“Where did you get those?”
I looked up, eyeing Melanie and debating on whether to answer her or not. She was, after all, a bitch that had it in for me and didn’t deserve being treated as anything more.
“You two still fighting?” Michael said as he came into the store. He looked like he was finally relaxing, which would be a new one for him.
“Fuck off,” Melanie snapped.
Michael looked behind himself at the shelves of mismatched boots and then down at the matching ones I had. “Where did you get the boots?”
“Storeroom,” I replied without missing a beat. I looked over at Melanie and grinned. Yes, it was childish, but I didn’t care. She was a bitch, I was an asshole. We both knew our places, and I was happy to live up to my name.
“I fucking hate you,” she said as she stood up and stormed off, and I laughed as she cussed me out over her shoulder.
Michael laughed and followed her while I pulled off my graying socks that were all but stuck to my dry and blistered feet. I had grown used to the uncomfortableness of dry, cracked skin and blisters, but that didn’t mean I liked it. I snagged the socks off, threw them in the corner, and grabbed a clean pair from one of the racks. They were good, manly socks—thick yet soft—and I groaned a little as I slid them over my dirty feet.
“Damn,” I breathed out. A man could easily forget how good new socks felt. “God damn, that’s good.” I wiggled my toes, letting the soft wool press between them. Yeah, new socks rocked!
I slipped my new boots on and tied them tightly before I went to look around the store for what else I could change into. I was dirty and sweaty, my clothes old and threadbare, and they stank like they had never been washed. Which wasn’t actually true. I’m sure they had been washed at least once in the many months that I had been wearing them. It had been too long since I had bothered to change out of the stinking T-shirt and sweater I was currently wearing—another side effect of not being with Nina. She would tell me I stank and make me wash—not that I needed telling, of course. Because I knew when I stank, I just didn’t care enough to do anything about it. None of us really did anymore. Especially Michael. Christ, he stank all the time. He worked out more than anyone I knew, and the constant smell of sweat clung to him.
“You’re such an asshole. Go die somewhere,” Melanie yelled as she stormed out of the stock room carrying a new pair of boots. She glared as she passed me, leaving the store without as much as a goodbye or a “kiss my ass.”
A moment later and Michael came out grinning.
“What was that all about?” I asked, frowning. Michael tended to avoid confrontation. Though he never shied away from it, he wasn’t one to instigate it, either.
He shook his head, a grin still on his face. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go eat.”
TWENTY-ONE.
I followed Michael out and we made our way through the empty mall. This place gave me the heebie-jeebies. It reminded me how I used to feel when I was just a common thief going into one of these places, feeling every set of eyes on me, all of them accusing and knowing what I was there to do. At least, that’s how my paranoia had made me feel. Wait, who was I kidding? I was still just a common thief, though now I had morals. Sort of. Well, mainly that there was just no reason to go around stealing stuff anymore, because money wasn’t worth shit anymore.
Either way, I could sense the eyes of people staring out from their storefronts, even if those people were actually just in my imagination. We headed to what used to be the food court, stepping over several dead bodies on the way. In the center of the mall there was a huge hole blown into the concrete, and dead bodies—those of the zombie variety, anyway—were scattered everywhere. Body parts were scattered across the broken marble floor—arms, legs, heads, you name it. I was glad to see that everything was totally dead, though, and nothing even twitched as we moved among the ruins.
The restaurants were set out in a large circle, with the tables and chairs in the center of them all. Most of the furniture had been knocked over at some point, and dried blood was smeared across the floor and furniture. The stench of the dead was long since gone. Even the smell of rotten food no longer lingered, and my stomach growled both hungrily and happily.
Right outside what used to be a crappy burger bar was a group of four chairs around one table. Michael gestured us over, dropping his backpack next to the table, and I did the same.
My eyes moved across the table as I realized that this had probably been where they had all sat when they’d come here the first time. It made me feel strange thinking that—almost like I was spying on someone else’s life.
I still remembered when I had gotten the stupid idea of going back home after I had first gotten away from the Forgotten. Memories had pulled me back to my old apartment, but as soon as I had stepped inside, I had known it had been a stupid mistake. It had been like being trapped inside a picture. Everything had stayed exactly the same as when I had left, as if stuck in time, back in the moment when I had first run from the zombies. I could almost hear the zombies outside my door, scraping and groaning, the people from the other apartments running and screaming, the children crying. All my clothes, my belongings—they didn’t feel like mine anymore. They were someone else’s, from someone else’s life. Not the Mikey I had become, the Mikey who had killed and done whatever it took to survive. Yet who I had been previously hadn’t been much better. At least now I felt at peace with who I was.
I hadn’t even stayed the night there, choosing to stay in one of my neighbors’ homes instead. I didn’t take any photos or any clothes when I’d left the next day. The items weren’t mine anymore, and I hadn’t wanted to take that person with me. That person—that Mikey—had been angry and hateful, wanting to make people pay for everything they had done, even if the only thing that they had done was have more than me. This new Mikey, while being a killer, wasn’t nearly as angry anymore. Because in this new world we were all equal, and that was all I had ever really wanted. I couldn’t hate the rich anymore, because they were more than likely all dead, since they were such arrogant pricks, and those that were still alive were suffering just like the rest of us now. In some ways, karma had played a magnificent trick on the world. She had spun her web and canceled out everything that singled people out. Color and creed didn’t matter, wealth and importance didn’t matter. The zombies ate us all.
In many ways it was like the world had a fresh slate to start again, though it was far from clean. This world would never be clean again—not until every zombie was dead.
But, I knew that I couldn’t be the angry Mikey from long ago, not when what I was angry about no longer existed in this world. I ran my hand over the top of a chair, wondering which one Nina had sat in, and then I shook my head when I realized that was actually an incredibly creepy thing to do. Great, new Mikey was a creepy bastard. Still, I guessed as long as I didn’t start wearing her underwear and talking to myself in the mirror, acting out nonexistent conversations with her, creepy Mikey wasn’t so bad.
“Whatsup?”
I glanced up and saw Michael watching me. “Nothing,” I said in a hurry. “Why? What’s up with you?” I arched an eyebrow.
He smiled. “You’re still pussy-whipped.”
Melanie scraped out a chair and opened her backpack, having found something to eat already. “You totally are,” she laughed, pouring a small sachet of salt inside one of her ration packs.
“No, I’m not,” I replied indignantly. “I was just thinking about shit, you know.” I looked across at Michael, who was still smiling.
“Thinking?” he said, his voice tinged with humor. “About what?”
“Nothing important. Just stuff,” I huffed, feeling completely pussy-whipped. Nina wouldn’t leave me; even this distance I’d put between us wasn’t far enough to get her out of my head. She was going to drive me insane at this rate, and she didn’t even realize it. She still thought I couldn’t give a shit about her, when the truth was I cared too muc
h.
“Stuff?” Michael prompted with a smirk.
“Stuff and thangs,” Melanie said with longing in her voice. “Stuff and thangs.” She looked off into the distance.
Both Michael and I looked across at her and burst out laughing.
She shrugged and ducked her head, looking embarrassed. “Pussy-whipped asshole,” she grumbled in response to my staring. “You deserve her, she’s just as crazy about you. Like two peas from the same messed-up pod.”
That actually might have been the nicest thing she’d ever said to me. Or anyone. Though I was certain it was supposed to be an insult, it had been just the thing I needed to hear.
I smiled obnoxiously. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”
“I don’t,” she grumbled, and turned her back to me.
This apocalypse changed people. Melanie, I had to assume, was just like this: bitch, born and bred. I could deal with that. I could even work with it, so long as I knew she had my back when the shit hit the fan. I was yet to find out if that were true; however, she hadn’t made it this far, being this mean to people, without good reason. Besides, Michael seemed to trust her, and now I knew he hadn’t been after my girl, I was inclined to trust him.
Michael and I walked inside the burger bar. It didn’t smell anymore, which was good, but I guessed at one point the smell must have been incredibly bad. Rotten food filled the freezer, dead flies and maggots everywhere, all the food almost unrecognizable now from its original form, just piles of mush. Though it wasn’t hard to work out what it had once been, it certainly didn’t whet my appetite for lunch.
We shut the door to the freezer and made our way around the kitchen, opening up boxes and quickly jumping out of the way when we disturbed rats’ nests filled with tiny dead babies. I was glad they were dead, knowing for a fact that Michael would have been cooking them up on a fire if they weren’t. Thank God for small miracles.
I was pleased to see that there were tons of ketchup packets, though. Damn, I had missed ketchup. Almost as much as I had missed new socks. I grabbed a packet and tore open the top, squirting it into my mouth and then humming in pleasure before opening up a second packet.
It wasn’t a substantial meal by a long shot, but I could slurp down those little packets until my belly was filled, no problem.
“You’ll get the shits eating all of those,” Michael said as I tore open a fourth packet.
“It’ll be worth it,” I mumbled as I swallowed the flavorsome liquid down.
“No, it won’t.” he replied.
“Gimme a break, man.” I tore the top of another packet off with my teeth and squirted it down my throat. “I’ve missed this shit so much.”
I closed my eyes and said a small prayer of thanks. My feet were warm and comfy, and I had all the ketchup I could eat.
Today was a good day.
TWENTY-TWO.
“You’re snoring again!” Melanie yelled across to me, just as something hard hit my bed. I jumped, almost falling out of bed.
“For fuck’s sake, woman!” I grumbled back angrily. “Leave me alone before I shoot you.”
I had been having the best dream: Nina and I on a desert island with all the beer and burgers you could eat and drink. She had just gone into the sea, and had been in the process of slowly taking off her coconut bikini. And now I was wide awake, in this shithole. With no Nina, no beer and burgers, and no coconut bikini. Just Melanie’s shrill voice to keep me company. It was like a living, breathing nightmare, and one that every hour or so she woke me up to.
“Don’t talk to me,” she shouted back coldly, and I growled in response.
Michael continued to sleep undisturbed by our bickering, his hand still clutched tightly around his gun. It was still dark—the middle of the night, no doubt—and I was comfy for the first time in a long time. This had been the first time since Nina and I had split up that I had slept well without that woman in my bed.
Earlier, after eating, we had climbed into some of the display beds in the homeware section. They were kinda small for a dude, since they weren’t ever meant for sleeping in, but man they were comfy—springy mattresses, soft duvets, and pillows that were clean and bouncy. My head had into the feather pillow like it was a marshmallow, and I had sighed loudly. Yet as soon as I had closed my eyes, my face burrowed into the softness of my pillow, I knew she had slept there. The smell of her sweat and her hair still clung to the material like she had been there only moments before. This was where Nina had slept. The thought was both comforting and awkward.
Michael and Melanie had been right: I was pussy-whipped. The woman was fucking haunting me, yet I had drifted into a blissful sleep regardless of my guilty conscience and self-realization at how lame I was being for pining after her after all these weeks—at least until Melanie had woken me. I would have understood her being pissy about my snoring, but she was on guard duty so it’s not like I had even woken her up. I pulled the duvet back over my head and closed my eyes again, hoping for the island dream, but instead all that was there were the horrors of this world—the screaming, the murder, the blood, the death, the zombies, and the hurt on Nina’s face when I had told her it was over. You don’t latch onto people easily in this world, and you certainly don’t come to depend on them, but she had with me, and I had messed it all up.
I sat up feeling furious with Melanie and ready to finally put an end to her nasty ways. She had been sitting by the entrance of the store, using an old metal trashcan filled with papers and wood alit with orange flames to keep herself warm. I stared at her silhouette for a while, my anger dissolving the longer I watched her. She was looking into the flames like she was hoping to find some form of peace there. Shadows played across her unusually calm features, and for once I saw a woman and not the she-devil persona that she liked to put out.
I lay back down again and closed my eyes, and began thinking about what the camp needed the most. Journeys like this wouldn’t be able to continue for much longer. Not only was the fuel running out, but the assholes at the roadside were getting worse, according to Michael.
They were getting more dangerous, and would need to be taken out completely if they continued. Zee had been trying to get us to attack them for some time, to take them out, but so far we had all resisted. Who wanted to fight other humans when there were the dead to kill so frequently? But after this trip, I knew it would have to be done—no two ways about it. Another dirty job which I didn’t want to do but would no doubt be enlisted for. I was going straight to hell after this life. Of that I was certain.
*
“This place is a gold mine,” I said as we carried things over to the truck, dropping them by the back doors.
Melanie was in the back of it, stacking everything inside as orderly as possible to enable us to take back as much as we could.
“I mean, maybe we should all just move in here instead of keep carting it all the way back to the base.” I wiped my forehead with the back of my arm and grunted as I lifted another box of toiletries and medicines. Things like these were small luxuries in this world—deodorant and toothpaste, a highly sought after commodity that people fought for. Who would have ever believed that toothpaste would be more sought after than even the rarest of diamonds?
“Stay here?” Michael asked with a grunt as we passed by each other. His box was filled with clothes—mainly socks and underwear, pants and sweatshirts. The apocalypse had hit in the height of summer when shorts and T-shirts were the quickest-selling item. But they were not of much use to us now. However, socks and underwear were always a necessity.
I had known a man who’d killed someone else for a new pair of boxers. I shit you not. It was a gruesome and bloody murder, too. A man tearing apart another man over goddamned underwear, who the hell would have ever believed such a thing?
I had actually thought many times about driving to the coast and finding a shipping yard—one with all of those containers that came from oversees. They would be filled with so much useful shit
—food and medicine and clothing. So far it had yet to be anything but a pipe dream, though. Just like my island dream.
I lifted up another box, its heaviness telling me it was either food or weapons. I trudged back over to the truck, dropping the box heavily just inside the doors of the truck so Melanie could slide it where she wanted to and not have to pick it up. She arched an eyebrow at me.
“It’s heavy.” I shrugged in response to her hostility.
“I’m not a princess,” she retorted, and bent over and picked it up, grunting immediately.
She looked taken aback by the weight but tried not to show it, and I stayed where I was, watching her stagger to the back of the truck with difficulty. I should have walked away, been a gentlemen and not embarrassed her further. I should have, but I didn’t, because I was an asshole and she was a bitch.
Michael sidled up beside me, dropping another heavy box where mine had just been. “Shit, that one’s heavy,” he breathed out. “We can’t stay here. Besides, the base is just fine. It has everything we need,” he grumbled and stormed away.
I followed after him. “I know you love that place, but we’re having to travel further and further for supplies. How long do you think we can keep that up?”
It was a genuine question, one I had been wondering myself for a while now. I shrugged out of my jacket and threw it to the side. It might have been be freezing out, but I was boiling. All the moving of this crap had me sweating my ass off.
Michael dropped his current box to the ground and turned to me looking pissed off. “We’ll sort something out,” he snapped, taking his own jacket off.
“Like what?” I replied, rolling up my sleeves.
He looked exasperated. “I don’t fucking know, Mikey. But we can’t leave that place. People have made it their home. We can’t just take that away from them.”
The Dead Saga (Book 3): Odium III Page 15