Dead Lost

by Flint Maxwell

  Seeing her there with the blood on her face and her hands tied behind her back pisses me off. I’m pissed mostly at myself. I should have never let her come along with me. She had no reason to mess up what little life she had survived long enough to cultivate.

  She flicks her eyes open. One of them is bloodshot.

  “Lilly, are you okay?” I ask. It’s a dumb question, really. We’re obviously not all right.

  “My head’s a little fuzzy,” she answers, “but I’m alive.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. The words explode from my lips.

  “Don’t, Jack. This is what I signed up for.”

  The door behind us opens. It doesn’t creak; the only reason I know it’s opened is because I hear footfalls on the carpet. Nice carpet, by the way. Wouldn’t expect anything less in a place like this.

  I close my eyes to focus on the sounds. The pain that bolts through my head is almost unbearable. Three sets of footsteps, two sets heavy, one set agile and almost silent.

  “There they are,” a man says. I haven’t been knocked hard enough to forget that voice. It’s Mark—not such a stupid name…surprise, surprise.

  “What’s your name?” a woman’s voice asks.

  My mouth parts. Relief floods me. All the tension in my body melts away. With this voice, a thunderstorm of nostalgia rushes into my head. Life flashing before your eyes—that kind. In my mind, I see a young woman of about eighteen or nineteen. She works at a gym, a gym I was so unfortunately stuck in the night of the outbreak. This girl saved me from killing myself before the zombies made their first appearance. She helped lift a barbell off of my chest—ninety-five pounds, nothing to brag about, but I don’t see the point in lying here. She helps me get back to my then-fiancé and future wife. She helps me get across the country. She helps me save the world. She helps me build a community in Golden Gate Park. She keeps my hotheaded brother in line. She finds a man who accepts her for who she is, missing hand and all. She marries him. She has years of happiness before the very guerrilla group she works for took that man away from her, destroyed all that she has built, all that we’ve built.

  This is Abigail Cage, the sister I never had, part of the family I’ve been longing to get back to for the past two years.

  Hearing her voice does so much to me. I suddenly feel tears rolling down my face, slowing at the edge of my beard, getting lost in the long—and graying—hairs.

  “Abby,” I say. My voice has never shaken so much, not since I held Darlene, my wife, my love, my soul, in my arms while her blood drained from the slash in her neck, the slash given to her by the one-eyed man.

  “What is your name?” Abby asks again.

  I can feel Lilly’s eyes on me. The tension in the room is so heavy, I think the windows will blow open.

  “Abby, it’s me—it’s J-Jack,” I say.

  The footsteps again. Light, agile, almost silent.

  She comes around the side of my chair and pivots. There’s a bitter chill in the rush of wind caused by the sudden movement.

  Now she stands in front of me, but it’s not Abby, not the Abby I remember, the Abby I love. In the span of two years, this woman has aged a decade. She is haggard, her face is twisted with evil, her eyes are full of pain. I think if I blink—if I could blink—that the strings attached to her limbs would reveal themselves and there would be the one-eyed man floating above us all in the darkness, controlling those strings. The thought freezes me again. I want to shout, I want to scream.

  I can’t.

  On her missing hand she wears a metal hook, not like something a pirate would wear, but something much more sophisticated. Her clothes are too big for her body. She has lost a lot of weight.

  “Abby,” I manage to say. “Abby. Don’t you remember me?” There’s a pleading in my voice, one I never expected to hear.

  I think recognition flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone as fast as it came.

  “How can I remember you? I don’t even know your name. So what is it? I’d like to know who I am about to execute,” she says.

  The coldness running through me physically hurts. Execute? No. She heard me on the radio, she recognized my voice.

  The tears in my eyes continue to course downward, getting lost in my beard. The throbbing in my head has flared up to something so painful, I can hardly think, let alone speak.

  “Abby, you heard me. We talked on the radio. You recognized my voice,” I’m saying.

  “Jack,” Lilly says. “Don’t.” This is the thudding of the casket lid, the last nail in the coffin, the first mound of dirt thrown into your grave. She has given up.

  Maybe I should, too.

  No part of the old Abby is present now. She is gone, gone like Darlene and Junior and Norm.

  Gone.

  Suzanna was right. I should’ve never come. I should’ve lived out the rest of my miserable life in silence, stuck in the past, just waiting to die.

  “Jack what,” Abby asks.

  Behind us, Gina and Mark are chuckling. They wait for the execution, this is nothing new to them, they’ve seen it before. The cat playing with the mouse before she brutally tears its insides out and leaves it on the doorstep for her master. I wonder if Abby will ship my body to the one-eyed man. I wonder if he’ll look upon me and laugh.

  “Jack Jupiter,” I answer, sounding very far away. I’ve already checked out, accepted my fate.

  “Well, Jack Jupiter, I’m sorry it has to end like this,” Abby says.

  “No—” Lilly screams. “Don’t do it. Kill me first.”

  I look at her out of the corner of my eyes, at a loss for words. Does she…does she care about me?

  As if reading my mind, Lilly says, “We’re both screwed, yeah, I just don’t want to see your head blown off,” in a low voice. “Don’t want that to be the last thing I see.”

  Eh, I get it.

  “Shut up!” Abby shouts loud enough to cause the window to rattle. It makes me jump, and I wish I could fall inwardly on myself, vanish to nothingness, leave this all behind.

  The guards are chuckling. Pieces of shit.

  Abby walks closer to me, her claw-hand scratching along the table, making a terrible grating sound.

  She bends down, her breath hot in my face. I almost cannot meet those eyes, those dead eyes.

  “It’ll be over before you know it,” she says. “One shot in the back of the head, punishment for crossing into District territory and disturbing official District business.”

  Shot in the back of the head, like my own son. My breathing is almost as shaky as my body. I’m thinking of Junior, of Darlene, thinking dying won’t be all bad. At least I’ll get to see them again in the afterlife.

  “Please,” I say to Abby. “Please remember.” But I know it’s worthless. This empty shell of a person has made up whatever it has of its mind left. Suzanna’s words come into my head, a bullet to my brain—brainwashed. Abby is brainwashed and I can’t blame her. She is doing what she's been programmed to do.

  Now Abby spins the chair around.

  Lilly and I look at each other as I pass. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  It’s all I can say.

  She smiles. It’s a sad smile, a pretty smile. Gone too fast.

  Then, the unsnapping of a button, that unmistakable sound of a gun being pulled free from a holster.

  The cocking of the hammer.

  29

  I’ve pictured this moment ever since I lost Darlene and Junior. Before I lost them, the idea of death was always on my mind, too—I mean, how could it not be when there’s zombies walking around to always remind you of what death is?

  In the two years since I’ve pictured this sweet relief, this way to get back to my wife and son and all those who I lost before I arrived in Haven and all those I lost after, it was not like this. I would never in a million years think the person who was going to do me in would be a brainwashed member of my own family.

  But that’s the way it is.

  That’s the wa
y it has to be.

  I have to accept it, like I have to accept Darlene and Junior are gone, and Abby is brainwashed, and that I’ll never see my older brother again, never find out what happened to him.

  To close my eyes or to not close my eyes, that is the question. Do I want to die a coward or do I want to die looking at the grinning faces of Gina and Mark?

  I’m reminded of an amusement park. I don’t know why. Thought I’d have a more insightful final thought, but I can’t help myself. When I was younger, Norm took me to this place called Geagua Lake in Aurora, Ohio. It’s gone now, gone before the apocalypse happened.

  In this place, there was one of those log rides. You sat in a long car that was made to look like a log floating in water. It pulled you up a steep hill, took you around a jerky bend—at this point, you’d feel how cold the water was, and no matter how hot the temperature had been, you’d almost always regret getting on this damn thing—then you’re looking down a huge drop that ends in a pool of the same cold water at the bottom. Down you went and the nose of the log would make a huge splash as it hit. Water flew up in, what seemed like to a younger me, a tsunami wave. But the reason these grinning District soldiers remind me of that ride is because there was a bridge you could stand on just over that large pool of water the log ride ended in. There, you’d get some of the splash. The idea was you wouldn’t get as much as you would’ve had you been on the ride. I told Norm that I didn’t want to ride it. He gave me his usual, You’re a wimp, you’re too chicken, blah-blah-blah excuse, and I waited for him on the bridge with the scores of other too-chicken spectators. The splash that hit me nearly knocked me off the bridge, and it felt so nice in the hot summer weather. All while saving me a panic attack from looking down that drop from the nose of the log. So I told Norm to go on it again, I wasn’t feeling well, blah-blah-blah, just so I could feel the splash again and again and again. Every summer we went to Geagua Lake, this was something I looked forward to, one of my fondest memories of childhood. It was a time when Norm and I seemed to get along back then, which was not often.

  I imagine the grin on my face in those days is a lot like that of the District Soldiers. As soon as Abby’s bullet enters my skull, the spray of blood and brains—my blood and brains—is going to drench Gina and Mark, the sick bastards, and they’re going to enjoy it.

  So I decide to close my eyes. What if there’s lingering brain activity once the bullet slices through my head? What if the last image my dying eyes see are these two sharks?

  No, I don’t want that.

  With my eyes closed, I muster up a family portrait in my mind. A picnic in Haven. The sun shining, the air smelling fresh. We are gathered around a tree with bright leaves. The backdrop is a clear blue sky. There, in this portrait, is Darlene, my son, Norm, Tim, Eve, Carmen, and yes, Abby before her own mind was destroyed.

  I hold this image for as long as I can. It keeps the fear away, the sadness, replaces all of it with love and nostalgia.

  In this peace, I accept my fate.

  30

  The gun goes off once.

  Twice.

  I hear a scream. Is it Lilly’s? It must be, I can’t imagine I look too good with a bloody hole in my head.

  But wait—

  How can I hear a scream if I’m dead?

  Unless…

  My eyes shoot open. My heart is pounding fiercely, it’s like a running dinosaur in my chest. Thump-thump-thump-thump.

  What I see first is a bright streak of red against the white walls. It drips slowly, pools on the nice carpet. My eyes follow it to the floor. There, a crumpled man lies, blood coming from his head.

  What the fuck? is on my lips, ready to leave my mouth when I feel a tugging at my wrist.

  “Don’t have much time,” Abby is saying. “They’ll come up and check pretty soon.”

  I have no idea what’s going on.

  My eyes flick to the other body. This one is closer to the door, hardly any blood comes from it. It’s Gina. Her gray hair is unmistakable. I only mention this because I’m currently wondering if I’ve imagined all of it. Because this is impossible. This is unreal.

  I saw Abby’s eyes, saw how sinister they were. She meant business. The brainwashing was real.

  Or was it?

  My arms are free. I pull them up, sudden pain in my shoulder, the phantom biting of the binds on my wrist. Now, a tugging on my ankles, a tearing. I look down and see a hand and a claw working on the shiny duct tape methodically, carefully.

  “Abby,” I say. “Abby.”

  “Jack, not now. We can catch up as soon as we’re out of this shit-storm,” she replies from the floor. I look over to Lilly. Her mouth is hanging open. There’s tears in her eyes. She thought I was dead; I thought I was dead. “It’s gonna be hard enough to get into the garage without the whole fucking squadron breathing down our necks,” Abby continues.

  It’s now that the crumpled body on the floor starts moving. Moaning. Gina is up on all fours. She looks back at us, a flash of hate and pain in her eyes.

  “Abby!” I say.

  “Shit!” Abby says.

  Gina opens the door as Abby shoots.

  Misses. A bullet sprays shards of wood in every direction. She aims again, but the door closes after Gina slips out into the hallway.

  Abby runs past me.

  It’s too late. There’s a painful groan, practically a scream, and then a thud on the wall out there that carries far and wide.

  But not as far and wide as the sound of the alarm the dying District guard has just hit.

  31

  I don’t let this put a damper on the fact that I’m still alive. I know my opportunities when I see them, and though my feet are not untied yet, I lean over and begin working on Lilly’s bound hands.

  Outside, in the hall, another shot goes off and Abby storms back into the conference room. Blood dots the flesh on her neck and chest. In her clawed hand, she holds a knife. I’m guessing she took it off of Gina, who won’t be bothering us again. But the deed is done. The alarm has been raised and we’re on the clock, a very short clock. Soon, a stream of guards will start pouring into the room.

  Abby slices through my duct tape and then does the same on Lilly’s.

  “C’mon,” Abby says. “I can get us out of here in no time.”

  I stand there on wobbly legs, smiling like a fool at her. Abby fuckin Cage. It has been too long. It’s almost like staring at a ghost. I was sure she was dead, but here she is.

  “Close your mouth, Jack. You look like an idiot,” Abby says. “And a beard? C’mon, man, you cannot pull off a beard!”

  I smile, tears in my eyes. This is a dream. It has to be. I’m imagining Abby and her voice like I’ve imagined Darlene’s and Junior’s.

  She smiles back. For this moment, nothing exists but us. No alarm, no bodies on the floor, no zombies in Chicago or the world—just Abby Cage and Jack Jupiter. Reunited.

  I can’t help myself. I lunge forward and hug her, mostly to make sure she is real. Her warm flesh against my own says she is.

  “Blah,” she says. “Save the sappy shit for later…you know, like after we’re dead.”

  “Gonna be sooner than later,” Lilly says. She points to the door. Outside in the hall, the unmistakable sounds of running footsteps and confused shouting echo.

  “Let’s go!” Abby says. Something passes between us, a mutual understanding of mutual destruction. Part of the old gang is back. We’re both a little older, a little more broken, but we know you can never be too old or too broken to fuck shit up.

  32

  Three steps into our flight, we realize we aren’t getting out of here alive…at least not through the large double doors that lead out into the lobby. Now is a good time for action-hero Jack Jupiter to rear his ugly head, I think.

  “Shit!” Lilly says. “What the hell do we do?”

  Tensions are somehow running higher than before. Quickly, I scan the room for anything I can use. I’ve already picked up Mark
’s assault rifle, it’s currently over my shoulder, the grip firmly in my clenched hand. Wish I had my sword. Might not do me much good in this particular situation, but the cold steel has a calming effect.

  The room is pretty bare. We need something to hold the doors closed while we figure out what to do next. I reach down—maybe a belt. Fuck, I never wear belts. Too uncomfortable.

  “Abby, give me your belt!” I say.

  She looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “Just give it to me.”

  “Well, if I knew it was going to be like that…” Lilly says.

  We both turn to her and shout, “Shut up!”

  Abby takes her belt off, hands it to me. I slide it through the door handles and tie the tightest knot I’ve ever tied. Again, Norm would be proud.

  We are backing up toward the window as the first thud hits the doors, jolts it in the middle where the two meet. Another pummel and the hinges scream like living things.

  “Now what?” Lilly asks.

  “We fight,” Abby says with confidence. “I’ve done some fucked-up things over the last couple years and nothing can atone for them, but I’m glad I’m going out on a good note. Glad I’m going out fighting.”

  I take her right hand with my left and I squeeze.

  “And I’m glad I got to see you again,” she says. This emotion stuns me. Abby has always been the last to show it. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll never admit I said that.”

  “It’s not over,” I say. My back is up against the window. I turn around and look down—another mistake, never look down. We’re about fifteen to twenty stories up. I’m no expert, but I think that amounts to nearly two hundred feet and that’s a long drop.

  As I turn back to the door, which is probably two good hits away from buckling in, I see something out of the corner of my eye.

  My breath catches, heart skips a couple beats.

  What I see is hope, and it’s hope in the form of a scaffold, one of those suspended scaffolds the window washers used to use. Another minor, negative detail of the apocalypse—dirty windows. Whatever skyscraper we’re in right now could use a good washing.