Dead Country

by Bonnie Dee

  I went to the bookcase where I found an old Magic Eye book sandwiched in between a Neil Gaiman and a stack of mangas.

  Ashleigh took it from me with a smile and flipped through the pages. “Fun. I haven’t seen one of these in years. So, is this the house you grew up in? My mom and I never lived anyplace for more than a couple of years at most. When we moved to new towns, I used to make up stuff about myself to sound cooler than I was.”

  I considered the luxury of reinventing yourself in a new place. “Living in this town there wasn’t any escaping your past. If a kid happened to eat too many strawberry gummy dinosaurs and puke red in second grade in front of the whole class, nobody ever forgot it.”

  She sucked in a breath between her teeth. “Ouch. You were that kid.”

  “I was that kid. Growing up in Durbinville pretty much sucked, but at least knew I wasn’t going to be here forever. After high school, I went to Caltech. I would’ve graduated this year.”

  “What field?” Ashleigh sat on the edge of my bed then leaned back on her elbows. Pretty girl reclining on my unmade bed—a hard image to ignore.

  “Physics with a focus on group theory and probabilities.”

  Her pale blue eyes caught the light and sparkled. “And what exactly does that mean?”

  I sat down on the bed beside her to show she didn’t make me uncomfortable. “That I can understand esoteric equations and calculate probabilities of any given situation on paper. Useful knowledge in the old world but not very practical now. I’d have been better off learning plumbing.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. They’ll need brainiacs like you to put the world back together again.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “What were you doing before.” No need to define “before”.

  She shrugged. “A lot of different jobs. I’ve been a waitress, a maid, a bartender, a dancer, a hostess—basically any job you can think of in the service industry.”

  I nodded, then my mind did an abrupt U-turn back to “dancer” as I realized she probably didn’t mean ballet. Images of G-strings and tassels—or no tassels—flashed through my mind. I concentrated on looking like I wasn’t thinking about what I was thinking about. “How’d you meet the people you’re traveling with?”

  “Hooked up with a guy named Denny who’s dead now. We met Daylon in Vegas and picked up some of the others along the way. Nobody in the group knew each other before. It’s funny how fast you can get really close on the road.” She stood up. “Is it okay if I take a shower?”

  “Sure, just please keep it short. There’re towels in the hall closet.”

  I caught a whiff of gasoline and perfume and girl as Ashleigh walked past. She paused at the door. “By the way, thanks for speaking up for us today. We really appreciate you letting us stay here. Even Daylon. He acts tough but he’s a good guy. He’s led us this far.”

  “No problem. Glad to have you.”

  “Well, that Myers woman wasn’t going to let us stay, so thanks for vouching for us.” Ashleigh leaned against the doorjamb and gazed at me. “If you need anything—like help with cooking dinner or something—let me know.”

  She smiled and disappeared from sight, leaving me to wonder if her stress on the word “anything” had been my imagination or a different kind of offer.

  I spent the rest of the evening getting our out-of-town guests the supplies they needed. Fes stopped by with extra blankets, pillows and sleeping bags, which Daylon said he’d distribute at the other two houses. Jake went along with him, carrying a hamper of food some of the women in town had provided. The ladies of Durbinville were always quick with a casserole or cookies in any crisis and you had to appreciate that engrained hospitality.

  Meanwhile, in my kitchen Ashleigh and Maureen were making soup on the small propane stove I used now that there wasn’t gas for the full-sized one. Fes lounged against the counter and flirted with them. I chopped vegetables and listened.

  “It’s a pleasure to see new faces, especially such pretty ones. Where are you ladies from?” Fes asked.

  “I was working in a club in Las Vegas when the zombies hit,” Ashleigh said. “We met Jake and Maureen on the road in a town called Echo Springs.”

  “But we started out in Red Lodge, Montana,” Maureen continued. “When the zombies attacked, Jake and I drove up into the mountains. We thought maybe we’d be safe in the wilderness until things got back to normal. So we camped in Yellowstone for a while, but when the weather started to get colder we realized we couldn’t keep hiding out there. The day we saw zombies attacking a buffalo we knew it was time to move on.”

  “A buffalo? Seriously?” Fes said. “Damn. I’ve seen them eat small wild game or dogs but trying to bring down a buffalo. That’s desperate.”

  “They weren’t very successful.” Maureen laughed as he put a lid on the pot of soup and turned down the gas. “The thing tossed its head and sent ’em flying. Then it charged and trampled some of them underfoot.”

  The mental image brought back too many memories for me to join in the laughter. No matter how many zombies I killed, I could never forget they’d been real people once. Maybe it was easier when the undead were strangers, but most of the ones I’d faced were folks I knew.

  “It seems pretty quiet around here. Not too many undead.” Ashleigh took a hunk of cheese from the mini-fridge and began to cut it.

  “No,” Fes agreed. “After we fought off the attack and built the wall, it’s been mostly clean-up. We come across a couple here or there, mostly locals, although lately we’re seeing more strangers.”

  “It must be hard to kill people you know,” Ashleigh echoed what I’d been thinking. “I don’t know if I could do it.”

  “If they’re coming at you, you can take down just about anyone.” I sliced through a stalk of celery that was a little limp and lifeless but still edible.

  Fes pushed off the counter and finally began making himself useful, taking beers from the cooler he’d brought and popping the tops. “But we’re not killing anybody because they’re already dead. That’s what you have to remember to keep yourself sane.” He handed the bottles of barely cool beer to the two women. “Have either of you had the vaccine?”

  Ashleigh shook her head. “We haven’t been near any distribution centers. Daylon’s convinced it’s not safe, but I think we would’ve found out by now if the vaccine is flawed like the A7 cure was.”

  “’Flawed’ that’s a kind word for it.” I didn’t mean to sound so bitter, but the near destruction of the world because of rushed testing pissed me off a little bit. Frustration led to a case of the “if onlys” which I usually tried to avoid. If only the scientists had waited a little longer, checked the results a little more carefully, they would have known the blood of subjects treated with the anti-A7 drug had mutated. If only a better system of checks and balances had been in place. If only the government hadn’t gotten involved and pushed the drug through, making it available at hospitals nationwide. If only those who initially recovered from A7 hadn’t relapsed, died and turned into flesh-eating monsters who in turn infected others. If only no one from Durbinville had returned home from the hospital with their blood already changing. If only I hadn’t had to cut off the heads of my undead mother before she ate me.

  “If onlys” could drive you crazy if you let them.

  Daylon and Jake returned from the neighboring houses and soon there was a party going on my kitchen with feasting on lukewarm beer and slightly stale chips. Fes entertained everyone with stories of his football glory days. Then the talk turned to great games in NFL history which pretty much excluded me from the conversation because I’d never followed sports even when there were sports to follow.

  Carrying a handful of silverware, Ashleigh nudged my arm. “Come on.”

  I picked up as many glasses as I could carry and followed her to the dining room. I hadn’t eaten at the table since before my parents died. I usually sat in an armchair in the living room with the radio receiving either static
or a weak signal from Topeka. If it was a static night or the news update was too depressing, I’d listen to my music instead, close my eyes and float away.

  Ashleigh dusted off the table and laid out seven placemats, the hand woven ones my mom had picked up on some vacation. A clear memory of her describing that vacation while setting out the mats sent a pang of grief through me that made me wince.

  “Not much of a football guy?” Ashleigh said as she placed the cutlery. “Me either. I was on cheer team one year in high school, but I never cared much about the game. What’s your thing?”

  “Killing zombies,” I answered dryly. “Literally now, of course, but I used to do a lot of gaming and killed virtual demons and monsters. What about you?”

  She paused. “Music. Used to think I’d be a singer but that never really panned out. I went out to Vegas with a band, but the gig a friend of a friend promised us fell through and then the band fell apart. So there I was. I waitressed and sang with a couple of other bands that went nowhere.” She shrugged. “Dancing pays a helluva lot better than serving so I did that for a while. But with all the ex-showgirls in Vegas, competition to dance, even as a stripper, is fierce. The club where I worked was pretty crappy.”

  I followed her around the table, putting glasses at the place settings and trying to think of how to respond. You used to be a stripper. Sorry, that sucks, or, Cool. Which was appropriate?

  Ashleigh paused and I nearly ran into her. “It sounds awful, but in some ways this disaster is the best thing that could’ve happened to me. It changed me, forced me to be tougher and more capable than I thought I could be. You know?” She looked up at me.

  I nodded. “I get it.” And I wasn’t just being polite. I knew exactly what she meant. While I hated what had happened and the things I’d had to do, it was good to learn I possessed reserves of strength I never realized I had. Character-building I guess you’d call it.

  Our moment of connection was broken as the rest of the group came from the kitchen, bearing dinner and filling up the room with their chatter. Daylon held court and the rest of us fell in around him. Although it was my house, I didn’t mind giving up the seat at the head of the table since I was right beside Ashleigh and she kept bumping her leg against mine. Halfway through the meal, she rubbed my ankle with her foot. Warmth crawled all the way up my leg and settled in my groin as I realized the leg-bumping hadn’t been an accident. She couldn’t be more obvious in signaling her interest.

  What was I supposed to do with this information? Kiss her the first opportunity we had to be alone? Casually invite her into my bed later that evening? I didn’t even know the girl. After the desert wasteland of my teen years, I’d had a few sexual experiences at college, but I could hardly be considered a player. Nervous, tense and excited, I was thinking of something besides zombies and death for the first time in weeks. The future of the world might still be bleak, but my life had definitely taken on more color, if only for now.

  “So are you people going to ride out the winter here?” Daylon asked over dessert, a paint can-sized container of peaches scavenged from one of the local restaurants. “Do you have enough supplies to make it to spring?”

  Fes glanced at me. It wasn’t wise to let strangers know about our meager stockpile. “The town will be all right for a while,” he answered. “Besides, we expect government aide to come through soon, probably by next month.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.” Daylon took a pack from his pocket and tapped out a cigarette.

  “You should think about heading south,” Maureen added.

  I’d constantly considered the prospect of hitting the road versus staying in Durbinville. On the road there’d be more zombies, maybe armed gangs, and an uncertain future. I wasn’t quite ready to commit to leaving the known and the safe just yet no matter how restless I felt.

  Daylon pushed back his chair and rose. “I’m gonna check on the others.” He strode from the room trailing smoke.

  The rest of us lingered over instant coffee and a discussion of what the future might be like. There wasn’t much small talk these days. Water cooler chats about sports or movies were a thing of the past.

  Soon after, I made my own excuse to leave the table. I decided to follow Daylon to the neighboring houses to see if everyone had what they needed. Plus, I needed some time alone. There were too many people in my house, too much talking, too much distracting leg-rubbing underneath the table. I just wanted to breathe for a few minutes.

  With the sun down, it was cold outside. As I crunched through fallen leaves under the maple tree in my yard, I looked around the neighborhood where I’d grown up and thought of the people who used to live there; the Grovers with all their kids, the Baileys whose dog used to run everywhere and drive crotchety Mr. Henderson crazy. Almost everyone was dead now. Weak light spilled from only a few windows, barely illuminating the deserted street.

  The hair on my neck rose as I scanned the shadows for danger, but the comforting weight of the scabbard holding my long knife bumped against my thigh. These days I didn’t go anywhere unarmed. The town may have been zombie-free for months, but I didn’t think I’d ever fully relax again.

  I walked to the Henderson house first, up the pale stone pathway the old man had always kept impeccably weed-free, now stained a deep brown from dried blood. No one answered my knock on the door so I pushed it open and went inside.

  A murmur of voices drew me down the hallway, past the formal dining room where remnants of a meal littered the table, to the living room, a place as stiff and formal as Mr. Henderson had been. I hesitated in the doorway. The tense postures of the people grouped around the sofa warned me there was something wrong. They weren’t aware of my presence and my instinct was to melt back out of sight before I was caught spying. Spying? Why was that the word that came to mind?

  Daylon’s leather-clad back blocked my view. “All we can do is wait and see. These folks don’t have a doctorWe’ll have to take care of the boy ourselves.”

  “He needs medical help,” a woman’s voice protested. “Maybe there’s someone with a little experience who can do something—or at least tell if it’s A7 or not.”

  Daylon shifted aside and I saw the woman sitting by the couch. She saw me at the same time and her eyes widened. Then everyone turned and looked at me.

  “I came to see if you need anything.” I decided not to pretend I was ignorant that something was going on. I approached the couch and glimpsed the top of someone’s head on a pillow. “You have an sick person in your group.”

  “Didn’t think your council lady would let us in if she knew so we kept it to ourselves.”

  “You’re right. She wouldn’t have.” I met his stare, letting him know I could be just as hard-assed as he. “And she’s right. You got a sick person you should be in quarantine or outside the wall.”

  “With no running water, electricity or food,” the woman said. “He’s just a little boy. He deserves to lie in a clean, warm place. All we know is that he has a fever. It could be some normal virus, meningitis or God knows what.”

  A thin, middle-aged woman put her hand on the other’s shoulder. “Lainie, the boy was sick when we picked him up. And he’s been bitten. There’s every chance he’s infected. These people have a right to be afraid. We all should be.”

  “Quiet. If the worst happens, I’ll handle it. I’ll do what needs to be done.” Daylon turned his attention to me. “What are you gonna do? Go tattle to your council?”

  I glanced around at the other people, none of whose names I could recall. There were a couple of big guys who could probably stop me from leaving if they wanted to, although they didn’t appear ready to lunge and grab me. The situation was serious. We’d all had firsthand experience of how quickly things could spin out of control. Group safety was more important than the welfare of a single person.

  Then I looked down at the boy who was about eleven or twelve. His dark brown hair was plastered to his pale forehead and he was breathing through
his mouth, shallow breaths that barely lifted his chest. He looked pretty much like my mom had just before she’d died—the first time.

  “You don’t want to hesitate when the time comes,” I said.

  “I won’t,” Daylon replied.

  I nodded then walked from the room.

  Daylon followed me out of the house. “Don’t lose any sleep. I’ll take care of this. I swear.” He held out his hand.

  I stared at it, not feeling much like shaking and sealing our unspoken agreement. Just then the front door of my house opened and Ashleigh hurried down the steps and across the lawn toward us.

  “There you are. I didn’t know you’d gone out.”

  “Were you supposed to keep me distracted?” I asked, seeing her flirting in a whole new light.