Dead Lost

by Flint Maxwell

  I nod. “Yes, I expect you to believe that because it’s the truth.”

  “There’s no way,” she says.

  I shrug and turn away from her, fingering the locket beneath my cloak. By the grace of the God I may or may not believe in, Bilbo follows me. This way, I don’t look like a total ass-hat.

  “Is that your wife and son?” Lilly’s voice calls after me. “The people in that picture.”

  I turn around and look at her.

  She reads my expression and quickly apologizes. “I know it’s not my place,” she says. “But I figured if we are going to have a successful partnership, we should probably get to know each other a little better.”

  I shake my head. “Not necessary.”

  “Jack, I know you’re afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid,” I reply.

  “Yes, you are. Everyone left is afraid. If they’re not then they’re crazy,” she says. “I’m afraid, you’re afraid… Even Bilbo here is afraid. It’s not a big deal.”

  I don’t answer. I just stare, mentally regretting my decision to let her come around. I’m sure I would come across a working car eventually.

  “I had a kid. A baby,” Lilly says. Her mouth turns downward.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Don’t be. It happened. It happens. Her name was going to be Jean, after my grandmother. The poor old woman practically raised me. My mom worked a lot. Dumped me off at Nana’s house.” A lone tear streaks down Lilly’s face. She absentmindedly wipes it away.

  “What happened to Jean?” I find myself asking, though I can guess. Again, after the words have left my lips, I wish I could take them back. Can’t get attached.

  “Well, Jean was born but not normal…”

  I raise my hand to tell her to stop, but she doesn’t. I don’t want to hear this. There’s already enough sadness in this world.

  “Jean was infected. The doctor where I was staying was eighty-percent sure that it wouldn’t happen. We liked our chances. But I guess the odds weren't in my favor. Doctor Jinkton was actually a veterinarian, so you know, can’t blame him. Besides, if I knew she would’ve been born the way she was born, what would I have done? It’s not like we had the tools or knowledge for abortion and it’s not like I even believe in that.” Another tears streaks down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe this one away. “Alas, Jean was born and just as soon as she took a breath…she died and turned.”

  It’s like a lightning bolt strikes me right then and there. Anger and sadness burn through the very core of my being. How can life be so unfair? I think back to Junior’s own birth, the feeling of dread I had in the pit of my stomach when the doctor and the two nurses held him in their arms. We were in one of the public restrooms Eve had converted into an infirmary. Knocked down the walls separating the men’s from the women’s, cleaned the hell out of the place, put in hospital beds, and it really did remind me of an honest-to-God infirmary when it was all said and done.

  I remember the doctor and the nurse laughing. The clapping. Then them handing me my son for the first time. A beautiful and healthy baby boy. I almost fainted.

  “I guess I always knew that what happened could happen. God knows they reminded me about it every chance they got. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, Lilly.’ ‘Whatever happens, happens for a reason.’ Bullshit,” Lilly says.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, and I do mean it.

  She waves my sorry away. “It was a long time ago. I’m okay. Sure, I carried Jean around for nine months, but I should’ve it, you know? At some point I felt something…off inside of my womb—and I should’ve known then. But, like a fool, I held out hope. I was more mad than anything.”

  I nod. I understand. When I found Junior’s body lying next to Darlene’s, the pool of blood around them, so much that the ground was stained red and the grass was soggy with it, and the initial shock wore off, I was angry. So mad that I was prepared to run to the ends of the earth to find the man who did it. It was only after I buried them that I think I realized that they were gone, gone forever.

  Lilly looks out over the horizon, at that dilapidated fence and the equally shabby farmhouse beyond it, which we are directly in front of. I follow her eyes, and for the first time, I realize there is a silo jutting over the house’s caved in roof. There might be some sort of grain or feed there we can give to Bilbo. It’s a long shot, but looking at the farm and judging by the height of the grass and the land, whoever owned that farm did not die fifteen years ago. It’s only recently been vacated, if at all.

  I look back to Lilly, see the sadness in her eyes. But I see something else, too. I see understanding. She turns and those knowing eyes meet mine. I hesitate.

  I have my own stories of loss to tell. In my head, I know them all too intimately. I’ve never spoken them out loud, and I think I’ve never done that because doing so would make them real—somehow realer than they already are.

  Right now, after Lilly has told me her own tragic tale, I think it would be unfair of me to withhold mine.

  “Yeah, this is my wife and son. Darlene and Herbert Jr.,” I say, holding the locket up.

  Lilly nods. A smile replaces the frown on her face.

  “They were in Haven with me. We helped build it up to what it was. Then the District came and they murdered everyone. Well, mostly everyone. Darlene and Junior were among those. I saw them die. I saw Darlene’s throat slit and my own son shot in the back of the head. They left me alive. I’m not sure why. Maybe they thought I was dead. I had blacked out. I don’t remember why, could’ve been from shock or from a blow to the head. When I woke up, I witnessed the aftermath of all the destruction and death firsthand. I held my son’s bloody corpse to my chest then I held my wife’s, then I held them together. Darlene’s head lolled. They had cut her so deep that I could see her vertebrae.” I’m not crying. I’m too numb to cry.

  Lilly nods, walks over to me, and wraps me up in a hug.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  We part.

  “This explains a lot,” she says now, wiping her tears away. Despite all the sadness, all the heaviness, she smiles.

  Confused, I ask, “What do you mean?”

  “Why you’re such a badass,” she says.

  “I’m not.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Jack. I know I said it earlier…but I’ve never seen anyone stand up to the District like you did.”

  “Oh, that’s just the beginning. I know where the man who murdered my family is. I won’t stop until he’s dead,” I say and I mean this. I will stop at nothing until I succeed. Even if it takes coming back as a zombie and ripping his other eye out.

  “That where you’re heading?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “Then that’s where I’m heading, too,” she says.

  I don’t want this. I don’t want to put her in danger, but I keep silent, thinking that I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

  Despite the overwhelming bad feeling I get when I hop over the fence and onto the field, I don’t stop and come back. Emptying my cloak has been eye-opening. I’m down on my last leg of supplies. Now that I have a means of transportation in Bilbo, I can carry more essentials and not be weighted down.

  The only problem here is that Bilbo is another life to take care of besides my own. As much as I don’t know about horses, I’m not stupid enough to not know that they eat, drink, and sleep just like us humans.

  So hopping the fence is for me as much as it’s for the horse. Not because I’m getting attached to him. I can’t let that happen. It’s because if he’s going to help me achieve my goal he’ll need to be at full strength.

  Once in the tall grass and weeds, I crouch low and pull out a pair of binoculars. Scanning the back of the farmhouse, I see nothing, no movement. The back door is cracked open. A couple windows are busted out. Any sane person would not leave these matters unattended. My guess: zombies somehow got in and had a feast and then moved on like the buzzards they are.

 
; I look back to Lilly and the horse. They are hidden in the shadow of a tall tree, a few feet away from the fence. My goal is to scan the area for danger before I give her the go-ahead.

  And yes, I thought about her hopping on to Bilbo’s back and making off with my horse, leaving me in the middle of nowhere. But I truly don’t think she’d do that, and if she did, it’s not a big deal. Two less mouths to feed.

  I crouch-walk to the silo. It’s by no means a big silo, not like the type I’ve seen in Ohio, the silos that tower over the horizon like mountain peaks, that can be seen a few towns over, filled to the very top with feed and grain.

  Inside, I shine a flashlight. The batteries need changed; it takes those fat C or D batteries, and I can’t seem to find those anywhere these days. Just as the light burns out, I see two fifty pound bags marked Feed. Horse feed? Maybe, maybe not, but we’ll find out if Bilbo’s hungry enough to eat it. One of the bags is opened and rolled down. There are barrels of grain behind this and some shovels and other tools propped up on the walls near them. But the feed. How lucky can we get? Finally, something seems to go right for me. I walk over to the full bag and try to lift it. It’s heavy, heavier than fifty pounds, I think. No way I’ll be able to drag both out by myself. Well, I probably can, but I’ll admit that the darkness inside, combined with the old smell of dirt and wood, is starting to get to me. So I go out into the light and wave Lilly and Bilbo inside.

  The fence creaks with the sound of rusty hinges opening. They come up a gravel driveway that cuts through the entire property.

  It is now that Lilly screams out and falls. I don’t know what happens. Now I see her; now I don’t. Bilbo rises on hind legs, neighing. Then he takes off, moving faster than I’ve seen him move.

  “Lilly!” I shout. My guts have turned to jelly. I’m thinking the worst as I run toward the spot where Lilly has fallen, where her screams are coming from. Darlene comes to the front of my mind. How many times had I ran after her because of the screams on our way to Haven? Too many times. This is why I wanted to take this journey alone.

  The grass rustles and the sound of hands beating the ground fills my ears. Lilly wrestles with a zombie. It is only the torso of a man. The guts and meaty tubes hang out a little farther than the knob of his spinal cord. He has no hair and a drooping tribal tattoo that was once on his upper back obscured with dirt and dry blood.

  I plunge into the tangle of limbs and try to pull the zombie off of her, but it’s strong. The chance of a hot meal always makes them work harder.

  My hand closes around cold, dirty skin. I pull with all my might, but my fingers slip off of whatever part of this dead man I’ve grabbed, and I fall backward on my ass with a bone-jolting thump.

  “Fuck,” I mumble.

  The zombie growls and roars and gnashes rotten teeth. Lilly no longer screams out of fear. As I scramble to my feet, I see her on her knees, fending off the rabid monster with her forearm and raising her right arm high above her head. In it, she holds a rock no bigger than a fist. She thrusts it downward.

  I put my own arms up to shield my face from the spray of blood. The zombie’s head caves in with a sickening crunch. All it took was one hit, but Lilly continues to hit it, and hit it, and hit it. Until all that’s left of this zombie looks like a large, chewed piece of watermelon gum attached to a bloody neck.

  “I can handle myself,” Lilly says.

  “I wasn’t much help anyway,” I say. Walking over to her, I offer her my hand. She looks at it like it’s some alien object. Then I look at her own hand, seeing how it’s covered in blood and brains and tiny dots of white skull, then pull my hand back.

  “Gotta get your hands dirty sometimes,” Lilly says.

  I grimace. “Doesn’t mean I like to.” I still help her up, but avoid her hands and offer her the crook of my arm.

  “Where’s Bilbo?” she asks when she’s standing.

  “Ran,” I say. I scan the horizon. I’m tall yet it’s still hard for me to see over the rises in the land. I catch a hint of his dark mane near the silo. “Looks like he’s found the food. I hope it’s all right for him.”

  “It’s fine. A little expired feed never hurt anyone,” Lilly says. She swipes drops of blood off of her face. The way she says it, I’m not sure she really means it. I’ve personally found some expired food and not felt my best after I ate it. I’m a sucker for Reese’s Cups…even ones fifteen years past their expiration date that are essentially nothing but chocolatey dust. Still, I suppose expired feed is better than nothing for Bilbo.

  Probably.

  We go to the silo and set it up so he can just eat out of the bag. He seems to grimace at the taste of it at first but warms up enough to empty the first bag in what is quite possibly record time. Lilly opens the second bag and says, “Might as well eat up. We still got a ways to go.”

  She’s changed since her encounter with the zombie near the gate. She seems…guarded, overtly cautious. I can’t blame her, but I wonder if it’s because she’s been sheltered in Freeland for however long without the dangers of zombies lurking around every corner.

  But the thought of her striking the zombie again and again makes me shiver beneath my cloak in the hot sun.

  Bilbo continues eating. He doesn’t polish off the last bag, though, and judging by the expression on his face, he doesn’t particularly like the taste of expired feed. I doubt there’s much in the way of nutrients, but it has to be better than eating grass, right? I don’t know, I’m not a horse.

  We sit in silence, the shadow of the silo stretching over us. It’s a hot fall day, hotter than it has any right to be. It’s in this silence that my stomach begins to growl; so far, I’ve learned to ignore this as well as the pangs of hunger constant in the apocalypse, but then I realize it’s been nearly twenty-four hours since I’ve had anything to eat. I think the last bit of sustenance I’ve had besides a few nips from my water skin is the whiskey I drank at the bar before everything turned to hell with Brandon and his District goons.

  My stomach rumbles again. Absentmindedly, my hand clenches it beneath my cloak. Lilly is looking at me out of the corner of her eyes. She is in the light now, the sun basking her, streaking her short, dark hair with oranges and yellows.

  My stomach ripples once more, and this time, I can hardly take the pain. I stand up and walk over to the saddle, where my cloak rests. Bilbo is not tethered to anything. I figured he deserved a break as much as we did. He seems to enjoy the sun warming his skin beneath all that shiny hair, but he’s as tired as the rest of us and doesn’t venture far. He’s always only a few feet away, staying away from the taller grass because he can smell the blood of the zombie Lilly crushed. After that incident, I did my best to scan the field for more. I didn’t find anything besides the zombie’s lower half that was still somehow twitching like a dog in the midst of a nightmare. It was by a well all but hidden in the grass. The stench coming up from the deep darkness was abysmal, so I covered it. No need for one of us to accidentally fall in and break our leg. Actually, I think the smell would kill you before you realized you’ve even broken your leg.

  From my cloak, I take out a wrapped package of cheese. It’s homemade stuff I bought at a different outpost about two weeks before I came upon Freeland. It tastes like a boot and smells even worse, but my hunger wins out.

  I turn around to offer a piece to Lilly, knowing she’ll probably refuse because she’s used to better eating in Freeland, but as my eyes search for hers, I see that she’s sleeping. Out cold.

  I sit down against the cool stone of the silo and rest my head. The idea of sleep is nice, but I know I can’t doze off right now. I’ll stay up for another hour, maybe two, then I’ll wake Lilly. We have to keep watch over one another. If we don’t, the next time we wake up a couple zombies might be chewing on our insides. Or we might not wake up at all, at least not as humans.

  I eat as much of the cheese as I can stomach before its sour taste is too much to bear. Besides, I need to save it for later. Who know
s how long it’ll be before we discover food?

  Who knows—

  An idea comes to mind, one that is slow to hit me because of the exhaustion I’m suffering from.

  I go over to Lilly and rouse her awake. She moans, “What?”

  “I’m going up to the house, take a look around. Can you go in the silo until I come back?” I ask. I won’t be able to watch her while I’m inside even though I don’t think I’ll be inside for long.

  “Yeah,” she says sleepily. Then she opens her eyes fully and it seems like she’s been wide awake this whole time. In her normal, not sleep-heavy voice, she says, “You better not leave me, Jack. If you do, I’ll find you.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you until I get some sleep.” Plus, I need to know where that car is and Lilly is the one leading me.

  She smiles and closes her eyes again as I help her up and guide her to the silo. Inside, it’s cool and dark, the perfect place to sleep on this warm day. Bilbo comes inside, too, sniffs around curiously at the feed bags, one empty and the other half-full. Now that he’s here, I decide to shut him in with Lilly, too. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. He doesn’t care much. He’s not like a dog that’ll whine and bark and draw attention to us. I’m grateful for that. Not to mention that Lilly won’t be in there alone.

  As I make my way up to the farmhouse, I feel pretty awake. It’s the thrill of the mission that reenergizes me. I’ve always hated scouting abandoned buildings because you never know exactly what you’ll find; you just know it’s usually not going to be anything good.

  There are tire tracks in the gravel, thick ones left from a tractor, I think. I don’t know how long ago, but if they’re still there, I think it hasn’t been as long as I originally thought. My hand goes to the sword on my back. No. That won’t do. I pull my pistol out of its holster. Again, better safe than sorry.