Waiting to Die (Book 2): Wasting Away

by Richard M. Cochran

  A corpse howled behind us as the ground started to rattle again. A subtle arch in the concrete beneath us, and Mary’s eyes flashed with fear. She stood on her own as another wave struck.

  “Come on!” I yelled.

  We broke out into a run and our footfalls hit unsteady ground. Glass splintered above us as we vaulted over an overturned dumpster at the end of the alley.

  Back on the street, we crossed to the other side through a row of parked cars and out into a field. Warehouses came into view in the distance. Power line poles toppled along the road behind us like dominoes, fraying electrical lines, uncoiling, slapping the pavement as they hit.

  At the far end of the field, there was a pedestrian walkway that cleared a freeway barrier. I turned, still holding Mary by the hand, and led the way.

  A handful of corpses wandered through the field, blocking our way. A creature turned, its mouth a ripped snarl, dripping thick with waste. Arms held high, it came at me as the others gathered in turn.

  Bending howls nursed by the wind.

  I pushed Mary behind me and reached out, grabbing a ghoul under its arm. I threw it to the ground and shouted, “Go!” as I looked back at Mary. She fled toward the stairwell as I held the creature to the ground. I neatly placed my heel below its chin and stepped down. I could feel its neck pop, scattering vertebrae within rot, vibrating through my leg.

  Hundreds more poured out from between the warehouses, gathering like the shadow of an eclipse. The ground shook with stampeding bodies, crying into the wind. I tensed. The muscles in my arms cramped as my breath escaped me. An army encroached, bulging from every side - a child’s picture, colored outside the lines in wicked scribbles, torn at the edges.

  Finally, my body worked again. I fled, winding my way toward the stairs after Mary. A jet plane hum of cryptic voices shook the air, rustling the hairs on the back of my neck. The taste of sour rose in my mouth. A bead of sweat fell free from my brow. My heart sank slowly at the sight.

  I made it to the bridge and looked down at the sea of corpses, bottlenecking at the first rise of the stairs like ink poured through an hourglass. A wave of death, packed tightly, jamming the front into deadlock. Creeping things locked in struggle.

  “Through here,” Mary said. She guided me through the exit on the other side of the walkway and along the narrow stairwell which led to a sidewalk below.

  I could still hear the dead, trumpeting hunger from the other side as a few others approached the walkway. Once we were on the other side, we fled along the edge of a retaining wall that divided us from the northern portion of the freeway.

  Another aftershock hit, scattering loose concrete from the overpass. It continued to shake violently, releasing a section of the road which sank a few feet, hanging on by a steel support. Both Mary and I hit the ground from the sudden shock.

  We were up in a flash, changing direction, bolting toward a park surrounded by homes on the far side. The tremors had subsided, leaving minor aftershocks to part the dust that had already fallen. Once I was brave enough to look back, I noticed only a few bodies had cleared the walkway, but the bridge was overflowing, cracking under the weight.

  There were so many of them twisting through the rails at the walkway that their mass blotted out the sun. Clawing hands and lapping maws snatched at the chain link, shaking loose crumbling concrete from the supports. Livid voices gurgled out screams of death.

  “My legs are cramping,” Mary said, limping.

  I looked back again; the bridge was a black smudge along the skyline. The bodies were tiny specks against the horizon. “We’ll find a place to rest once we’re far enough away.”

  Her lips were tight as she nodded.

  Chapter 16

  We walked for miles, ensuring the dead were far enough behind us. A look of pain crossed Mary’s face and she tried her best to hide it. I could see the tears welling up in her eyes and a slight crease at the side of her mouth as she gritted her teeth. Smears of dirt caked under her eyes where she had wiped away the evidence.

  We were still shaken from the quake, waiting for the tremors to continue. The earth moves so suddenly that the tingle at the back of the neck just before it strikes is little warning. The deep thump in the distance before the ground gives way is nothing but a tease.

  I watched Mary as she plodded along ahead of me, her back slightly bowed as she watched the ground in front of her. I would have never thought of taking her away so soon. I had hoped to buy another week or so, making sure she was eating enough to get her strength back. When the quake hit, my instinct was to run. My instinct is to always run. It sounds cowardly, but I have learnt that it is just another part of life now. Sleeping, eating, running: these are the things that make up survival. There’s no way to fight them all.

  A neat row of shops lined the street in the old section of the city. Boutiques, restaurants, coffee shops, lined up a few blocks long. There was even a book store with a large display window, showing off the best sellers of days gone by. So many stories left unread.

  “I’m sorry for this. I truly am,” I said.

  She worked out a smile and shook her head. “It was bound to happen sometime.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t want to take you away so soon.”

  “We did what we had to.”

  “Can you go a little bit longer?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  “Good,” I said. “We’re coming up on the city limits. There shouldn’t be as many of them in the suburbs. We’ll find somewhere to stop there.”

  “Okay,” she replied.

  The sun began to part along the sky, filtering through long wisps of clouds. Deep purple marked the darkening shroud of night beyond. The hallow call of an animal sounded from far away. It’s odd to think there are still living things in all of this.

  We made our way through wreckage and debris. Cracked asphalt guided our way. Ahead of us there was a sink hole, an SUV tilting at the edge where the ground had tried to swallow it up. We crossed along the side, using the sidewalk as a bridge over the chasm. The ground had all but gone away, leaving only the small concrete walkway. Pipes exposed, crisscrossing over the darkness below. I held Mary’s hand as we negotiated the narrow expanse.

  She let out a small laugh under her breath.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head.

  “No, really, what is it?”

  “It’s just funny, you know? Like the dead weren’t enough,” she said with an awkward smile. “Like the nightmare we’re living in just wasn’t good enough and there had to be an earthquake too.”

  I took her hand again and gave it a small squeeze. “It’ll be all right,” I said. “It’s just another hill in the road.”

  “It’s not the hill that bothers me,” she replied. “It’s falling down the other side that scares the shit out of me.”

  The silence is deafening when night comes. It’s amazing how much you miss the hum of electricity and the commotion of life when it’s gone. It’s so quiet that you can hear your heart beat steady in your chest. It’s a lonely feeling.

  Mary placed her hand on my shoulder. “You know, it’s probably better this way.”

  I tilted my head questioningly. “How so?”

  “I think it’s a lot like learning to swim,” she said. “Sometimes you just have to dive in.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, in a way, I suppose it is. I wouldn’t think anyone would willingly go out in this.”

  “No, me neither,” she agreed. “How many people do you think survived this?”

  “I couldn’t imagine,” I replied.

  “Maybe there’re still people tucked away like I was.”

  “It’s very likely,” I said.

  “What will you do if all of this suddenly ends?”

  “You mean if the dead go away?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I guess I’ll try to start my life over. I know
one thing; I sure as hell won’t be doing any more traveling.”

  She laughed.

  A corpse called from somewhere in the distance, a lonely echo along crumbling buildings.

  I placed my finger over my lips. “Be little quieter,” I said.

  Her eyes widened. “Sorry.”

  We came to a neighborhood with small one story homes. White picket fences lined most of the lawns. Some were surrounded in stone and brick. For a moment, I almost thought that the street lights would turn on and guide our way. There was very little evidence that anything had happened here. There were a few cracks in the road where the earthquake had separated the asphalt and a few broken windows along the rows of homes. A compact car parked sideways in the road, its driver’s side door hanging open. A broken mailbox, sheared off at the base, lay in the street. Everything else was picture perfect. It was like this portion of the world couldn’t have been bothered with the apocalypse. It was as if it had been here too long to let some little nuisance overcome it.

  “What about that one?” Mary asked.

  A small brick bungalow trimmed in a withered flower garden. Hedges drooped along the fence. The lawn was slightly overgrown and pockmarked in brown and yellow.

  “It’ll have to do,” I said.

  I peered in through the front window and took the flashlight from my pack. A long, narrow glare washed out over the living room. I waited quietly for movement. Inside, it was still and calm. A couch was placed in the center of the room with a recliner off to the side. An area rug lay beneath them, horizontal with the room. A small fireplace was in the corner, surrounded by bookshelves.

  I motioned for Mary to follow me as I walked along the side of the house, shining the light through each window as I went. Through the last window I saw the kitchen. It was a simple room with counters wrapping halfway around and cupboards hanging above. There was a table in the center of the room with a napkin holder on top.

  At the back door, I shined the light on the handle, edging it toward the crack to see if it was bolted.

  “I think we’re in luck,” I said, pulling out my pocket knife.

  “Is that usually how you get in?” Mary asked.

  “Not usually,” I replied, “but there’s a first time for everything.”

  I slid the blade to the back of the mechanism in the door and twisted, pulling it at the last possible moment. The door creaked open.

  I grinned. “I’ll be damned.”

  Mary followed me closely. I could feel her breath on the back of my neck. There was a deep silence crouching in every shadow. I slowly pulled the pistol from my waistband and held the flashlight with my free hand, guiding it along the walls where it was too dark to see.

  We wound through the kitchen and into the living room. Dark, faceless pictures hung on the wall. There was a painting of the ocean above the mantle, a ribbon of light washed over it from the front widow. A tired ship crested over lapping waves, ready to settle over the next curl. Seagulls bound forever in a pastel sky. An invisible sun glared from somewhere off the canvas.

  I listened as I came to the end of the wall and encountered a small bedroom, as simply furnished as the rest of the house. Eye glasses lay on a nightstand next to a lamp. There was a book on the floor and a small, circular stain next to it. I thought of coffee, it was so dark.

  The bed was made, a pleat at the top of the dark comforter with a swatch of white sheet contrasting against it. An old oak chest of drawers was situated against the far wall next to a closet door. I could smell fabric softener in the air, subtle jasmine with a hint of cologne underneath.

  “I think it’s clear,” I said.

  Mary came closer. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  In one of the kitchen drawers, I found a couple of candles and a box of matches. I placed them on the side table in the living room and lit them. Faint, orange light played at the walls, sending long shadows across to the floor and beyond. In the light, Mary seemed younger. She wore a solemn face, contoured in thought.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “We can’t stay here, can we?”

  “Not for too long.”

  “So this is how it’s going to be, here on out?” she stated. “This is what you’ve had to do all this time? I don’t know if I can.”

  “There have been so many times that I thought the same thing, I can’t even begin to tell you,” I replied. “I won’t lie and say it gets easier. It’s going to get a hell of a lot worse, if anything. Every day, you have to push yourself that much harder. The worst part is that there may not be a payoff in the end.”

  “Back there at the freeway, I thought for sure we were going to die,” she said, softly. “I saw all of those things coming after you, squeezing their way up the stairs at the bridge and I thought that that would be the end. I was afraid that they would get you, and I would be forced to watch until they were finished and came for me.”

  I laid the matches on the table and sat down next to her on the couch. “That time may come,” I said. “But not as long as I have anything to say about it.”

  She rested her head on my shoulder. “I can still see all of their faces.”

  I edged my hand along her cheek. “So can I.”

  Chapter 17

  Sunlight came through the front window, casting its glare along the floor in thin streaks. Sometime during the night, Mary had stretched out on the remainder of the couch, using my lap as a pillow. I ran my fingers through my hair and looked around the now visible room.

  I stared at the painting above the mantle again. It was much more vivid in the light. I thought about being on that ship, wondering if I could sail it, wondering if it would be better out on the ocean. I looked down at Mary, the way the sun lay against her face, and wondered about our freedom. I thought of how long we would continue to run. I thought of the misery that would greet us. I thought of futility.

  She awoke with a sigh, the slightest breath. Her body tensed as she stretched and looked up at me.

  “Good morning,” she said, blinking.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m starving,” she replied.

  She sat up and blinked at the sun, dreary eyed and yawning. Working at a kink in her neck, she said, “I can’t believe I slept so well.”

  “Yesterday was a hell of a day, you were tired,” I said, standing up, relieving my own kinks.

  She bent over and touched her toes. “Ouch, my legs are sore.”

  “Running will do that to you,” I said with a knowing smile.

  “So what’s on the menu?”

  I opened my pack and sorted through. “Anything in a can,” I said. “You know, we never checked the kitchen, maybe they left some food behind.”

  With another stretch, I went into the kitchen and began to scrounge. I looked through a ceramic pot that sat on the counter with sunflowers painted on the side. The stale cookies it contained smelled like expired lard and the chocolate chips had all turned white. To the side of the microwave was a breadbox and I opened it, hoping to find anything other than mold. The bread had a dull blue and grey color to it. I closed the lid and inspected the cupboards. There were only scraps left, a half a bag of rice, a can of tomato soup, and a box of crackers.

  “On second thought, maybe we should just go with what’s in my pack.”

  “Pretty scarce, huh?” she asked from the living room.

  On my tiptoes, I reached a bag in the back of the top shelf. “There’s a bag of dried peas if you’re looking for something crunchy.”

  She laughed. “I think I’ll pass.”

  I opened the refrigerator. Through the rush of air like a stagnant tomb, came the smell of expired food. I turned my head away and closed my eyes tight to the venting fumes. I regained my nerve and peered in through the moldy leftovers. There, on the bottom shelf, I found treasure.

  “You’re not going to believe what I found,” I said, peeking around the corner of the fridge into the living room
.

  “What?” she asked; excitement in her voice.

  I bundled up the find in my shirt and brought it into the living room.

  A smile of pure joy spread across her face. “Is that what I think it is?”

  I laid the find out on the floor. Five cans of Dr. Pepper gleamed in the morning sun like a small miracle.

  “I’ll wrestle you for the fifth can,” she said.

  We ate a can of cold pasta, passing it between us until it was scraped clean.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a plate of eggs and some bacon,” she said.

  “Don’t remind me,” I told her. “It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to eat real food.”

  We each took a can of soda and nursed it as we talked. It’s funny that you never notice how sweet something is until you’ve been without it. Every carbonated bubble shocked my tongue.

  “You know, if this ever ends and life returns to normal, I’m going to do a commercial for Dr. Pepper,” I said.

  “Oh yeah?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” I replied. I held the can next to my face. “The only real way to beat the living dead is with a can of fizzy refreshment! That’s how I managed to survive hordes of hungry corpses, trekking halfway across the ruined California wastelands. It’s the only way to be badass in style!”

  Mary giggled and held up her can. “I stay looking young by using Dr. Pepper three times a day. The nourishing antioxidants are what keep my skin looking fresh and rejuvenated.”

  We heard a bang at the front door followed by a long, dragging scrape. We went silent, remaining perfectly still. A deep thud sounded out along the front window. A knock came from the other side of the house like a melon being slapped against the siding.

  I held up my hand for her to stay still and stood up from the floor. I eased the pistol from my waist and crept up to the window, pulling the curtain to the side a couple of inches.