by Gibb, Lew
Holly elbowed him in the ribs. “Seriously, dude,” she gave him a worried look that made his ears burn, “what’s wrong?”
“I’m good,” Jerry whispered. “Let’s do this.” He moved toward the closed door at the far end of the hall that he thought would be the master bedroom. He stopped in front of it and turned to Holly. “How about you open the door, and I’ll stab anyone who comes out?”
Holly nodded, looking serious and ready for anything. She really was handling the whole situation well, maybe better than he was. She reminded him of Rachel.
Holly put her hand on the knob and looked at him. He wasn’t ready, but he gave her a nod that he hoped looked more confident than he felt.
Her hand twisted the knob, and the door swung open. Jerry tensed and raised his spear. He looked down the spear shaft at a short hall with closets lining both sides. Men’s clothes spilled from the open bifold door on Jerry’s left, and a floral-patterned sleeve was pinched between the doors on the opposite side. Jerry shuffled toward the armoire and overstuffed armchairs beyond the closets. He could just see the foot of a bed covered with a shiny, frilly floral-print spread. When there was no immediate attack, Jerry relaxed slightly and moved a couple of steps farther into the dim light filtering through the room’s heavy curtains.
A wild-haired male zombie wearing nothing but pajama bottoms lurched around the corner and was on Jerry before he knew what was happening. The man seemed a little uncoordinated, like his massive hairy gut was throwing him off balance. Jerry was lucky his spear was already in position. He aimed for the man’s face and held on. The point went right into the zombie’s open mouth and hit something hard that sent a jolt through Jerry’s arms. Then the man’s head twisted, and the spear point popped right out the side of his cheek.
Angry red eyes stayed locked on Jerry as the zombie’s teeth scraped down the spear’s shaft, headed straight for Jerry’s gloved hand. Jerry brought the butt end of the shaft around and cross-checked the zombie’s head into the corner of the armoire. The guys eyes glazed over, but he stayed on his feet.
Something slammed into Jerry from behind and pushed him against the man. Jerry could feel body heat through his jacket from the front and back and teeth grinding the wooden shaft through his gloves. He shoved the shaft harder into the guy’s mouth and pushed away from the man, twisting toward his new attacker at the same time. He threw an elbow, trying to push the attacker off, and felt hands latch onto his arm. Pain lanced up his arm from his wrist. Jerry twisted and pushed with everything he had. A frizzy-haired woman in a muumuu staggered away from him at the same time the spear came free from the man’s mouth. The point was facing the wrong way, so Jerry slammed the butt-end of the handle into the woman’s rounded forehead. The force of the blow rocked her head back, but she recovered quickly and kept coming, a gaping half-moon-shaped gash streaming blood down her face.
Jerry reversed the spear and stabbed her through the left side of the neck. The point ripped free, just like with the guy’s cheek, and a spout of blood sprayed across the bedspread. The woman wobbled and collapsed in a heap at his feet. He had most likely severed the carotid artery and the jugular vein.
Jerry turned to find Holly standing over the shirtless man, holding just three feet of her spear handle with a jagged splinter of bare wood where the point used to be. Jerry looked down at the man. The steel tip and six inches of the handle protruded from the space beneath his jaw.
“Jeez,” Holly said. “If there were any more zombies in here, we would have been dead.”
Jerry looked at her. His heart was pounding like he’d run a mile at a full sprint. “I guess going for the mouth isn’t as easy as it seems.” His throat felt ragged when he spoke. He checked Holly’s broken spear handle. “I think this is pine.” He looked at his own weapon and flexed it against his knee with his hands about two feet apart. It bowed a disconcerting amount. How lucky was he that his own handle hadn’t failed? “I wonder how many of these learning experiences I can survive before one of them kills me.”
Holly grimaced. “We need to get something better before we even think about fighting any more zombies.”
Chapter Thirty-One
After a forty-minute hike, Rachel’s captor directed her to follow a deer trail through the trees that ended at a collection of pickup trucks parked in a circle. They all appeared to have been extensively modified for off-road use. Brush and tree limbs filled the gaps between them, giving them the appearance of a modern wagon train preparing for an Indian attack. Each truck sported a massive winch bolted to the front bumper, over-sized tires, five-gallon gas cans and heavy-duty jacks mounted to the rear, and shovels. One of the trucks even had a machine gun mounted on top that looked like it had been liberated from a tank. The camp’s location explained why the man had been able to get the drop on her. It was much farther up the slope than she would have guessed.
Someone behind the barrier noticed them and called out. By the time Rachel and her captor had navigated their way through the makeshift barricade, a group of close to thirty people had gathered in the circle’s center and were looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and hostility. Her captor nudged her toward a big man in jeans and a flannel shirt—an attire that was repeated all around—with a holstered automatic on his hip. When he stepped forward, Rachel came to a stop a few feet from him. His bushy black beard was shot through with white.
“What’s this, Randy?” The big man gave Rachel an appraising once-over as if he were thinking about buying her. “You get tired of Helen and decide to get yourself a new woman?”
The rest of the group laughed, and the big man waited for it to die down with a self-satisfied smirk on his leathery face.
“Found her sneaking around in the woods,” Randy said, stepping forward and passing Rachel’s pack to the big guy.
The leader took it and passed it to the man standing behind him without even looking to see if anyone was there. The man who’d taken her pack unzipped it and started to paw through it.
“That right?” The boss pinned Rachel with his pale blue eyes. They were clear and bright. He didn’t seem crazy. “What’s your name, girl?”
The guy couldn’t be more than ten years older than her. Rachel bit back the response that came to mind. The world where she could make a snarky reference to his tiny-dick, call him “boy” and walk away was gone; the man with the guns could say whatever he wanted.
Rachel pretended she was fifteen and back on Grandpa Joe’s farm where everyone was called “sir” and “ma’am.” He’d say, If you want respect, you have to give it first.
“Rachel Wilson, sir.”
“Thomas Walsh,” the boss replied. “I’m the leader of this outfit, such as it is. What were you doing out here all by yourself? You scouting for someone? Gonna sneak in and steal all our stuff?”
“No, sir. I’m just trying to get home to my family.”
There was a woman directly behind him. She had one hand resting on the shoulder of a boy that looked like a miniature version of the leader, right down to the smirk, and she pulled the boy closer when Rachel said the word family. Thomas Walsh’s eyes flicked to her captor with what looked like a question while his face seemed to lose some of its hardness.
Randy spoke from behind her. “She never set eyes on the camp, far as I could see. Was heading toward the city when I caught up with her.”
Walsh nodded as if that was just what he’d expected. “Where they supposed to be?”
“We live downtown.”
He frowned and shook his head. “I hate to tell you, but there’s likely no one left alive down there. Anyone that didn’t get rounded up by the army when they started to quarantine anyone who got bitten either left, or the demons got ’em when everything went to hell.”
Rachel tried not to let his pessimism infect her. She knew Jerry and the dogs were alive no matter what this guy said. “Have you been there?”
“Nope, but we seen it from a hill over in Wheatridge.” He p
ointed in the general direction of the city center. “The place is a mess. Nothing but groups of them demons roaming all around. Besides, the military blocked all the roads and was shooting anything that moved till they got overrun themselves.” The rest of the group was nodding, and a couple of the women crossed themselves. A few of the older kids wandered off, probably having decided there wasn’t going to be anything interesting to see.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to see for myself.”
He shook his head. “Not a good idea.” He turned to the woman with the boy. “Linda, help Rachel get cleaned up and get her something to eat.” The man with her pack had finished with his search and handed it to Walsh with a shake of his head. Walsh passed it back to Rachel. “It’s best you stay with us. We’re on our way back to our compound outside Georgetown. We came on down for supplies right before all this happened and got a little stuck.” He nodded at Randy, who handed Walsh Rachel’s pistol. Walsh dropped the magazine, then worked the slide and caught the ejected round in the same hand. He sighted the pistol at something over Rachel’s shoulder, then looked at it critically. “Nice weapon. You know how to use it?”
Another inappropriate response came to mind, but Rachel kept it to herself. She managed a small smile and a nod instead.
Walsh nodded and slid the magazine back into her pistol before passing it back to her, butt first. “We need all the guns we can get. Now, we’re moving out in the morning, and you’re welcome to join us. As a matter of fact, I insist on it. I couldn’t live with myself if I let you go down there to your death.”
Rachel wanted to punch his smug fucking face but restrained herself. Besides, he was already walking away. The group broke up, and she watched Walsh talking with people, smiling in a reassuring way and basically acting like some patriarch out of an old movie.
The woman Walsh had ordered to take care of her sidled up to Rachel and linked their arms like they were besties. “It’s nice to meet you, hon. I’m Linda Walsh.” She tugged Rachel toward one of the trucks. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
Rachel couldn’t believe it. A day ago, the world where the men made all the decisions had seemed like ancient history, but now she wondered if anything had ever really changed. Linda seemed to be a strong, capable woman, but here she was, taking her man’s orders and smiling about it without a hint of irony.
If Jerry ever tried something like that, they would definitely be having a long conversation about their future. Or maybe not. She, and everyone else, had some adjusting to do.
Rachel allowed Linda to lead her while she evaluated the setup. The ground looked like it had been recently run over by a herd of cattle. The dried husks of long grass crackled and hissed beneath their feet as they walked. A pair of men stood atop campers at opposite sides of the circle. Sentries. She and Linda arrived at a shiny red F350 with a camper top and so much gear strapped to it Rachel was reminded of a safari vehicle from Africa. Compact shovels, Gas cans and one of those really long bumper jacks that would have had Jerry salivating. He would have known what everything was, probably the makes and models and whether they were acceptable for the apocalypse, too. God, she wished Jerry was with her. Then she wouldn’t have been caught unaware by Randy earlier. At the very least, they would have had a chance at escaping since there would have been two against one.
A white-and-blue-striped awning extended from the camper’s side. A couple of camp chairs with a little folding table between them were set up in its shade. Linda released Rachel’s arm and headed for the vehicle’s rear.
“Have a seat there while I get you some food.” Linda hopped up the two steps and disappeared inside.
The clattering of meal preparation accompanied Rachel’s continued examination of her surroundings. The trucks in the circle all looked like siblings of the Walshes’ monster truck. Lisa would have called them penis extenders. Rachel would miss the girl’s spirit.
With slight variations in paint color or the placement of the gear, the trucks were like the clothes everyone wore, functional and durable. The women wore yoked cowboy blouses with mother-of-pearl buttons in various colors—the dominant color being white—instead of flannel. How long would they be able to keep them clean?
Linda came out of the camper. Her crisp white sleeves were rolled back, revealing pale forearms corded with muscle. Cloth napkins dangled from the fingers of one darkly tanned hand, and she balanced two plates on her arm like a truck-stop waitress. Her other hand held a wooden tray loaded with a tan plastic pitcher, two red Solo cups, and a selection of hot sauce bottles. She set the plates down on the little side table and waved at one of the chairs.
“Sit. Sorry it’s not anything fancy like you must be used to, living in the city and all, but it’s filling, and Thomas has never complained about my cooking. The kids, now,” Linda gave Rachel a friendly smile, “that’s another matter.”
Rachel sat and picked up the plate closest to her as Linda set the tray down in the vacant space and pulled a pair of forks from her back pocket. She handed one to Rachel and poured them each a large glass of tea. Ice clunked into the cups as she poured.
“Sorry, there’s only a little ice. They had some trouble on the way back from the supply run. I guess we should enjoy it while we can. We’ve got a generator for the refrigerator back at the place, but who knows how long the gas’ll hold out.”
Rachel looked at the food—rice and black beans with a puddle of what looked like pork green chili and a pile of tortillas. It smelled incredible. Her mouth watered, and her stomach rumbled so loud it made Linda smile. Rachel felt an almost physical attraction to the food, and she dug in right away. It was better than anything she had eaten in a while. Her last real meal had been an MRE at breakfast the day before.
The next words out of Linda’s mouth put all thoughts of food right out of Rachel’s head.
“So when is the baby due, hon?”
Rachel lost control of her hands and nearly dropped her plate. Everything clicked. The afternoon nausea, the bloating, and the feeling of being in someone else’s skin now made complete sense. It was as obvious as the fact that she was completely unprepared to be a mother. The idea of bringing a child into a world that she herself was ambivalent about living in made her nauseous. And what about Jerry? He would absolutely freak out.
Linda was smiling and looking at her with that look certain women get when they’re welcoming one of their own into the sisterhood of the fertile. The one that said, I know exactly what you’re going through because I have been there, and it is wonderful beyond belief.
Rachel and Jerry had talked about having children. It scared her more than a little bit, especially after all Jerry’s stories of miscarriages and breach births. She knew women had been having babies for thousands of years without any type of medical assistance, but she couldn’t help worrying. And now, the reality of having her own baby in the middle of the apocalypse made her hands shake.
Linda was sitting patiently by her side, no doubt watching the entire scene play out on her face. “So you didn’t know?”
Rachel could only shake her head. “I mean, now that you mention it, I guess I did. But…” She shrugged. “How did you know?”
Linda waved a hand, sweeping the question away like it didn’t even require an answer. “Is it your first?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just nodded in a knowing way and patted Rachel’s knee—it was surprising how much comfort the gesture gave Rachel—while she kept talking. “The first one’s always the hardest. Jimmy, my oldest—that’s him over there chasing that boy with a stick—he tortured me for twelve hours. I darn near broke the bones in Thomas’s hand. Then with Caleb, he was my third, I popped him out barely two hours after my water broke.”
Labor? Holy hell! How will I get through labor? Or any of it? Rachel’s cousin Izzy had gained so much weight with her first kid she could hardly get out of bed without help. The mental image of herself, big as a house and running down the road with a pack of slobbering zombies on her
tail, brought tears to Rachel’s eyes.
Linda seemed to misinterpret her tears. “Isn’t it just wonderful? We get to watch over them and guide them and turn them into adults, then they get married and have their own and continue the whole cycle again.”
The thought of nine months of pregnancy while trying to avoid being eaten made Rachel want to curl up in a fetal ball. Never mind actually raising a child in the new crazy reality. Linda continued her recitation of the joys of motherhood, oblivious to Rachel’s fear and ambivalence.
Rachel wasn’t the kind of person to focus on the dark side, but she had to be pragmatic. Being pregnant right now was not a miraculous event to be celebrated and gushed over, but something to look at critically. Jerry’s absence felt like a void in her soul and at the same time a physical tugging toward home like nothing she’d ever felt before.
She managed a weak smile, trying to reassure Linda that they were indeed sisters of the miraculous womb—givers of life and molders of little humans.
She also tried to put enthusiasm and optimism into her voice as she did her best to convince Linda she was okay with being kidnapped and dragged up into the mountains against her will. “I’m so glad I found you people. I don’t know what I would have done out on my own, trying to manage with a child growing inside me.” She looked Linda in the eye, trying to judge how well her performance was going over.
Linda smiled another beatific earth-mother smile. “Don’t you worry one little bit, dear. We’re all one big family here. And we take care of our own. You don’t have a thing to worry about. My Thomas won’t let anyone, or anything, hurt you.” She frowned and squeezed Rachel’s hand again, looking very serious. “We’re going to have to find you a man, though.”