by Red Lagoe
Marcus began ransacking the cabinets, pulling out every sort of antibiotic and pain killer, while Melody stood still in the doorway to the pharmacy and watched him drop amoxicillin into the bag for John. She wasn't sure if she loved Marcus any more, but she was certain that there was something meaningful there. Something she couldn't put her finger on.
Marcus looked at her with saddened eyes "I don't think any of this is going to help that girl."
"I can try," she whispered.
Melody rummaged the treatment area, pulling out handfuls of syringes and bandages, sutures, and anything she could get her hands on for emergency medical care. She unlocked the safe to the controlled substances and began packing up the drugs inside. She knew tramadol was a pain killer that could be used in humans, so she put all three bottles in the back pack.
Melody opened the door to the kennel area. The stench of uncleaned litter pans filled the air. Miles the cat laid dead on the floor with an intravenous catheter hanging from his front leg—clotted blood in the line. Hannah had tried to treat him.
"Poor guy," Melody said. She slipped on a pair of latex gloves and wrapped Miles in a towel. She placed his body in a treatment cage, and covered his face.
"Are you OK?" Marcus asked.
She was broken in some way that she'd never been before.
"I'm fine."
After gathering everything they could use, Melody slid her arms through the straps of the back pack.
"Hey. Why don't you let me carry that for you?" Marcus offered.
"That's OK. You have the gun to carry."
"It's heavy," he said, playing with the strap on her shoulder.
"It's not too bad. I've got it."
"You've always 'got it', don't you?" he asked with a proud smile. "I missed you." He leaned in to kiss her, but Melody was reluctant.
"What's the matter? I'm sorry I was rude back at the cottage. I-"
"That girl...with the red hair. Did you know her?"
Marcus nodded casually.
"Were you sleeping with her?" Melody questioned.
"That's not fair," Marcus snapped. "You know, for someone that's been shacking up with the neighbor for the past few days, you're awful quick to make assumptions."
Marcus took a deep breath and sighed. He held Melody's shoulders and hung his head.
"I knew her," he admitted. "She was in the building and attacked me on the way out. I don't know how she got all the way here though."
She couldn't think of anything else to say, because she wasn't sure if she believed him. He always had an excuse—for being late, for smelling of Chanel, for not coming home—and Melody always had difficulty giving credence to him. She used to chalk it up to some psychological garbage, like her abandonment issues, or her insistence on self-reliance, and she chose to give him the benefit of the doubt every time. This time, she didn't believe his story, but she didn't care.
He held his hand behind her neck, the way he did when they kissed on their wedding day. Melody closed her eyes and recalled the moment. They were outdoors on the lake at the country club in Clarkson. Sunlight shone through the breaking clouds and heated her skin while the minister announced, "You may kiss the bride."
Marcus placed his lips upon hers, and they kissed—this time they were standing in the middle of the vet clinic with the stench of corpses surrounding them.
Melody was transfixed to that moment years ago. Still in grad school, their dreams and lives were ahead of them. The man that saw her through her teenage hardships would be there for her forever and always, and she would be there for him.
Their marriage took a different route though, and life didn't turn out as expected. Their love for each other had died, but Melody had remained determined to keep trying, even after the world fell apart.
She tried to enjoy the kiss, but her lips were tinged with a bit of disgust. She pulled away.
"Not here," she said, and she walked away, knowing that love shouldn't be so difficult.
They left the hospital, back down the bank through the trees, but—when they got to the shore—there were four infected blocking their path to the boat. The crowd of infected on the dock farther down the shoreline were still unaware of their presence and shuffling aimlessly about.
"We can cut straight through the middle of those four," Melody whispered, "I'll take out the two on the left, and you take the ones on the right."
"M and M, back together again." Marcus winked and was ready to grab the rifle, but Melody placed her hand on his shoulder and pointed to the infected about 50 yards away at the docks.
"Use your knife if you can," she said. "The gun will attract those ones over there, and then we might not be able to get the boat away fast enough. You know how it doesn’t always start on the first try."
Marcus smiled at her with a charming grin. It was that same scruffy smile that made her fall in love with him back when they were teenagers. He gave her a nod, agreeing with her for once. No argument, and no condescending chortle or debate this time. Melody smiled back, thinking that perhaps there was some part of her husband in there that she was still capable of loving, if she could get past the spite in her heart. Perhaps she was stressed and confused about her feelings for John, but there was no time to think about it with the infected so close by.
Marcus and Melody lunged forward, stances low, their pace brisk. Melody charged at the first infected on the left, swinging her knife at its head.
The other three infected turned to her, while Marcus shuffled far to the right to evade them all. He looped around them and hopped on the boat as Melody pulled the knife out of the man's head.
She raised her knife to charge at the petite woman in the fluorescent yellow vest and heard a snarling sound behind her. A limp hand dropped on Melody's shoulder, and she twisted around to see the face of a sick, emaciated man in an unbuttoned pink blouse, lashing at her with his mouth wide open. She tripped and fell backward onto the ground, as Marcus started the engine.
The sound of the boat attracted the attention of two of the infected—the lady in the yellow vest and a stocky man in his underwear.
But the man in the pink blouse continued after Melody. He collapsed to the ground, clawing for her as she scooted back on her butt.
Melody staggered to her feet as Marcus fired a shot at the stocky underwear man that headed toward him. The bullet struck him in the chest and knocked him down, but he squirmed to get back up.
Melody charged at the man in pink, knocking him to the ground, as Marcus shot the yellow-vested woman in the chest as well.
The boat backed away from the shoreline.
"Come on!" Marcus yelled to her.
She stomped through the shallow water, grabbed at the ladder toward the back of the starboard side of the boat, and pulled herself on board, as the man in pink got to his feet and charged toward them. Marcus accelerated, leaving the infected man struggling in the water behind them.
38
Shots Fired
John jerked his body upright and readied his knife, surprised that he nearly dozed off with the infected girl right beside him. His body was in need of more rest and more time to heal, but that wasn't an option yet. He stood up, leaning his body on the walker, looked out over the water to where their boat disappeared behind the point, and waited for them to come back into view.
At least twenty minutes had passed since they left. Harkness stayed at John's side like a nervous child. His soft brown ears were tucked back with anxiety. John prepared his backpack so he'd be ready to leave as soon as they returned—if they returned—but he didn't want to think that way. He turned the cottage upside-down looking for anything that could be useful.
Kayla moaned and a string of saliva stretched from her lips to the pillow as she sat up. John backed away from her, and she looked at him with barely a spark of life in her eyes.
He didn't trust his ability to fight considering how weak he felt, so he sheathed his knife and readied his pistol.
"W
here's Marcus?" she mumbled, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
He couldn't believe she was still conscious.
"How do you know Marcus?" John sat back down in the wicker chair near the couch and kept his pistol on his thigh.
Her voice cracked, "I kill him."
John had difficulty understanding her slurred words.
"Marcus went to get some meds. He'll be back soon. How do you know him?"
"I'll...kill...him." She panted more clearly.
Her words fell heavy upon John's conscience and he worried even more about Melody's safety.
"What happened to you?" he asked, afraid to know the answer.
"Marcus," she said. "I was...barefoot. Glass. He pushed me. They...bite. Fucking, Baron Barton Road." Kayla laughed as her head bobbled like a dashboard ornament.
John wasn't sure exactly what she was trying to say, but her body told a hellish story. Her feet were swollen and scraped, with bits of gravel stuck in her skin. Every bit of pale flesh that was exposed was scratched and battered. Her words—he pushed me—was all John needed to know. His body became tense, and anger boiled within.
Kayla's head looked heavy as she struggled to keep it upright.
"Who are you?" she asked with confusion in her eyes.
"John."
A gun shot sounded out from across the lake and John jumped up to look toward the water. He recognized it as his own rifle. Kayla's eyes widened as the whizzing of the bullet cut through the air. She seemed to search for it with crazed eyes.
John didn't think that Melody would have fired unless it was absolutely necessary. He stood to look out onto the water, but there was no vessel in sight. A shot fired in the distance again. Melody was in trouble.
The sound of the bullet was still cutting through the air in Kayla's mind.
"Marcus and my friend are out there getting medicine now," said the stranger named John.
"Your friend...is dead." Kayla rocked back and forth.
"She can handle herself. They probably ran into one of the infected," John tried to rationalize. His voice was distant and came in and out of focus like a radio station.
"Marcus will kill." Kayla coughed, sending splatters of bloody spittle onto John's chest.
"I doubt it," John argued. "It's his wife out there with him."
"Wife?" She asked with a tremble in her chin. Kayla's arms went limp and all remaining emotion seemed to evaporate. Her face deadened and a string of drool seeped from her lips. She fought to hold onto her mind, but it was getting lost behind a cloud of random thoughts. Her parents. Her brother. The volleyball—blue and orange—her school colors. Marcus's eyes peering from between the blinds of the lab window. Those sexy bedroom eyes, enticing, comforting...evil.
The haze in her head thickened and the room shook in a violent tremor. She grasped the arm of the couch, and held on for her life, burying her head as her world shook around her.
"Hey, what's your name?" John asked. When he came into focus, he was buttoning a clean shirt, adorned with palm fronds. His body jolted back and forth as if she were closing her left eye, then her right. His image disappeared and reappeared before her.
"Melody will be back with some medicine soon," he said.
His voice bounced around in the blackness before Kayla's eyes. Medicine Soon. Medicine Soon. Medicine Soon... the man's voice repeated in the tremoring darkness. Kayla felt like she could hold on a little longer. She could make it until the medicine arrived. She needed to stay alive. She sat upright while her head pulled hard to the right.
"Stay alive," she told herself repeatedly.
39
The Betrayal
The dozens of infected from the docks down the shoreline had heard Marcus's gunfire and were heading their way. Melody sat down in the white seat at the back of the boat, watching as infected people dropped into the water in an attempt to get to them. She stared at the back of Marcus's head as he stood at the wheel up front with the rifle slung over his back, driving toward the point of the cove, without a word about how he nearly left her.
As they passed the point and back into the cove, the tiny pink cottage came into view as a speck in the distance—a watchtower of optimism. John.
Marcus cut the engine and let the boat slow to a stop in the open cove, and moved to the back to sit beside Melody. "That was close, eh?" He smiled.
"Why are we stopping?"
"I needed to shake off the nerves."
"I think we should keep moving." Melody stared at the open water, strategically planning her next words for the coward sitting beside her.
"I had to get that boat running if we were to stand a chance. I knew you could handle yourself...and you did."
Melody remained motionless, embarrassed that she considered trusting him. The boat rocked on the grey water and the two of them sat in silence for several minutes.
Melody kept her eyes locked on the cottage, worried about John, while her peripheral vision kept an eye on Marcus.
"You left me to die," she whispered.
"No. I told you-"
"I'm not an idiot," she interrupted. "If you don't want me with you, then say so." Her hands began to tremble. "I'll go."
Marcus walked to the front of the boat, and Melody stood up on guard. He kept John's rifle hanging over his shoulder, with his back to her, silent. After several seconds of thought, he pulled an orange life vest from under a seat and walked toward her.
"This obviously isn't going to work," he said. He handed the life vest to Melody. "You should probably wear this."
She took the vest from him, then set it in the seat beside her.
"Put it on," he said.
"Why?"
"Why?!" he laughed.
"You can drop me off at the dock," she said with her heart thumping wildly.
There was a look in his eyes she'd never seen before.
"Put it on!" He fumbled with the rifle and aimed it at her. "Get out," he said.
The rifle twitched with his nervous movements.
Melody stood up with the life vest in her hand, then moved toward the back of the boat with hesitation. Her mind sprinted for a solution. She looked to Marcus again—into his eyes.
Every vein in her body was electrified with terror as the blood pumped through. Everything around her seemed to go out of focus as she stared at the end of that rifle and at the petrified look on Marcus's face.
She was devastated, but not surprised. She wasn't even afraid to die right now, and that scared her even more than being threatened.
Melody stood there as still as a rock, emotionless and cold, staring back at that cottage. Marcus had played all the right cards, but she still pulled away from him and leaned toward that asshole at the cottage. The only logical explanation was that she cheated on him with that son of a bitch, John.
His chest heaved with each breath as he made his next demand.
"Leave the pack," he said.
"No." She held tight to the straps on her shoulders.
"Don't be stupid! I'm aiming a gun at your face!"
"John needs these meds!"
Marcus edged closer with the gun and pressed the cool tip of the barrel against her forehead.
"Mel, let's just get out of here. We don't need him."
"I'm not going anywhere with you now," she said. She had the vest in her hand, still refusing to budge.
"Take the back pack off," he screamed. His own voice was unrecognizable even to himself.
She slid the straps off her shoulders and let the bag and the life vest drop to the floor of the boat, then she backed away from the gun to the ladder at the starboard side of the boat.
"Get that thing out of my face." Her words hissed between her teeth.
Melody looked at the backpack on the floor and then back at the cottage.
Small holes in the clouds allowed scattered diffuse beams of sunlight to play on the surface of the water between herself and John.
"I'm taking some of these meds
, Marcus. Some amoxicillin and tramadol."
"No, you're not."
"I'm taking some fucking drugs!" she screamed at him with more rage than Marcus knew she had.
She knelt down and opened the backpack, probably thinking he didn't have what it took—typical of Melody.
Rage seeped from his veins and filled every crevice of his soul, and he couldn't contain it any longer. His shoulders dropped, and he laughed at Melody, before squeezing the trigger and sending a bullet into her. She fell overboard.
Everything happened so quickly that Marcus wasn't even sure where the bullet had hit her. Blood billowed to the surface where she had fallen in, but he could not see below the choppy surface. He pointed the rifle toward the blood and fired again. Melody didn't resurface.
Unsure if she was dead or not, Marcus couldn't look back. If he saw her in the water, struggling to survive, he might have had a change of heart. Escape was necessary, especially since John must have heard the gunfire.
Marcus stood at the wheel, shocked that he was capable of shooting her, then threw the gun to the floor behind him as his pulse banged within his skull. Marcus reminded himself that it was how he had to survive. He tried to beat the demons out of his head with his clenched fist, but they wouldn't stop taunting him. The boat pulled away, and Marcus hoped to leave the guilt of his actions behind.
Kayla's words were incomprehensible to John as she mumbled on the couch.
Nothing resembling a word could be heard from the hissing between her saliva-strung lips. After hearing those first two shots, John knew he couldn't sit there in the cottage any longer.
He reattached his prosthetic and the raw infected flesh on his stump rubbed against the prosthesis—John winced from the pain.
"Hey," he said to the girl, trying to keep her conscious, but her eyes deadened and she stared at the floor. Her body stiffened, and she collapsed to her side like a wooden board, and went into a seizure on the couch.
John eyed the black chest with the gold clasps beneath the couch she lay on—the one that Marcus couldn't keep his eyes off earlier. As he was about to pull it out, another shot fired from over the lake—this one was closer than the last.