Probably not a good idea to move Kylee too much until we get a handle on what’s going to happen with her anyway. We have to be prepared for the worse, ya know?”

  Everyone nodded solemnly, myself included, as we were reminded of the reality here. I looked over at her, and she just looked pitiful—no longer the tough chick that used to smack me on the back of the head and make my teeth click, no longer the roughneck, ride-or-die bitch that could shoot the nuts off a fly at a hundred yards, just a feeble little girl.

  We sat around busily munching on our newly acquired grub, but within fifteen minutes everything changed.

  A single car swung into the lot of the gas station and screeched to a halt just outside the door. Cutty, Murphy, and I looked up to see what the deal was, but JC and Fool were already on their feet with their weapons trained on the doorway.

  Three men bailed out in a full run and kicked open the door to the gas station. Before I knew it, I had my hands in the air, and all three of those dudes had guns pointed at our faces.

  The middle guy was the one to speak first. He was in his mid-thirties and wore the shaggy beard of a man who’d been running nonstop like us. He coldly demanded, “Give us back everything right now, or I will kill you.”

  Fool gripped his rifle anxiously, slightly rocking on his feet like he was enjoying himself. He had a cold and focused look on his face, which looked really odd considering his young complexion. Without taking his eyes off the men, he said to JC, “Yeah, JC. Yeah, man. I knew they would come. It’s on now, know what I’m sayin’?”

  JC held his aim steady on the man talking. He answered him with, “You’re not a killer. You couldn’t do shit back there, and you ain’t gonna do shit now. Turn around, and get the fuck outta here.”

  The man stepped slightly forward, causing everyone in th
e place to flinch, and pointed the gun right at my face—Right. At. My. Face. We’ve already discussed how shitty that is on more than one occasion, so I’ll spare you. I hate that shit!

  They had pretty much gotten the drop on us, so weapon-wise it was their three to our two. The man told me, “You people robbed us, and we want our shit back now!”

  I stammered like anyone else would and told him, “We traded you, man. What are you talkin’ about ‘robbed’? We’re not thieves.”

  JC side-eyed me slightly and said, “Well, I may have left out a few details, but we were dead without this stuff, so we did what we had to do.”

  The man swung his aim from me to JC nervously and said again, “I want it all back. Your boys here held us up and stole everything. He pointed a gun at my wife’s head for shit’s sake! I should fucking kill you for that alone, motherfucker!”

  Cutty piped up, saying, “Damn, JC. Da fuck is wrong wit’ y’all? Give him back they shit, man.”

  JC stared the stranger down and answered Cutty with, “Fuck that. They had what we needed, and we took it. They should’ve been more careful. No one complained when we took the stuff from the Jesus freaks.”

  Murphy scolded JC, saying, “Bullshit, JC! We earned our share of that stuff, and you took our cut. This is wrong!”

  One of the man’s companions swung his aim towards Kylee and asked, “What’s her problem? She looks bit. She’s done for.”

  Before he finished the statement, Fart was on her feet and bristling with bared teeth. The man said, “Someone better chill that fuckin’ dog out before I do it for you.”

  I told them, “She’s sick. She’s not bit. We just needed medicine for her… and some food. We were out of everything.”

  The main guy said, “Well that sounds like your problem, not mine. Now for the last time, I want our food and our medicine back. You have no idea how much we’ve been through, no idea what we had to go through to get that. We lost people, man. Now give it back!”

  JC and Fool held firm. Fool told them, “Looks like we got us a standoff, know what I’m sayin’? O.K. Corral or some shit.”

  The man’s features softened somewhat, and he addressed me directly, almost pleading. “I don’t want to do this. Look, I got babies, man, two of them. We need that medicine and that food. Your men stol—”

  Boom!

  The guy’s head exploded as JC took his first shot, spraying me with blood and brains. I could feel pieces of his skull bouncing sharply off of my face.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Three more rounds followed in rapid succession as Fool shot up the other two before they knew what was happening. A fourth round followed into the head of the man who threatened the dog as he fell to the ground clutching his wounded chest. I could hear Rebecca screaming with fear, and Cutty exclaimed, “Oh shit!” as the shots rang out in the small building.

  It was over before we even knew it had started. I was shaking, because for a second, I thought it was me who got shot. I wiped my face, but only managed to smear the chunks around. I had the coppery taste of the man’s blood in my mouth.

  JC looked around at us and exclaimed, “Woohoo! Get some!” before spitting on the ground next to the dead men.

  Fool looked visibly shaken, but he did what he had to do. If he hadn’t backed JC up just then, we all probably would have been shot, and frankly, I don’t believe he was in favor of the robbery. It’s likely that once JC started shit with that group, he was forced along for the ride.

  Rebecca shouted at JC and Fool, “What did you do? Oh, God!”

  JC turned and pointed his finger at her and said, “I did what I had to do… and what none of you had the balls to do!”

  Cutty just shook his head, flabbergasted.

  I could feel the anger burning in my belly. I shouted at JC, “The man had kids, you fucking asshole!”

  He just scoffed and told me, “Fuck him. And fuck his bitch wife. And fuck his little, dirty-ass kids. We were going to die without food and water. I got us what we needed. You people should be thanking us. Kylee was going to die without medicine. Look at her. She might still die, even with it, but I made the effort!”

  He slapped Fool on the chest in a somewhat congratulatory manner and said, “He made the effort! You didn’t do shit! You can’t do shit! You’re dead weight, Dext—always have been!”

  I lost my shit. I just lost it—didn’t care about his rifle or his attitude, didn’t care about what he thought of any of us. I just snapped.

  It started with a single, wild, haymaker of a punch. It wasn’t pretty, but it was lucky. I struck JC right under his ear on the point of his pretty-ass jaw and then brought the other fist across his chin. That’s the one that hurt my fuckin’ hand so bad, but he fell. Like a sack of potatoes, he buckled at the knees and was probably asleep before his head hit the floor.

  I just started kicking him, though. I couldn’t stop. I kicked him and kicked him and kicked him. I kicked him until I was panting and tired, and then I wiped my face and kicked him a few more times.

  It wasn’t until Cutty yoked me up and pulled me back, saying, “Eeeeeasy, Dext. I know, man. I know, man, but not like dis,” that I was able to stop and come to my senses.

  We are killers now, and there is no way out of that.

  JC just turned us into monsters.

  Know what? It felt good. Looking at him right now, lying there, still half out of it, it feels so fucking good. All the anger and fear poured out of me, and I felt relief wash over me with every kick that connected. But that’s also the scary part.

  Why did it take an outburst of violence to feel that pressure release? I wonder if this is the beginning. Is this what it feels like to become like the Haven, the raiders, or the killers? Is this what becomes addictive? This release?

  Meh, probably not.

  JC just needed to have his fucking ass kicked. And it felt gooood!

  Men died today because of us, though, and it’s a cold fact that his children and family will die because of us, too. They’re probably back there nervously waiting for their daddy to return and to keep them safe once again. But he’s not coming back. None of them are.

  But at least we have fuel.

  Entry 80

  I’m not really sure what made me feel worse, taking the guns off the dead men and leaving the bodies there to rot or putting Kylee in the back of Murphy’s pickup truck. It’s so fucked up to want to try and help someone so badly, yet feel scared shitless of them at the same time—very weird. Nevertheless, the rain had subsided, and we saw the dead begin to slowly approach in the distance as they pursued the sound of our gunfire. We just had to move and do it somewhat quickly… but not before we cleared the air a little.

  Murphy siphoned the gas from the strangers’ car and split it between the jeep and the pickup, while Cutty stood guard as his spotter.

  JC finally got his shit together, but was moving slowly and clutching at his ribs constantly. My hand was still bugging me. It was awkward as hell, but we took a moment to just sit there, alone together inside the gas station with three dead bodies, staring at the floor in silence.

  Once the others gathered back inside, JC finally spoke, saying, “You think you’re better than me?” His voice dripped with venom.

  No one answered.

  He continued speaking to no one in particular. “You’re not better than me. None of you are better than me. You’d die without me. You know it, and I know it. And it’s because you’re too Goddamn soft.”

  Cutty just shook his head as we all listened to JC say his piece.

  “Survival, people. It’s about survival. We hunt, we gather, we survive. Period. We have to stop thinking about being civil, because that world is dead. If we don’t strike first, we will be the ones who are laid out on the floor. This world is savage now. It’s kill or be killed, survival of the fittest.”

  He was working himself up. His words and his mannerisms got more intense as he spoke. “And I’m pretty fuckin’ fit! I don�
��t know about you people, but I don’t want to be a fucking victim like these idiots,” he said as he kicked one of the bodies.

  He held his ribs with one hand and pointed at us with the other as he made his plea. “I don’t want some other group to waltz in here and shoot Murphy and his dog. I don’t even like that fuckin’ dog, but she’s part of our group! So, I will kill for her and him… I don’t want some other group raping Rebecca while you’re forced to watch it, Cutty! So, I’ll kill anyone for you and her… and Kylee… and even you, Dext—because this is our group, not theirs. You think a lion gives a shit that the gazelle it’s about to kill has little babies? Fuck no! Because that lion has its own pride to feed and protect! And that’s what I do, Goddammit!”

  Murphy looked at JC almost like he felt sorry for him and said, “You’re losin’ it, kid. We all know what the stakes are out there, but you’re missing the point.”

  JC’s mouth hung open before he shot back, “There is no point. It’s live or die, Murphy. Live… or die.”

  Cutty finally got to his feet. “Naw, JC. Dat ain’t da way, man. We ain’t animals, homie. Some of us still believe dat when we leave dis life, we gotta face da man up top. Some of us believe dat if we do shit like you jus’ did, we got a Hell even worse den dis mess waitin’ on us. I ain’t tryna be like dat, man, ya heard?”

  Rebecca nodded and added, “We have to try and remain human, JC. We have to keep things sacred so that when this is all over, we have values to hold onto and teach our children.”

  JC shook his head and argued, “Keep thinkin’ like that, and you’ll never get to see that happen, Rebecca.”

  Fool even chimed in, saying, “Hey, the only reason I fired on these men was because they had fawckin’ guns in ma face, know what I’m sayin’? I like you an’ all that, JC, but that shit wasn’t cool, know what I’m sayin’? Nothin’ about that was cool, bro.”

  Fool was promptly backed up by Murphy, who continued with, “Humanity, kid. In the end, that’s all that separates us from animals. If we need to defend ourselves, we will. We can protect one another even if we have our own differences, but without humanity, there’s nothin’ worth fighting for. Everyone deserves a chance to make it, JC. These men didn’t have to die, and their families didn’t have to suffer. I don’t wanna live in a world like that, kid.”