by Kate L. Mary
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
The Things We Cannot Change
A Zombie Apocalypse Love Story
Kate L. Mary
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Kate L. Mary
Published by Twisted Press, LLC, an independently owned company.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Kate L. Mary
Cover art by Kate L. Mary
Print ISBN-13: 9781984231185
Print ISBN-10: 1984231189
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1
There were only six people in the room when I walked in, including me. Down from eleven last Tuesday and sixteen the week before. Before that there were twenty-three. I know because I’d counted them from my position in the last line of chairs, keeping low the entire time in hopes that no one would notice me. A new face in a sea of people who seemed to know the dark shadows that followed everyone else in the room.
More than anything else the dwindling number of attendees seemed like an omen. These people relied on the meetings to keep them anchored, and if they weren’t coming, it had to mean things had gotten bad. Worse than the news was reporting and worse than anything my brain could imagine while lying awake at night, staring into the darkness as sleep evaded me.
They’d lapsed. It was the only logical conclusion I could come to that would explain the missing group members. Things were getting serious out there. The news was more depressing than ever and people were dying. It was the prime time for addicts who were fighting addiction to slip back into their old ways. After all, didn’t we all start drinking so we could escape from reality? I know I did. What better time to escape than now? It only made sense that a few people would tumble off the wagon as the world around them careened more and more out of control.
A man with fuzzy, gray hair took his place at the front of the room just as I claimed my seat. It was the same chair I’d sat in every week since I started coming. Last row, toward the middle where I would be safely concealed had the room been full. Now though, I found myself surrounded by empty chairs that seemed to pulse from the loss of their occupants, and I realized too late that I’d made myself more noticeable by sitting where I was. The four others who had managed to drag themselves to the meeting were gathered at the front, and all eyes turned my way as old fuzzy hair cleared his throat and started talking.
I mouthed the words along with the others, who turned their gazes back to the front after the first line. “…serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can…”
My voice, barely above a whisper, faded away to nothing as I tried—and failed—not to think of all the things in my life that I could not change. There were so many that it felt like they would kill me sometimes. Crush me with their weight or drown me with their intensity. I wasn’t sure which one, but I did know that over the past year, the only time I had been able to block them out was when I was drinking. Even then they never really went away until the alcohol had worked its magic and my brain was coated in a thick, numbing fog.
The man with the fuzzy hair cleared his throat the second our chant was over, and his equally gray eyes scanned the room like he was looking for his first victim. This was meeting number four for me, yet I hadn’t said a single word during the actual meeting, and afterward the only thing I’d managed to allow to slip past my lips was my name to a couple overly-enthusiastic people. Neither of which were here tonight. Now, no matter how low I sank in my chair, I could feel the buzz of the man’s gray eyes on me. If I didn’t know better I’d think he had super powers, the way his gaze seemed to make my backside tingle with the need to stand.
“Who would like to go first?” His gaze darted to the other three people, then back to me.
I’d heard the others speak and knew that they were seasoned veterans of sobriety. Compared to them I was an infant, the world new and slightly terrifying in its brightness and clarity. That was how it felt since I’d stopped drinking, anyway.
A woman wearing hideous purple leggings adorned with brightly colored flowers took the front. Her face was too round for her body and she was plump, although not big enough that most people would describe her as fat. Her cheeks were fleshy and full, and her body looked lumpy in the tight leggings and too small shirt, reminding me of a chubby infant who seemed to be made entirely of fatty rolls. She talked in a low voice that barely carried all the way back to me, recounting the same story I’d heard the very first week I was here as tears streamed down her cheeks. I was sure that for her the tale of how she’d ruined her daughter’s wedding reception was emotionally torturous, but all I could think about was some over-the-top sitcom or slapstick comedy. Not that the image made me smile.
After she sat, blowing her nose so loudly that it sounded like a bullhorn, the man with the fuzzy hair once again went to the front. He looked toward me and I had the almost overwhelming urge to stick out my tongue. I didn’t want to be singled out, and Lord knew I was only here because I’d been given an ultimatum.
Yes, my drinking had gotten bad, but I wasn’t out of control. In fact, I’d been very aware of what it was doing in my life and had been thankful for it most days. If I’d wanted to stop on my own I could have, I just didn’t. Not until my boss had thrust this ultimatum at me.
I sank lower in my chair and crossed my arms. The man with the gray eyes nodded before turning his gaze to a man on the other side of the room. He stood and took his place at the front, but I tuned out what he was saying.
When the meeting was over, the four other people all having taken their turns talking while I sat pouting in my row of empty seats, I headed for the door, hoping to avoid the man with the frizzy hair who seemed to think he could intimidate me into talking. He cut me off though, thrusting his hand out like I was a dog and he was dangling a bone in front of my face that I couldn’t possibly resist.
“Micah,” he said, the same reserved smile on his face that he’d started the meeting with.
“Jade.” I slipped my hand into his, giving it one tentative pump before dropping my arm to my side, thankful that last names were a no-no at these things. The anonymous part was the only thing that had made me agree to come here. That and the threat of losing my job, and ultimately my career.
“This is what, your fifth meeting?” Micah asked, cocking his head to the side.
“Fourth.” I crossed my arms again, allowing my gaze to dart toward the other three people long enough to confirm that they were in fact listening. Like Micah, they were probably dying to hear all the s
ordid details of my descent to rock bottom. Too bad for them, I didn’t have a story like that.
“We’re glad to have you,” Micah said.
I nodded as I once again met his gaze. The gray eyes staring back at me were soft and open, with no hint of judgment and totally absent of the gleeful interest I’d expected. These days when people asked how I was doing, the sympathy I’d come to loath had been replaced by other emotions. Curiosity as they found themselves wondering if the rumors about me were true, or disgust as they dug for details. Micah though, reminded me of a priest whose only purpose in life was to lend a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen.
“I wish I could say I was happy to be here.” I hugged myself tighter, feeling like he had me backed into a corner I couldn’t possibly escape. “To be honest, I’d rather be anywhere else.”
“I remember the feeling.” Micah’s sympathetic smile deepened until it looked like a cross between a frown and a smile, and he waved to the nearly empty room at his back. “As you can see though, we seem to be the lucky ones. We were able to make it today.”
I swallowed. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
A man in his late thirties who looked like the stereotypical science teacher behind his perfectly round wire frames walked over to stand at Micah’s side. “Things are getting hairy out there.”
Micah nodded, making the fuzzy mess on top of his head bob back and forth, and I had to bite back a crack about how it wasn’t any less hairy in here. I knew better than to try to make a joke, though. Lately, my sense of humor came out sounding more like bitterness than comedy.
“A lot of sickness,” Micah said. “A lot of death.”
I knew these meetings would be depressing, but this? I wanted to puke. Or scream.
“It will blow over,” I said, glancing down at my watch even though I had nowhere to be. I took two steps back before lifting my eyes to the men in front of me. “I’ll see you next week.”
The science teacher nodded, but Micah reached out to me. He didn’t grab my arm to stop me from leaving, but I stopped walking anyway.
“We’d love for you to join in next time, Jade,” he said. “You’ll find that we’re a pretty easy group to talk to.”
I looked away. “We’ll see.”
“No pressure. Just an invitation.”
The worst invitation I’ve ever received, I thought, while out loud I said, “I’ll give it some thought.”
I didn’t look at Micah long enough to see if he nodded, but I knew he did and I could picture the fuzzy strands of hair bobbing back and forth on his head as I hurried from the room.
Outside, the streets were as vacant as the church basement had been, although slightly less suffocating. Autumn air swept down the sidewalk as I headed home, blowing leaves with it and cooling my skin. The shiver that shook my body seemed to go straight to my soul.
Fall had been Nathaniel’s favorite time of year. The orange and red hue of the trees, the way the air smelled of dirt and felt crisp against your face. He’d loved it. Loved to go hiking and camping, dragging me out of the city every chance he got, especially during this time of year. The country had been a second home to him and I’d put up with it even though most of the time I’d felt like I would get lost in the vastness of it all. Like nature would suck me up and swallow me whole.
I’d grown up in the city, surrounded by the cement jungle of New York. The blare of car horns and the buzz of voices that constantly filled the air were soothing to me, but not Nathaniel. He’d been a country boy, born and raised in Georgia, the soft twang of his speech a constant reminder of our conflicting backgrounds. It had faded over time, but never gone away completely, and his southern drawl made a sudden reappearance at the most unusual times. When he was angry, but more often when he would lower his voice and whisper in my ear, his words tickling the side of my face while his accent warmed me.
I fell in love with him because he was so different from me. All the boys I’d grown up with had come from money. They’d been entitled and cocky, expecting everything to be handed to them. But not Nathaniel. He’d come from a small town and had worked his ass off to get to college, paid his own way, his sights set on things bigger than anyone he had grown up with could have ever imagined. He’d gotten them, too. Graduating at the top of his undergraduate class, he’d come to Columbia and taken the university by storm. He’d taken me by storm.
Thoughts of Nathaniel followed me as I hurried down the street. It was a good twenty blocks to my Fifth Avenue apartment, but I didn’t bother trying to hail a cab. For one, I needed the walk to clear my head, but I also doubted I’d be able to find one. The usually busy streets were nearly empty now, with nothing more than the occasional car passing. The silence that had fallen over the city made it feel hollow and empty. Like a tomb.
Some people might even say that that was exactly what New York had become: a graveyard.
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket as I walked, hoping to distract myself. Although with what, I wasn’t sure. Unlike other people, I didn’t have any addicting little games on my phone and I had long ago deleted all my social media apps. Who cared what was trending on Facebook when you could barely drag yourself out of bed in the morning?
The little red number next to my telephone icon told me that I had a voicemail, and when I opened it, I was shocked to see my boss’s name. We hadn’t spoken since she called me into her office five weeks ago and I’d agreed to not only take time off, but to attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, and I hadn’t expected her to call this soon.
She was probably just checking in, but I couldn’t stop my pulse from quickening when I pressed play and held the phone against my ear. Her voice came through, low and haggard, the exhaustion thick but also accompanied by something else. Sickness? No. That couldn’t be right. Doctor Miranda Curtis was too big to catch this thing.
“Jade, this is Dr. Curtis. I know that the last time we spoke we decided you needed to take a sabbatical, but things have changed. We’re swamped. There’s no other way to put it. The hospital staff that hasn’t caught this thing is overworked and stretched thin, and we need the help. This thing is much bigger than they’re saying on the news.” She let out a deep breath and I could picture her putting her face in her hands even though I’d never seen this soldier of a woman with anything that even resembled a look of defeat on her face. “I’m sick, Jade, and I’m scared.”
The message ended and I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring down at it like it was a crystal ball that would somehow allow me to see into the future. She was scared? Miranda Curtis? No way. That didn’t make sense. I’d never seen this woman express a single emotion that could be categorized as weakness. She was the very definition of tough under pressure. Cool. Collected. All business. The poster child for the stereotypical emergency room physician.
My feet were aching by the time my building came into view, and the pang I’d been trying to hold off pierced my gut. How many times had I come home from work with achingly tired feet only to have Nathaniel rub the hurt away? Too many to count.
He’d worked from home, his office taking up nearly half of our apartment, and I could only think of a handful of times in our five year marriage when he hadn’t been waiting for me at the door. After his dad had died and we’d gone down for the funeral he’d stayed an extra week while I’d come home, leaving me to brave the apartment on my own. There had also been the trip he’d taken out to San Francisco two years ago for a friend’s wedding. I’d had to stay behind, unable to get the time off, and for the five days that he’d been gone I’d felt like a part of me was missing. Then there was the night he didn’t come home from the gym…
I let myself into my building, feeling more than a little weighed down by the sudden memories.
The gray-haired doorman, Robert, looked up from his desk and smiled. “How you doing, Dr. Travis?”
“I’m good, Robert,” I said even though there wasn’t a single thing about me that could be described as go
od at the moment.
“Nice to hear. It’s been even quieter down here than usual.” His smile faltered just a tad and the fear that flashed in his eyes made my heart quicken. “You think this thing is going to blow over?”
He looked at me the way families of patients did when they knew their loved one was living their last moments but found it impossible to give up hope. There was a pleading expression in his eyes. Pleading for hope or a miracle, or maybe even for me to lie to him. As a doctor, none of those things were something I could provide for the families of patients because I’d taken an oath to do no harm, and giving people false hope was most definitely doing harm.
But as a resident of this building, I had taken no such oath.
“Of course it will blow over,” I told Robert as I walked faster, the phone in my hand seeming to double in weight. “It’s all going to be fine.”
His smile returned and even though I knew I should feel bad, all I could feel was the same relief that swam in his eyes. “Have a good day, Dr. Travis!”
“You too, Robert.”
I didn’t look at my phone again until I was safely in the elevator. The fear in Dr. Curtis’s voice still rang in my ears. These last few weeks I’d spent hour after hour wondering when I’d be able to go back to work, so desperate to get out of my apartment that I could barely stomach the idea of staying a moment longer, but now that I was able to return I found myself hesitating. If things were as bad as she was saying, maybe I was better off here.
I’d just determined to ignore the message when I stepped through the front door of my penthouse apartment. The wall-to-wall windows in the living and dining area somehow made the space feel even emptier than it was, and the echo of my heels as they clicked against the hardwood felt like it was taunting me.