Waiting to Die (Book 2): Wasting Away

  A crease of a smile greeted me, a patchwork of beard, sparse and uneven, tilted upward along his grizzled face, poking out over Mary’s shoulder.

  “Look what we have here,” he said, pulling Mary closer to himself, a handgun pointed at her head. “Are you one of those heroes I used to hear about?”

  I shook my head slowly. “Just take it easy,” I said. “We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

  “Of course not,” he chuckled. “Heroes aren’t known for common sense.”

  I looked at him, confused.

  “Have you seen what it’s like out there?” he asked his voice wispy and tired. “You should have minded your own damn business, should have just kept moving on.”

  A furrow bent in Mary’s brow as the man gripped her tighter around her arm. She was pleading with me, her eyes deep with fear.

  “Listen, just calm down,” I said. “We’ll just take our stuff and be on our way. You’ll never see us again.”

  He let out a phlegm laced laugh and spit at the floor. “Awe, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like to keep them for yourself. Well, they’re mine,” he said like a curse. “They’re mine and I get to keep them all now.”

  He pushed Mary in front of himself and raised the weapon to the back of her head.

  “Wait,” I said, holding my hands up and moving forward.

  He pressed the handgun into the back of her head. “You go ahead and move a little closer so you can feel what it’s like to have her goddamn brains splattered against your face.”

  I backed away.

  “That’s a good boy,” he said. “Now back all the way up into that room right there.” He motioned with the gun.

  There was the dull stomp of his boots against the floor, a slight tremor along the boards as he followed. I reached the room and looked at the children with regret.

  “Look-y here,” he hissed. “Seems like I got four now. Sometimes life is just lucky.”

  Mary gasped when she saw the dead children.

  “What are you going to do to us?” I asked.

  “Well, let’s see,” his voice raised a pitch. “First, I’m going to have some fun with that little girl.” He pointed the gun at the child. “And then I’m going to have some more with this lady here.” He pulled Mary closer about the waist. “But first, I need to tie you up.”

  “Come on now,” I pleaded. “There’s no need for this.”

  “Sure there is,” he barked. “The world is my own goddamn play land, my personal amusement park, and this is my ride.” He kissed Mary on the cheek and pushed her away. “Sit your ass in that goddamn chair, boy.” He waived the pistol at me, wildly.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I said. “We didn’t come here to hurt you.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you came here for,” he spat. “All I know is that two little squirrels got into the dragon’s den. Now I get to play.” He moved toward me and I saw a flash as he got closer.

  Mary was on his back in an instant, digging her nails into his neck and grabbing for the gun. He tried to pull away from her grasp, extending the weapon over his shoulder and I rushed him. I grabbed his arm and pulled down. Two quick shots pierced the quiet of the room. The window shattered behind the desk, flooding the office with pale light. He swung with his free arm and I moved with his punch, letting his fist swing past me. I stomped down hard and found his foot. He leaned forward and I slammed my forehead into his face. I heard a pop and he wheezed, grabbing for his nose.

  I lifted his weapon hand up over my head and used my other hand to chop at the inner part of his elbow, bringing the pistol around under his chin. He tensed. There was a loud bang and a warm spray crossed my face. Another shot fired and he went limp, falling to the floor.

  A smooth pool of dark traced out along his face, under his cheek. Vacant eyes stared across the room, and nothing more.

  “Is he dead?” Mary asked.

  I nodded my head. “Yeah,” I replied.

  I looked to Mary. Emptiness crossed her face. A look of quiet and unanswered peace and she sighed.

  Chapter 19

  I stared at the children for some time. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were telling me. Mary stood in silence behind me, a grave expression on her face, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Why?” she asked, her voice quivering. “Why would someone do this? Her lips tightened, holding back her emotions.

  I shook my head slowly.

  The girl fought against her restraints, digging the rope deeper into her chest, opening the rot inside.

  “Isn’t there enough fucking death in the world?!” she shouted and began to sob. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” she said. “We have to get as far away from here as we can.”

  “I can’t leave them like this,” I muttered, my voice constricting in my throat.

  “What are you saying?” she asked.

  I stammered and swallowed hard. I took the pistol from the small of my back and Mary turned and walked out of the room with her hands draped across her eyes.

  As my finger tensed on the trigger, all I could manage was sickness and hate.

  My eyes were fixed on the floor as I walked out of the room and along the hallway to the church. I couldn’t get myself to look up at Mary. I turned and stared at the cross above the pulpit instead. I wondered what the symbol meant now. I tried to remember what it was about that cross that gave people hope even though everything in the real world turned a blind eye to its message.

  Finally, I turned and looked at Mary. Her head was resting in her hands and she was sitting at one of the pews. I let out a deep breath and sat down next to her.

  “We’ll get away from here and we won’t look back,” I said.

  She nodded her head slowly and wiped the tears from her eyes. “This is the way it is out here now, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “And everything that was good in the world before is dead?” she questioned.

  “We’re still here,” I answered.

  “But how long before we start to fall in line behind the others? How long before we start using the dead as a reason to do whatever we want and blame it on survival?”

  I couldn’t answer her. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t come up with anything that would make the pain subside. I couldn’t give her peace. It was because I didn’t know. But after a while, the answer dawned on me. “Good people are good and bad people are bad. No matter what the world looks like or how tough it gets, that will never change. If we set our minds to who we really are, we’ll never be able to justify doing something evil. It’s not in our nature.”

  She rested her head on my shoulder. “Do you honestly believe that?”

  “Of course I do,” I replied. “We are who we are. You can’t fight integrity.”

  “Is that what it comes down to; integrity?” she asked, offhandedly.

  “It plays a bigger part than we know. We were raised by good people to be good. They handed down the torch and it’s our duty to keep it burning. It would be ignorant to think that just because you’re raised right, you’ll turn out to be a good person, but I think it helps.

  There used to be a debate between nature and nurture. People divided along one line or the other and took sides. But I think both play a role in what we grow up to be. It takes a lot of work to make the right decisions at the right times. And, really, there doesn’t seem to be a payoff. I’ve seen some really good people struggle every day of their lives, just trying to keep on living. But, for me, it’s bigger than some silly reward. It’s a matter of feeling as though you’ve done something worthwhile at the end of the day.

  In a way, it’s the same reason an artist continues making art without any hope of making a living from it. Do you think Van Gogh painted for the money or notoriety? I think he painted because it was inside him, it was his nature and he kept fighting for all he was worth.”

  “Van Gogh also killed himself,” she replied. “He shot himself in the chest out in
a wheat field.”

  “Maybe he had painted his last canvas,” I replied. “But it’s not how we die that makes us great, it’s how we lived. Think of all the people who have been inspired by Van Gogh. Think of what type of world he set into motion, and not of the sadness he suffered throughout his entire life. He was a great man for sharing his talents with an unsuspecting world.”

  We sat there quietly for some time. I could feel Mary’s every breath, every expansion of her chest, every beat of her heart. And these were the moments I lived for. Finding common ground, being together with people we care about, living to see tomorrow; that was why I fought so hard to stay alive.

  She adjusted herself and looked at me. “If I had been quicker, I could have warned you,” she said suddenly.

  “I think you did pretty well in there,” I replied. You stayed smart and did what you thought was right.” I thought for a moment and asked, “Do you know how he got in?”

  “He came through the back door on the other side of the stage,” she replied. “I didn’t see him until it was too late. He had a gun on me before I even knew he was there.”

  “That was pretty close,” I said with a sigh. “I should have checked the church better.”

  “I’ve never understood men like that,” she said. “There were some things from the world before that I wish hadn’t survived.”

  “He’ll never get a chance to do it again,” I said.

  “You have to promise me something,” she said, looking into my eyes.

  I tilted my head and returned her gaze.

  She continued, “You have to promise to never leave me. You have to promise to never leave me on my own.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I replied.

  “Promise me,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “I promise.”

  There was a crash from behind us and glass blew in from around the front door. I bolted to my feet and turned. Hands wound through the shards, blood gathering in thick clots along the stained glass.

  Another crash and the window in the hallway by the office broke out. A knot of arms reached through, slicing grey flesh and exposing bone.

  Thunderous pounding came from the other side of the baptismal where the man had come for us. My tongue swelled in my mouth, and the tingle of fear took away my taste. The door behind us rattled and heaved as bodies threw themselves against the obstruction.

  “Come on,” I said, grabbing my pack from the pew as I led the way back down into the basement.

  Mary followed me down the stairs. Through the window of the door I could see movement outside. A twisting row of shadow crossed the parking lot, nearing the back of the church.

  “We’re going to have to be quick,” I said, waiting at the door until the last of the bodies shuffled away. “Ready?”

  Mary gave a quick nod as she peered over my shoulder.

  I pulled and the door swung inward, knocking against the wall with a deep thud. We were through, taking the steps up to the landing as I pulled the pistol. Bodies were everywhere, packed tightly against the side of the building. There was a growl from my right and I swung the pistol around as a corpse came into view from behind the alcove to the side of the steps. I fired a single shot and a small dot appeared above the cadaver’s right eye. A look of astonishment crossed the creature’s face, a simple understanding that played there as the moon filtered through the clouds, gracing an outline of the body’s withered profile. Its legs buckled and it fell to the ground. I turned as three more came from the back of the building.

  Mary shouted behind me, and as I glanced around, my eyes lowered to the ground. A corpse had taken her down, straddling her, snapping, inches from her face. I reared back and sent my foot into the side of the ghoul’s head. A slick pop and the body slammed against the ground. I aimed the gun and fired two shots, one glancing from its cranium, the other ripped through at an angle at the bridge of its nose, splattering the grass behind its head in brown sludge.

  I helped Mary to her feet and she screamed. A mob of creatures poured out from the rear of the building, drawn by the gunshots. I pushed Mary to my side and aimed into the crowd, over my shoulder. There were so many of them that I couldn’t get a clear shot. I fired two more times and yelled incoherently as the dead neared.

  We were off through the streets, dodging stragglers that came winding down from a hillside cemetery. I heard Mary whimper as the dead poured through the gates. I led the way through a parking lot and behind a strip mall past loading docks and trash bins as the dead fell behind. I jumped up on an electrical box next to a block wall that enclosed the property, and helped Mary up alongside me. I flashed back at the dead, converging at the approach from the street. I jumped the wall and landed in dry grass.

  We were in the yard of an apartment building. Long rows of stairs led up to the second floor, connecting with walkways in front of each apartment. We wound through the courtyard, past small dead trees, and into a parking area with overhangs situated above several spaces.

  At the entrance to the complex, iron gates were placed between giant stone pillars where the block wall ended. I turned in place and peered through the moonlight. At the other end of the lot was another set of gates, mirroring the first. There was a pickup truck and a few cars parked in the lot along the wall. Mary was frantic, turning in place, looking for somewhere to run. I looked around, my eyes flashing from the front gate to the rear and along the walls that surrounded us. As I looked through the parking spots, I realized we were safe. Only a couple of cars remained, most of the spaces were empty.

  I held my hand up. “Calm down,” I said, lowering my voice.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Mary asked. “We have to keep running!”

  “Look around,” I replied.

  “What are you talking about?!” she asked, her voice cracking.

  I held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Mary, look around.” I smiled and turned her in place. “We’re safe.”

  She slowly scanned our surroundings, still trembling.

  “We’re in a complex,” I said, lowering my tone even further. “There are walls all around us. Nothing dead is going to get through those gates. We’re safe.”

  I could see her breath ease, her chest rising slowly as she took it all in.

  “We can stop running,” I added.

  “We can stop running,” she repeated.

  I held her for a while beneath a tree in the darkness. Her breathing had slowed and she was finally beginning to relax.

  “Where were you before you found me?” she asked.

  “I’ve already told you,” I replied.

  “No,” she said. “When I asked you if you had ever found your wife, you said, ‘No, not then.’ So you must have found her eventually.”

  I looked off through the small trees up toward the driveway and the memories came.

  I had thought about staying there in my old home. I thought about waiting for the dead to come and finish me off. Through my life, I have loved and been loved. I’ve had amazing friends and a wonderful family. And as I sat there on the porch, I thought about them and the fact they were all gone. It’s a sickening feeling when you realize that everyone you’ve loved has died.

  But in that same breath, I remembered those who had done me harm.

  I was an inquisitive kid, always asking questions, always looking for answers. When I was five, my mother started dating this man. He paid attention to me and actually seemed like a nice guy. I was young and easy to impress.

  After a few months, my mother decided to give it a shot with him. We packed up our car and moved to Illinois, driving most of the way during the night.

  I remember waking up and looking out the back window of the car. Huge buildings surrounded us. I was in awe. It was one of the most amazing things I had ever seen. I couldn’t believe that buildings could be built that tall.

  “When you’re young, everything is amazing,” I said.

  Mary nodded and pre
ssed her head against my chest.

  As I grew up, we drifted from place to place within the city. My stepfather worked in construction and we tended to move a lot for his work. It was hard for me back then. As soon as I got used to a school and started making friends, we would move and I would have to start all over again.

  Naturally, I clung to my mother. I hungered for her attention and did whatever I could to get her to notice me. I think it’s like that with most boys.

  Mary nodded again. “My brothers were the same way.”

  “So I’m not weird,” I replied.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, looking up at me with a smile.

  I laughed. “Thanks.”

  As time went on, it was almost like I was competing with my stepfather for my mom’s attention. We butted heads at every turn. At the time, I thought he changed, but maybe he was always spiteful. I’m not sure. But eventually, he became mean. He did whatever he could to put me at odds with my mother.

  “I thought about my childhood when you talked about your husband coming home drunk all the time,” I said.

  “Really?” she asked. “Why?”

  “My stepdad was the same way except he was a violent drunk. He would come home, barely able to stand. He would get in these terrible fights with my mother. It usually ended when the police showed up and made him sleep it off in jail.”

  She looked up at me and squinted. “It got that bad?”

  “Yeah,” I said quietly.

  When I was old enough, I moved out and never looked back. My mother passed away a few years later and I still feel guilty for leaving her there with him.

  I think that’s why I tend to cling to the women in my life. I believe that’s why it was so hard to let go of my wife. I kept having this nagging feeling that I had to find her, to set things right.

  I thought about heading east out of California. I took a few of my things with me before I left my home and started down the road from where I had come. I had gone full circle, heading back toward where the military truck had dropped me off.