I wiggled my fingers that held my blade in a death grip. Even with the gloves on, they were stiff and nearly frozen. How far was I from my campsite? Half a mile? Maybe less. Which put these zombies wandering in the woods further out than any had been in over five months. I’d been foolish to think the cold would slow them down or keep them out of the woods.
I just felt so fucking tired all the time.
I was always looking over my shoulder, always sleeping just enough to keep me going another day, afraid to sleep too long or too deeply and wake up with a zombie tearing into my throat.
I pulled my gun out of my holster and considered waiting until I knew how many I was up against, or at least what my odds were, but I had stood still for too long. I was worried that my reflexes would be slow from standing in the same position in the freezing cold for too long.
I released a slow breath and watched the snow flurries floating all around me. I wiggled my fingers once more, trying to bring some warmth back to them before I made my move. The zombies’ movements grew so loud and harsh in the otherwise quiet forest that my head started to pound.
I shook my head roughly, feeling disoriented and panicked. A branch snapped close by and I immediately swiveled in that direction with my gun pointed out in front of me. The wet gurgle of a fresh zombie came from directly behind me. A drop of sweat trickled down the side of my face as an icy finger of dread danced up my spine.
I cried out and swung around, my numb finger already pulling the trigger. The snow floated around me in a hazy mist, everything slowed and went silent. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in slow motion; I could hear the gun cock back and the explosion of the bullet leaving my weapon. I could hear . . . my father’s voice.
Melody?
He stood there with his hand outstretched toward me, his glacial blue eyes wide in shock and hurt just before the bullet entered his forehead and a spray of dark red blood coated the fresh fallen snow at his feet.
“Noooooo!” I screamed as his body fell slowly to the ground. My voice echoed all around me, filling the forest up with the sound of my utter anguish, the sound of my heart being torn from my chest.
*****
I sprung forward, my hand immediately reaching for my knife under my pillow.
My heart was thumping erratically and sweat had soaked through my tee shirt. I wiped my hair from my face and glanced around, trying to remember where I was. A tiny cot, a plain dresser, all in a small, nondescript room painted a nondescript gray.
The previous day came back to me in bits and pieces and I gradually regained my senses. I was in an underground safe house at the army base. I pushed my knife back under my pillow and swung my legs over the side of my little cot. It had been a long time since I’d had a nightmare and the images of what I’d dreamt were still flashing behind my eyelids. I pulled my long black hair—now blissfully free of snarls—back into a ponytail and then dropped to the ground next to my borrowed bed.
One, two, three, I chanted under my breath.
I did my pushups, pushing myself until my arms were quivering from exhaustion. Even then I couldn’t completely erase the images that were burned into my mind. I rolled over onto my back, put my feet flat on the floor, and did sit ups until I couldn’t even crawl back up onto the bed.
Didn’t matter. I wasn’t used to sleeping on anything other than the ground now anyway. I dragged my blanket and pillow to the floor and then tucked my knife back beneath my pillow. I lay there for several hours, staring up at the ceiling before I decided to get up to find the major to get some answers.
I needed to get my mind off of my nightmares and off of my memories.
Going down that road would only make me lose my mind and losing your mind in the middle of a zombie apocalypse is highly discouraged.
You’re THAT Girl!
When I made my way to the tiny mess hall, I was surprised to find it already inhabited by several people. I scarcely paid them any attention though, not with the yummy smells coming from the kitchen area.
I strode over to the table where several bowls of piping hot oatmeal topped with cinnamon and raisins sat. I glanced up and met a pair of warm dark brown eyes belonging to an older woman who was setting out spoons and napkins. I glanced down at the bowls and then back up at the woman. She smiled broadly and motioned for me to take one. I smiled my thanks, grabbed a bowl, and made my way over to a table furthest away from the other six or seven people enjoying their breakfast. My position also allowed me to see the entire room from where I sat. I scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal and blew on it a few times then stuck the yummy stickiness in my mouth. That’s all it took. I was in heaven. I had just shoveled more oatmeal into my pie-hole and was nearly vibrating with happiness when a shadow fell over me and a voice cut into my haze of euphoria.
“You almost look like a regular person when you’re eating.”
My back stiffened and I glanced up into his cocky, freshly shaven face. I grinned and scooped another bite of my breakfast.
“You almost look like a regular person too, Jude,” I said. “Well, a normal person with one hell of a shiner.” I continued to eat, hoping Jude would take a hint. He sat down across from me at the table instead.
“Most people would think you don’t like me, but I’ve got a theory,” he said around a mouthful of oatmeal.
This guy just wouldn’t go away.
“A theory?” I asked.
He nodded his head, oblivious to my death stare. “Yup. See, I think you have some kind of post-zombie-apocalypse-stress-disorder or something, and you’ve regressed back to your childhood.” He winked and took another bite.
I crossed my arms across my chest and decided to do exactly what he wanted me to. “Oh really? Regressed how?” I asked, knowing I was egging him on in his little fantasy, but I had to know what his puny brain had concocted. He looked over at me and shrugged.
“Back to the days where tugging on braids and hitting someone meant you really had a crush on them. Do you like me? Check yes-or-no type of stuff.” He tsked as if he felt sorry for me and then grinned widely when my mouth dropped open again.
“Jude, you are such a jacka—”
“It is you!” a voice screeched, reverberating through the room. I flinched and had already risen halfway from my chair, grabbing for my gun before I realized what I was doing.
Jude had stood too, his eyes studying me, his jaw set, wondering what I was about to do.
I relaxed and breathed in deeply just as a tall, gangly boy of about fourteen with a mop of brown curls strode up to our table. His hazel eyes were wide with wonder, making me nervous. I sat back down, and Jude followed suit, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Sorry, you must have the wrong person,” I said sharply. “I don’t know a lot of people around here.”
“No, I’m positive it’s you,” the boy gushed, his eyes wide and his smile huge. He had a mouth full of braces. I vaguely wondered how he’d ever get them off.
“I’ll never forget that day as long as I live. You freakin’ cleared out over a hundred zombies single handedly. You even set some on fire!”
My eyes widened and I stuttered a few times, but the kid kept on talking.
“You took out dozens and dozens, like it was just another day on the job for you. At first, we didn’t know who was shooting, but then you came down and walked right out onto the street like you weren’t scared of anything, yelling ‘Come get some, bitches!’ I swear to God, we all about crapped our pants when you lit the old Starbucks and the zombies on fire.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat and glanced up at Jude. He was studying me intently, his eyes searching mine for answers I didn’t really have while the boy told his story for the whole mess hall to hear.
“We thought maybe you didn’t make it after that, but then you busted through the doors a few buildings down and barely escaped from that zombie all lit up like a bonfire! Then we heard you laughing when you turned the music up. You even drove over a few more zo
mbies on your way out of town.”
His eyes were shining, remembering the day with all its ugly details. “You almost cleared out the whole town. You made it possible for my family and a few other people to get out of the town.”
I shook my head, knowing where he was going with his speech.
“You saved our lives. You’re a hero.”
I stood abruptly and grabbed my bowl off the table. “I’m no hero, kid,” I said harshly.
His eyes widened and he backed up a step.
“You are. I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for you,” he said vehemently.
I got up close to him and looked him in the eye. “How many of you escaped after that?”
“There were about a dozen of us.”
I clenched my jaw and looked down at the ground. Only a dozen? “And how many did you have with you before I came that day?” I spat.
I knew I was being unreasonable, too harsh, but I couldn’t help myself.
The boy’s eyes shuttered, and pain flashed behind them. He looked at the ground as he spoke. “About fifty.”
“And how many are with you out of the twelve survivors from that day?” I asked, softly now. He shook his head and his fists balled tightly at his sides. “How many?” I pushed mercilessly.
“Eight,” he murmured.
My stomach knotted and I finally met the kid’s stare. “I’m no fucking hero, kid. If I were, I’d have come sooner and stayed longer.”
He shook his head, but I turned to walk away. I stopped myself before I’d taken a step and let out a weary sigh. I tentatively put out a hand and rested it on the kid’s shoulder.
“What’s your name?” I asked softly. His eyes widened as he finally lifted his head.
“Thomas,” he answered after a moment. A corner of my mouth lifted into a smile and Thomas joined in.
“I’m glad you’re alive, Thomas,” I said truthfully. Thomas’s smile went back to full wattage. “I’m Melody,” I said my hand outstretched. He shook it before I had time to change my mind. I finally begin walking away. I glanced over my shoulder at the boy still standing there.
“That human zombie torch was pretty fucking awesome though, huh?” I threw across the room.
“Damn right!” Thomas agreed readily.
I grinned as I set my bowl in the dirty dish bin, aware that the eyes of everyone in the room were on me as I marched from the mess hall.
I was halfway down the long corridor when Jude caught up with me.
“That was a bit harsh, don’t you think, Melody?”
I stopped mid-stride and whirled around to face him. “It’s none of your business,” I hissed.
He raised his hands in the air in surrender and smiled. I frowned. This guy was worse than any chick with his mood swings.
“Most girls like to be idolized,” he pushed.
I rolled my eyes and started walking again. “I’m not most girls.”
“That’s the understatement of the century,” he laughed. I cut my eyes over to him and found that Jude was even more devastatingly handsome when he laughed. Besides the dimple that made an appearance at such times, his laugh softened his angular features dramatically. I wondered if he used his smile like I used mine when necessary.
He grinned when he caught me ogling him in thought. Jerk.
“Anyway, I’m supposed to deliver you to Major Tillman,” he said seriously.
“Perfect,” I answered, and quickened my stride. My steps faltered when I realized Jude had stopped in the middle of the hallway.
“He’s this way,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction. I set my jaw and barely restrained my temper when I heard him chuckle under his breath. We went to meet the guy I’d been wanting to talk to all along, the guy I seriously hoped could give me some answers.
Ain’t That Some Shit?
Jude led me back through the room we had first come into the day before and then into a large meeting room that looked like it was being used as a central command center. Major Tillman was speaking to a young Hispanic man dressed in camouflage, similar to what Jude was wearing.
“Melody, this is Manuel.” Major Tillman nodded to the man.
He was short in comparison to the Major’s nearly six-foot height, maybe five foot six, if I was being generous. His width made up for his height though. Don’t get me wrong, there wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on Manuel, but rather he looked like a small, compact tank ready to plow over the enemy. Bulging muscles, military buzz cut, and a neat and trim mustache above lips currently formed into a terse line. Maybe just under thirty years old if I had to guess.
His eyes flicked over me dismissively.
The major stepped forward and held his hand out to me.
“Now that we can be officially introduced, I’m Major Tillman.” I shook his hand and smiled. He motioned to the tank of a man behind him. “This is Manuel, he’ll be joining us today.” I grasped the man’s hand in mine and nodded.
Small hands, but a powerful handshake. A nasty scar ran across the back of his hand.
“Major, I really appreciate the shower and the room. It has been a long time since I’ve had either and they were a welcomed luxury. Not to mention the cinnamon oatmeal.”
His smile was genuine and warm. “I’m just sorry we didn’t run into you sooner. We would have gladly offered you a place here with us a long time ago.”
I shook my head, remembering everything I’d been through in the past six months. It hadn’t been easy, in fact at times I thought I wasn’t going to make it. Other times, I wanted to lay down and give up, but I didn’t, and I was stronger for that reason.
“I appreciate that, Major, but I did alright and I don’t think I’d change the last few months even if I could. My father taught me well and I’ve learned a lot about survival and killing zombies as a result.”
The major stared at me for a few moments, studying my face before he smiled again and held his hand out to an empty chair. “You’re an extraordinary young woman, Melody,” he said. “Please have a seat. We have a lot to talk about, and I’m sure you have a ton of questions you’re just dying to ask me.”
“How many people do you have here, Major?” I asked after a moment.
“We are responsible for nearly a hundred people. Seventy-six are civilians and twenty-two are Army,” he said.
I was a bit surprised. I hadn’t realized there were quite that many humans left in the area. Even more surprising was the ratio. I would have thought the majority of people left would have been military, but with only twenty-two soldiers, more than three quarters of the survivors were civilians.
“How did the civilians find their way here?” I asked.
They couldn’t have found their way easily, unless they stupidly believed, like I had, that the base would have provided some sort of safe haven that first day. Even then, their odds weren’t very good.
“Some are family members of soldiers. Jude and Manuel also lead a team out often to search for survivors,” he answered.
I glanced over at Jude, and then to Manuel. They both certainly looked capable of running those kinds of dangerous missions. I was still impressed. It would be nearly impossible to locate survivors, but to actually lead them back to the base without getting the entire group killed, well, those weren’t odds I’d ever bet on.
I took a deep breath and searched the Major’s face for answers.
“How did it happen?” I asked, my eyes wide. I knew my question sounded like a plea, like I wanted to believe someone had all the answers and that they would be able to tell me they were working on a plan. That the world would be on the way to getting back to normal before we knew it.
The major’s eyes held mine, lips thinned, the gray hair at his temples much more prominent than in the photo I’d seen. I didn’t find any reassurances in his eyes. Instead, I found despair and resignation. I shook my head, a jerky movement of denial.
The major cleared his throat and began.
“Patient 001
, as our military had dubbed him, was a retired military officer who was about to go on a trip he had been planning for over a year with the Peace Corps when he found out he had cancer. He decided to put off his treatment, knowing if he went through chemotherapy first, he wouldn’t be fit enough to make the trip.”
Major Tillman took a sip of his black coffee before continuing on.
“Ironically enough, he trudged into the innermost depths of the African jungle to help distribute medical supplies and clean drinking water to the remote tribes, when he somehow ingested a rare parasite.”
The Major motioned to Manuel. Manuel took up where the Major left off.
“The parasite was passed into his bloodstream where it nestled itself into the wall of an artery and it hatched eggs, then the parasites fed off of its host’s internal organs. For ten days, Patient 001 was sick with what he thought was a stomach virus. He decided to cut his trip short and come home, assuming his cancer was preventing him from keeping anything he ate or drank down.”
Manual shook his head at that. I scooted forward in my seat to listen more intently.
“The day he landed back in the States, Patient 001 called his doctor and rescheduled his chemotherapy for the next day.” Manuel said.
“The scientists’ and doctors’ most educated guess was that Patient 001 was carrying millions of microscopic parasites by the time he went through his first injections of chemotherapy. In the depths of the jungle, the parasite might have killed its host over the course of several years. However, it had never before been exposed to any radiation or electromagnetic chaos and had never been transported to a place where technology emanated from every single person, every single building, and every single street corner.”
State of (Book 1): State of Decay Page 8