The Famished Trilogy (Novella): Bailing Out into the Dead

by Walls, Annie

  Hot water streamed down my body, relaxing me. The shower curtain pulled back with speed and I jumped and hit the shower wall. Jules stood there getting sprayed by water and glaring. “What the fuck?” I finally grit out between my teeth.

  She scoffed. “You have no idea how worried I’ve been, do you? I thought—” Suddenly her eyes filled with tears, making me feel like an ass. “Sorry, I just… I’ll go.” She closed the shower curtain, leaving me wondering if she was sincere. Sometimes it was hard to tell when she was trying to manipulate me. Turning off the water, I hopped out and grabbed a towel to rush out, but she was already gone.

  15

  Now

  I have plenty of gasoline from the fight, so I won’t need to go back to the community. It’ll only alert Mac as to what I’m doing and he’ll try to talk me out of going to the Coalition for sure. I park my armored truck off the interstate to sleep before nightfall.

  I lie on the mattress and stare at the interior. I don’t know how much time has passed, but all is quiet outside except for the shuffling of a few putrids—old decomposing zombies. I’m not worried about them as long as they pay me no mind. It has to be near morning, so they will soon head for any kind of cover away from the sun as it dawns.

  After a while of not being able to sleep, their sound disturbs me. There must be a lot of them.

  Peeking out the small window, I watch the forms go by. They are after something living. It’s the only reason they’d be flocking to one place. The sky gets brighter by the minute so I can see well. I slip out of the truck silently armed with my bow and arrows. I keep back and follow them. They don’t notice me because they’re focused on something else. I duck behind a tree when I hear the roar of an engine.

  An SUV jumps a curb, fishtailing down the road taking out old, nasty zombies the whole way—but not before I see a smiling face through the windshield enjoying every minute of it. I almost laugh but catch myself before I alert any to my presence. The SUV takes out most of the zombies, slinging them off the top and hood. They roll and fall with groans and meaty thuds. The brake lights brighten, and I slink up the sidewalk. A putrid clings to the hood, and I engage an arrow releasing it into its skull. I target the rest of them in effortless motion until grabbing an arrow with a loose fletching. I study it, thinking it’s one of Mac’s, but it’s not. It’s an old factory manufactured arrow, and who knows how many zombies I’ve managed to kill with it. Taking my loss, I toss it to the side before continuing my fierce assault.

  Another arrow flies from the other side of the vehicle, giving me a brief pause, but I continue to help. When the putrids are down, I walk into the street to retrieve my arrows. I peer toward the SUV. A young woman bends over like she might lose her stomach on the concrete, probably from the smell of putrid gunk all over her vehicle.

  I jerk an arrow out, slinging gore off. I look in time to catch her staring at me with wide eyes. The opposite of what I would have expected. Familiarity slices through me, but I’ve never seen her before. Not like I expect, she jumps into her vehicle, making a U-turn and speeds away.

  Without thinking too much about it, I turn to run toward my truck. Peeking over my shoulder, I notice she takes the interstate headed straight into the middle of the dead zone. What the hell is she doing?

  Then

  My head started to pound upon waking, and when I rolled over, the night before hit me like an anvil. Dex was curled right next to my head. I moved to a sitting position and winced at the sensitivity of my dick.

  “We have to stop doing that,” a voice said from the door.

  I glanced at her as she leaned against the bedroom doorframe. She had on yoga pants but left her long-sleeved, button-up shirt wide open. I tossed her a smirk before saying, “Doing what?”

  “You know what.” Walking in the room slowly, she gave me a look—one that told me to stop playing around. She bent over me. “Hmm… I could have sworn you were just remembering an all-night romp. Happy twenty-seventh.” Licking her lips, she kissed me as I pulled her back into the bed with me. Dex meowed his protest and jumped from the bed. She laughed and the sound took me back to when we were happy together. The taste of blueberry Pop Tarts made me smile.

  “Pop Tart junkie.”

  Her eyes sparkled with unsaid mirth but turned serious. “You left the base by yourself?” she asked, probably addressing the cabinet full of stale, artificial fruit filled pastries.

  “Yeah, Mac has been absent and I needed to lure you here. Since you sniff out Pop Tarts like a bloodhound, I figured they were the way to go.” In fact, Mac’s absence went unnoticed by Julie’s nights here.

  Laughing, she straddled my hips and ran her fingertips down my stomach. I took in the soft, pale skin flashing from her open shirt. Moving it aside, I noticed I wasn’t the only one left with some discomfort. It looked like I bit a little too hard, even though I didn’t remember doing it.

  Running a fingertip over it, “Sorry,” I said, watching her nipple harden in response to my touch.

  She closed her shirt quickly. “No need to apologize. I liked it.” I didn’t know how it happened or why, but the last few weeks had been good for us. I wanted to talk about it, but I also wanted to just enjoy it.

  The front door of the house opened and closed. Surprise gave my system a little shock as footsteps stomped down the hall. I had the sudden urge to throw Jules out the window just to avoid what Mac would say about catching us in this situation.

  Mac’s head popped inside the room, and he froze at what he saw. I sat quickly. Not because he saw us, but I knew him and the look on his face had nothing to do with Jules. He was pale—like a ghost and dark circles ringed his eyes more than usual.

  Julie stood, holding her shirt tightly wrapped around her. “I better go. There are some new people I’m helping to train and show the ropes.”

  I nodded and watched as she left. Mac just stared for a second and then said, “Thought you were becoming a monk. Get dressed. I need to talk to you.”

  After dressing, I grabbed some headache medication and a bright red tomato.

  He was lying on the couch with Dex on his stomach when I came into the living room—an arm tossed across his eyes.

  “What’s up?” I asked him.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I just killed someone. On purpose. Like fucking Dr. Kevorkian.”

  I didn’t know what to make of his admission, so I didn’t say anything right away. He lifted his arm to look at me. The paleness of his face shocked me. “Since you compare yourself to the Death Doctor, I guess it was a mercy?”

  “Fuck yeah, it was.” He shifted, moving Dex to the back of the couch. “This woman showed up at the community a few weeks ago. She immediately started working for Guido. You know, screwing around to earn her keep. Anyway, when I started digging to see who she was, she got all fidgety, not wanting to talk and generally being a huge fucking bitch.”

  My pulse picked up speed. He rarely told me stories of his job, and they never ceased to fascinate me. I immediately assumed this woman’s aversion to Mac was his personality. Mac continued, “Her behavior only made me suspicious. It took me a few days to realize she was leaving for a few hours at a time. Sneaky bitch. So what do I do but follow her.” Running his hands over his face, he seemed paler. Maybe even a little green. “Oh shit,” he choked out, rubbing his stomach. “Fuck!”

  He hurtled up, startling Dex and running down the hall with a hand clamped over his mouth. The bathroom door slammed, and I flinched as his releasing stomach hit the toilet with gags and chunky splatters. Either he was sick, or the rest of his story was something I’d rather not hear or imagine.

  After a while, he came out looking a little better. “That barf sounded no less than projectile,” I commented. He plopped down on the couch and shot me a scowl.

  “You have no clue, man. What would you do if you found a guy being kept alive with the lower half his body infested with maggots?”

  “What?” My stomach turned at the
thought. No wonder he puked.

  “Yep. Bitch was hiding this guy with Myiasis and was taking care of him. Trying to anyway. I waited until she left and then pumped him full of morphine. The worst part was she was only gone for a few minutes. Caught me and attacked me. Took a while to calm her down.” He stared at the ceiling. “They were married. She wouldn’t tell me how he got that way.”

  “Myiasis?”

  “The maggots. Parasitic infestation of maggots in the body.” He rubbed his thighs as if he could feel them. “Growing and reproducing and-” He gags and swallows. “Feeding on tissue.”

  I felt my face twist in disgust. “Fuckin’ hell.”

  He stood again and towered over me. It would be comical if it weren’t for the look on his face. “This is the shit I have to deal with. Trust me. You don’t want to be a part of it.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, you’re being watched and if you’re as smart as I think you are, you won’t agree with anything anyone wants you to do. You might get called in and questioned. Remember that you can’t be used if you’re useless. Just thought I’d warn you.” With that, he turned, picked up Dex, and went into his room.

  Now

  I’ve lost her. She must be going too fast, but I know she’ll have to slow down from the cars starting to pile on the highway. I drive forever before thinking she’s off the interstate to go in another direction. Good, she needs to leave the dead zone. I hope she survives.

  That’s when I see it. The white SUV is parked in the grassy median on the right shoulder. I know it’s the same one from all the putrid bits on it. I park away from it after checking to make sure she’s not in it. I open my back door to sit and wait. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m just delaying going to Birmingham. A futile trip, for sure.

  I don’t know how long I sit there eating an apple from the community. My last one. I chuck the core. It lands when I hear it. Famished. There’s nothing like the snarls the famished bring on when they are on the hunt and the sound never ceases to turn my spine to ice. I stand and engage an arrow.

  She clears the tree line in a panic, although impressive because it looks like she flew right out without ever touching the ground. Her dreadlocks are loose around her body. A gigantic army pack with blades hanging from it doesn’t seem to slow her down. Amazing.

  Her tank is missing, only wearing a bra. Her crossbow is in her hand. She scans from side to side completely missing that I’m sitting right in front of her. She frenetically sprints toward the SUV. The famished clear the trees. I take one out with my compound bow. They don’t notice me either. I’m nothing but a sideline viewer.

  Trouble seems to follow her. She is safe on the inside, but the SUV jerks forward bounding into the shallow ditches. I get into my truck to follow her. The SUV soars by me. Zombies cling to the top of it. I calmly start my truck and pursue.

  The SUV seems to bounce through an open spot in the tree line. I sigh. She’s clearly not thinking straight and is making mistakes. I don’t pull my truck into the tree line, but get out and follow on foot with my bow. A crash echoes and I take off running. Famished are in a frenzy against the vehicle, trying to get to her. In their craze, they don’t notice me as I easily take them out one by one.

  When I reach the automobile, the driver’s door is locked. The front airbag rests deflated, and she slumps to the side. Glass from the broken windshield is strewn all over the front seat and her. I bust through the back window reaching my arm to unlock the driver’s door. The first thing I do is put my fingers on her neck to feel for a pulse. It is strong and steady but she is knocked unconscious. I can get her to my truck easy enough. Her hand is still wrapped around the crossbow tightly. She must sleep with it.

  Blood drips down her face from being cut with flying glass. I release her arms from her pack. The seat slides forward, causing me to jump back. The mechanism is broken, and she doesn’t have on a seatbelt. I consider her lucky not to have been thrown through the windshield.

  I wrap my arms around her, one going underneath her legs, keeping cautious of the fact she might wake and cause problems. Glass falls as I lift her. She’s heavier than she appears, having a firm body. She is not as small as Julie. Her thick dreadlocks are wet and smell of lavender. They soak into my undershirt.

  Her face has small round cheeks and thin dark eyebrows. Thick lips part as drool gathers in the corner of them. Her chest rises and falls with her breathing. The wind brings a chill, causing goosebumps to appear and her nipples to harden through the sports bra. It blows the tiny hairs that mark her hairline.

  Blinking, I shake my head to keep me from staring. I step over a fallen log to get her out of here before any more famished emerge. She struggles in my arms, but it’s a weak effort. Her eyes open to reveal a light hazel color. The sheen on them worries me a bit, but when she tries to focus, her pupils constrict with the light. That’s good at least.

  “Hey,” I say in an effort to get her to say something, thinking maybe she has a concussion.

  I freeze my steps at the look on her face. It’s not a look I’m used to getting. This is not an appreciative leer or open lust, but something entirely different. My chest tightens. Warmth spreads up my neck, which in turn irritates me.

  “I miss you, Malachi.”

  I exhale and continue my pace. She thinks I’m someone else. Her eyes drift shut. Confused and drowsy aren’t good signs of anything.

  I shake her a little. “What’s your name?”

  She sighs, but her eyes stay closed. “Kansas City.” Shit.

  Taking her to my truck, I roll her onto the mattress. I check her breathing, which is steady like a deep sleep. Holding a flashlight, I pop her eyelids open. The pupils still dilate and constrict like they’re supposed to when exposed to light. However, her confusion and unwillingness to become alert worries me.

  Going back, I search her car for belongings. I grab the pack and her weapon from the front seat. In the back, I find food, water, a couple of cans of gasoline, a pillow and blankets, but I pause on a box full of dusty crap. This car could be one she jacked recently. I grab everything anyway. We need to get somewhere safe before dark so I can keep an eye on her.

  I drive as fast as I can. I don’t want her waking up in the vault by herself. Not to mention, I don’t know how she’ll react and I have firearms back there. I finally find a spot I’ve come to off and on for the past eight months. It’s in the middle of the woods on the outskirts of Clarksville, far enough away from the famished.

  The rain drizzles in the damp air. It patters on tree branches and fallen leaves. I open the back doors, peeking in, and grab her pack. This time, one arm is tossed about while the other is by her side. Her dreadlocks lay like a tattered blanket. A war starts within me. I should wake her, but I need to search her stuff in case she gets hostile. If she wouldn’t have run from me after the first encounter, I wouldn’t bother, nor would we be in the situation we’re in now.

  I sigh. I’ll clean her up. If she wakes, she wakes. I set about to care for her minor injuries. The hair at her scalp sparkles with glass bits, and I pick those out before cleaning scratches on her arms that are lean with feminine muscle. Upon dabbing alcohol on them, she winces from the sting and tries to move away, but I hold her frame, watching to see if she comes to. Her arms and body relax. Where did she come from? Maybe fate dropped her into my lap.

  After making sure her breathing and pupils are the same again, I take my chances to let her sleep, and search through the pack for any hints of its owner. I feel like I’m invading her privacy, but I need to have an idea of what I’m dealing with. Everything seems to be shoved into the big bag. Through the bundle of clothing, I can’t help but see a pair of teal panties sticking out like a sore thumb. They’re just cotton panties, but my mind goes to the gutter. My neck warms again, but I give them a sniff anyway. Soap. I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  There aren’t any guns. How has she survived with only a crossbow and machete?
Maybe she ran out of bullets.

  At the bottom of the pack, I come across a laptop with different cables and connection cords. There’s also a composition notebook. Bingo.

  The rain is heavier now, so I close the door to keep out most of the daylight but leave it cracked so I can read. Flipping through the notebook, I find myself hoping to figure out her name. She has written things down but not like a diary. Her penmanship is an almost illegible scrawl of capital and lowercase letters mixed together. There are notes about living off the land. Safe plants to eat. Simple recipes she wants to keep. Thoughts on zombies and the outbreak. Just by reading this, I can tell she’s intelligent, never writing anything in long detail lest someone read it.

  I’d give my arms to never eat rice or beans again. There’s a page with tournament brackets drawn on it. The last eight M&M’s of the Universe. Which one will be left standing? It seems the M&M’s went into some kind of battle. Each one had a clever name that had to do with their color. The last one standing was Red Bull the Cupid. I laugh at that.

  I keep thumbing through it. There are a few pages of doodles of nothing special. One in particular is an artistic drawing of letters spelling out Kansas City Sunshine. She must have a thing for Kansas City. Reminds me of the time Julie wanted me to play a Ukulele to, I’m Walking on Sunshine, so she could sing it in a talent show. Of course, it was another thing I didn’t want to do but I did it anyway.

  She stirs. I watch and wait. She lets out a groan followed by a pained grunt. It cuts off as she realizes she doesn’t know where she is, as she takes in the truck.

  Then she turns her gaze on me. The full weight of her eyes pierces me. They narrow and glance at my locker full of guns. I tense when her body moves, swift with purpose. In one bound she grabs a gun, propelling herself into me, her feistiness more than turning me on as we tumble out of the truck and into the damp leaves.