by Ward, Tracey
About halfway to the bar I realize I shouldn’t have done this at night. I should have waited for dawn, but I wanted to get outside the bar before daylight. I want to watch the place, count heads for myself, and see what I’m up against. If Marlow’s new army is just a few guys then maybe I don’t have to join up. Their operation could be a joke that will fall apart in a matter of weeks. And who knows? Maybe there’s someone bigger and better out there to join up with. Someone that will squash Marlow in the first month, and if that happens I want to be on the winning end of that fight.
I’m three blocks from the bar when I meet my first zombies out in the open. Six of them roaming in circles in a parking lot, the tattered remains of two humans scattered over the asphalt at their feet. They keep going around and around like they’re protecting them, but from what I have no idea. Maybe they’re just attracted to the lingering scent of blood still fresh on the ground.
And just like every single body I’ve seen on the streets, they’ve left the fucking fingers.
As I slowly close in on them the smell hits me hard. It’s not like anything I’ve ever smelled before. It’s earthy and rancid. Sickly sweet that makes my mouth water like I’m gonna vomit and I’m turning to leave or gag in the street when they smell me too.
I pull out my knife just as one of them stops circling and starts heading for me. It’s a woman with long blond hair that looks almost brown on the ends where it’s caked in dried blood. She moans loudly, getting the attention of the others, and then they’re all shuffling behind her. They don’t move as slowly as I thought they would. Not nearly as rough as some of the corpses in the cars did. None of them looks as rotted out or inhuman, and I wonder if this is the new strain. The one that kills slower and is harder to spot. I wonder how old these zombies are.
And I wonder why I’m not running.
I flex my fingers on my knife, rush the woman, and sink the blade in her neck. She reaches for me but I pull away quickly, taking my knife with me. I escape her hands but she’s still coming at me as though nothing happened. She doesn’t give a shit that her neck is bleeding black sludge all down the front of her shirt.
I whisper a curse, watching her in amazement. The others are getting closer. They’re starting to circle me as she keeps right on bleeding and groaning and reaching.
And still I don’t run.
I spin my knife, grit my teeth, and thrust forward. This time the blade goes in her eye and when the metal hilt connects with the bones of her face, I feel her weight sag. I yank my knife away just as she falls. Her body crumples to the ground in a lifeless, rotting heap at my feet, a heap that the others stumble over. They step on her, trip on her, two fall, but the other three keep their footing and hurry toward me. I don’t have time to knife them all. They’ll eat me before I can drop even two more of them. I’m dead if I don’t change my plan.
But I never once considering running.
I pull out my gun and fire a shot into the face of the guy closest to me. I’m pissed I have to shoot so close to the bar and announce myself, but I’m glad I did a practice run on Mr. Brady back there in the minivan, otherwise I might have hesitated. I might be dead right now.
This guy eats the bullet I feed him and falls as I turn to do the same to another guy on my left. Both are down in a matter of seconds. I save my bullets and use my knife on the last Z on her feet. She gets her hands on my arm and digs her fingers in painfully, nearly breaking the skin, but I manage to push the knife into her eye deep enough to put her down.
There’s a crack like lightning and one of the stumblers goes down. Another crack and the last Z is dead, a bullet hole bleeding out of his temple.
I spin around, my heart in my throat, and search the darkness. I don’t see anything or anyone.
“Up here,” a voice calls softly.
Four stories up in a building on my right is a dark figure waving happily down at me like I’m Santa parading down the street and tossing out candy.
“Thanks for the assist,” I joke breathlessly. My lungs are screaming and I realize I’ve been holding my breath since I spotted the infected. My mind I can keep calm but my body does what it wants and apparently it wanted to freak out like a thirteen-year-old girl.
“Vin?”
“Yeah.” I squint uselessly up into the dark. “Who’s up there?”
“Bennett.”
I can’t help but laugh. “No way. You’re still alive?”
“Far as I know,” he chuckles.
“I thought you were dead the first day, man.”
“No such luck. Hey, come up here. There’s a door in that alley. It’s unlocked.”
I wave to him and jog toward the alley. It’s pitch black in here and I have to feel along the rough, grimy wall to find the door. It pulls open reluctantly, screeching so loudly I wince. Then it bangs shut behind me, the sound oddly final.
There’s a set of stairs to my right that I jog up quickly, all four flights. The building is an office space with open doors and papers thrown everywhere. Manila folders litter the ugly gray carpet like confetti on New Year’s. There’s no blood, not like the world outside, and I wonder if everyone bailed on this place before the Fever hit. My guess is once word got out that Tacoma was going under, people probably stopped showing up for work here in Seattle. I know I did.
“Down here!” Bennett calls out to me.
I follow his voice down the hall to a big office with a huge dark desk and a wall of books. I can’t read what kind they are but they’re uniform – same size, color, gold etched title. It looks like a set of obese encyclopedias and my guess is this place was a law firm.
Bennett waves to me from where he sits kicked back in a black leather chair. He’s dressed entirely in black, even a black beanie covering his shaggy brown hair. He has a rifle positioned on the window sill pointed down at the street right where he saw me and immediately I know – I was never going to sneak up on the bar. Marlow has people watching the perimeter, meaning he has manpower, meaning I need to tread carefully and make a decision fast.
“What’s up, man?” I ask him, leaning against the wall by the door.
“Oh you know, nothing new. Just the apocalypse.”
“Where were you, douchebag?”
He laughs. “You still pissed about the Southside?”
“How’d you know I was mad about that?”
“Wright.”
“He’s still alive?” I ask hopefully.
Bennett’s smile fades. “Nah. He’s dead. Boss too.”
“I heard. How’d they die?”
“Zombies, dude. How else?”
I nod even though I know he’s lying because he’s telling me more than I asked. That lie says he’s with Marlow, through and through. “Tough luck.”
“The worst.”
“Who else is still around?”
“Quite a few of us. Marlow, obviously. You, me, Jameson, John, and Reynolds are the big players so far. The rest are strays Marlow’s taken in.”
My palms sweat as I casually look around the room. “Any idea how the other gangs are doing?”
“Haven’t really seen ‘em yet. Not a single head, just the low levels that have wandered in looking for a home. Anyone worth anything is probably laying low like us, waiting for the dust to settle.” He grins again. “We’ll cross paths soon enough.”
That’s what I’m worried about, I think to myself.
I want to know who’s out there and how big their pull is, how strong their push, but if everyone is still laying low and licking their wounds I won’t know until it all shakes out. And by then I might have backed the wrong pony.
“How long until Marlow moves?” I ask.
“You signin’ up?”
“Never checked out,” I answer vaguely. “How long?”
“A couple more days.”
“He have his eye on a new home?”
“He wants the football stadium.”
I chuckle, amazed. “Going from the bar to Cent
uryLink? He’s got stones trying to take a place as big as that.”
“It’s now or never. We’ve been scouting it for the last couple of days. It was closed when the Fever hit. No one inside but maybe a couple janitors. Place is a ghost town. Z free.”
I nod my head, scanning the wall of books blindly. I’m working on an exit strategy, a way to leave this building without heading straight to the bar and popping up on Marlow’s radar until I’m ready, when Bennett hands it to me on a silver platter.
“Your dad has been by.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, sucking the air from my lungs. “He’s still alive?” I ask, my voice full of gravel.
“Last I saw. He’s got the luck of the Irish.”
“He’s Italian, asshole.”
“Whatever. He’s still kicking. Told him you were alive last we checked but that no one knew where you were camped out. He begged Marlow to let him on. He wants to join up but Marlow doesn’t want him.”
“I can’t imagine why not.”
“He had the shakes when I saw him,” Bennett agrees.
I go to wipe my fingers across my mouth but my hand is shaking. I stuff it my pocket. “Withdrawals.”
“That’s what Marlow figured. That’s why he said no. Told him if he showed up clean and clear it’d be a different story.”
“He won’t survive that long.”
“I don’t know, man. That was only day before yesterday. He’s made it longer than a lot of people.”
“His luck’s about to change.” I peel my reluctant body off the wall, my blood rushing in my ears. “Did he tell you where he was hiding?”
“Fairmount Apartments over on Lent Avenue,” he recites. “Room 406.”
I snap forward off the wall, my body full of electricity that’s itching through my veins and crackling on my skin. I nod to Bennett with a hard jerk of my head. “Thanks.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find him.”
“What about Marlow?”
I dart out of the office and sprint toward the stairs. “I’ll get to him next,” I mutter.
The loser is hiding just a few blocks from the bar, from Marlow and the neighborhood where he knows I work. He’s probably been watching and waiting, trying to find me. To use me. My palm aches where the handle of my gun is held tightly in my hand and I run tirelessly toward the apartment building. I take the stairs two at a time and if my body doesn’t like it I don’t care. This moment has been a long time coming. Too long. Now that it’s finally here I can’t keep my shit straight. I’m coughing and laughing, shaking in small tremors under my skin like I’m cold but my body is burning up, and some small part of me is afraid I have the Fever.
That I’ll die before I get the chance to kill him.
When I find door 406 I pound on it hard with the butt of my gun. I swipe my hand over my mouth, clearing the sweat on my lip as I wait. It feels like forever but it’s probably no more than a minute. Maybe less. It’s still too long.
He throws open the door and I’m face to face with my dad for the first time in over five years. He’s shorter than I remember, but then again I’m taller now. Taller than he is. Broader too. His body is thin and weak. White like paper. I could tear him in half if I wanted to.
“Vinny!” he exclaims in relief.
He rushes forward, his arms outstretched to hug me.
I take a step back and level my gun on his face. “Don’t.”
He freezes. “What are you doing?”
“Killing you.”
“What?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
He shakes his head violently. “No, no, no, no. I’m not sick. Look, see? Not a bite on me. I’m not sick, Vinny!”
“Stop calling me that!” I shout.
“But I’m not. I’m not sick!”
“I don’t give a shit!”
His hands fall to his sides, his face clouding in confusion. “The—then why?”
“Because you’re worthless,” I tell him coldly. “You’re a fuckin’ addict and an asshole. You’re a coward and you’re weak and you don’t deserve to survive any of this, but mostly I’m going to kill you because I’ve always wanted to and I’ll sleep better knowing you’re dead.”
“You can’t. I’m your dad.”
“Not for much longer.”
I stare at him, my gun steady in my hand pointed at his quivering face. He’s shaking in fear, probably shitting himself because he believes I’ll do it. He knows I will. He knows I want to.
Then why can’t I? Why haven’t I pulled the trigger yet? I’ve thought about this moment so many times for so long. He ruined my life, probably ruined my mom’s life too, and I’d be so much happier knowing he didn’t exist anymore. I always told myself I let my dad live because I was worried about doing jail time and getting caught, but even now with a gun to his head when all bets off, I still can’t.
I don’t know who I hate more for that fact; me or him.
I lower the gun, my fingers flexing against the grip and itching like I’m tweaking. I want out of this moment. It feels weak, it feels like the kid and the coward who didn’t want to leave the apartment a week ago. Like the little bastard inside me who has always, always wanted his mommy. But I can never have her because I never knew her, and it’s all his damn fault.
“Thank you, son,” he says, stepping toward me slowly. His arms are out again. He’s going to touch me. “Thank you.”
I swing back and snap my fist toward his face. The gun in my hand connects with his cheek and he falls to the ground at my feet, blood dripping from his mouth and nose.
“Don’t thank me,” I tell him calmly. “I was going to kill you quickly. When the zombies get their hands on you it’s going to be a lot worse.”
I leave the apartment building in a rush. I’m practically running. I don’t look back and I try not to think about what I’ve done – or what I haven’t done – and I head straight for the house on the water. For the woman waiting for me. I’ll grab Sienna and we’ll head for the bar. I’ll join with Marlow, be one of his lieutenants, and she and I will live high on the top of the wreckage of the world. I’ll protect her, take care of her, and she’ll make me feel it again the way she did earlier tonight. Like I’m a man. Like I’m free.
I only come across a few infected in the streets and I kill them all quickly as I go. I use my gun because I’m still itching to fire it and I don’t care if it’s smart or not. It’s powerful and it’s satisfying and that’s worth everything to me.
When I get to the gate at the house I go to the call box and press the intercom.
“Sienna,” I call into it. “It’s me. Open the gate.”
She doesn’t keep me waiting. The gate swings open easily and I start to pass through it the second there’s room. I wish she’d start closing it again immediately and I turn to watch the opening to make sure it stays empty.
No such luck.
A figure darts inside quickly. His face is covered in blood and his eyes are wild, and the sight of him sets off so much rage in me that I worry I’ll choke on it.
“Did you follow me?” I ask in amazement.
My dad nods his head and smiles. His teeth are full of dried blood. His face is caked in it. This idiot just went on parade behind me through the city full of bloodthirsty Fever victims with a face full A Positive and he’s smiling.
I should have killed him. Why the hell couldn’t I kill him?!
I point to the street. “Get out. Back the way you came. Now.”
“Just listen to me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have followed you but I thought you’d be going to Marlow and you could get me in with him. Just take me to Marlow, okay? Help me out.”
“Get away from me.” I turn to head up toward the house.
I hear him when he follows me.
“Are you stupid?!” I shout, rounding on him. “I said get away from me!”
“Son, please. I’ll die.”
“I
know!”
The door to the house flies open and Sienna comes running out, gun in hand. She’s pointing it at the ground the way I taught her.
“Vin!”
I look back at her, then at my dad, and I suddenly realize how it looks. His face is caked in blood, the front of his clothes and his hands too. He looks like an infected. Like the kind of person who should be shot on sight.
I step back from him slowly. Thankfully he doesn’t follow me. He’s watching Sienna in her short shorts and her tight shirt with her breasts bouncing free underneath. The old perv is ogling her, not even noticing the gun she has in her hand.
“Is he infec—fected?” She stops running and turns to cough hard. It’s wet and full of something, and when she spits it’s tinged with pink.
My stomach drops out at the sight. “Sin?” I ask cautiously.
She straightens and looks at me. Her eyes are mournful, her face pale and covered in sweat.
Behind her someone moves into the doorway. They’re slow and slouched and it takes me a second to recognize them. It’s her friend Jude, a girl I’ve seen her party with before. Sienna let her into the house with her.
She let the Fever in.
“Vin, I don’t feel good,” she slurs, swaying slightly on her feet.
I step away from her slowly. “You should go back inside.”
“Are you leaving again?”
“Yes.”
“No!” She closes in on me quickly and I feel my dad fall in behind me, cowering. “Don’t leave again!”
I pull my gun and point it at her. “Stay away from me, Sin. You’re sick.”
“It’s not the Fever. It’s just a cold.”
“I’m leaving, Sin. Just let me leave. Back away.”
“No!” She ignores my gun and lunges at me. “Vin!”
I turn, shoving my dad out of the way toward the road. I go to run but a hand grabs onto my arm. I know it’s Sin. Her grip is small and iron strong and if she so much as coughs near me I could turn. I could die, just like she’s about to. And I don’t want to die.
I raise my hand, my gun hand, and I point it at her face for the third time since this started.