by Gibb, Lew
Rachel’s smile froze on her face. She put her hands in her lap and squeezed them together to keep from reaching out and strangling the woman. Her violent impulses seemed to be much closer to the surface lately. Maybe the hormones were making her more emotional.
Again, Linda seemed to misinterpret Rachel’s silence as reluctance. “Your man is gone. We have to accept that. What Thomas saw down there, well, it was nothing short of the end of days. Now, I know it’s not something you want to think about, but you have more than just yourself to think about. You still have a little bit of time to mourn, but you also have to be realistic. You’ll have more luck catching a man before you start to show, especially with that first trimester glow. I swear, you look good enough to eat. Men can’t resist it either. There are a few fellows your age back at the compound, and I’m sure with my help, you’ll snag yourself one without too much trouble. But we can’t dilly-dally. After the first trimester, things won’t be so easy. Then you have to worry your body might attract the wrong sort of man.” She looked at Rachel as to verify Rachel knew just what she was talking about.
Rachel nodded and smiled. She didn’t trust herself to say anything since she still had an overwhelming urge to slap Linda for discounting Jerry so fast. Linda’s monologue continued—she seemed to be one of those people who only required minimal input from whomever they were talking to. She kept on right through dinner, even managing to clean her plate without a single break in her monologue while Rachel barely tasted her food. Linda talked about finding her a place to live until Rachel was married off, then planning the rest of her married life. It was surreal, like watching a play where she was also one of the characters. The feeling of detachment kept on all throughout dinner, during which Rachel nodded at Linda every so often while worrying about her future and taking in the defensive arrangements in the circle.
A pair of sentries were posted atop vehicles on opposite sides of the camp. The men sat in folding chairs and cradled the same black military-looking rifles everyone in camp seemed to have. A pile of blankets and a thermos sat beside each man. One had what looked like a clunky pair of goggles hanging from a strap around his neck. Darkness was coming on fast, and as she watched, the man raised the goggles to his face, pulling the strap up around the back of his head. He looked like a big bug with protruding green eyes beneath his brown cowboy hat.
Rachel interrupted Lisa in the middle of a lesson about stocking up on diapers. She pointed at the nearest sentry and asked, “Can they really see in the dark with those googles?”
Lisa glanced at the guy and nodded. “They can, but they only have the one pair.” She shook her head and frowned. “Clyde Johnson got himself killed yesterday while he was wearing the other ones. They were inside one of them big food warehouses north of downtown when a bunch of them things attacked. Came out of nowhere is what they said. They got Clyde and Tyrone Simpson. It was too dark in there to risk going back in with only the one pair they had left. Randy, he’s the one brought you in, he made the decision to leave the goggles and go back later. When they finally did get in there with more people and a bunch of flashlights, the glasses were all busted up.” Linda stood, took Rachel’s plate, and stacked it with her own on the tray. “Damn, look how dark it is. We best get you settled ’fore everyone’s asleep. We go lights-out at dark so we don’t attract the demons or anyone else that might not have the golden rule in mind. And you need your sleep, little girl.” She patted Rachel’s shoulder and headed for the rear of her camper. “Got to keep that baby healthy.”
Rachel stared at the columns of smoke rising like black fingers from the city center. Her building sat on the southwest edge of downtown. On a normal day, she could hop in her car and be there in less than a half hour. Now, the trip might take days and cost her and her baby their lives, but she knew she had to try.
If Jerry was alive, she had to find him. She would find him. The baby would have to sleep tomorrow, or the next day. Tonight, she was heading home.
Chapter Thirty-Two
A frustrating hour after the debacle with the zombies in the master bedroom, Jerry and Holly were back upstairs in front of the final closed door. Jerry readied his spear and felt a sickening sense of déjà vu. Holly stood as she had before, one hand on the bedroom’s doorknob and the other holding her new spear—a purple ski pole with the basket removed.
The simple act of getting rid of the basket had taken a ridiculous amount of time due to the complete lack of tools in the house. Aside from the aging Pathfinder, the garage had held nothing but a massive assortment of holiday decorations in opaque plastic boxes and labeled with things like Blow-up Santa, and Reindeer set. The collection filled the metal shelves lining all three walls and every inch of floor space in the garage that wasn’t taken up by the Pathfinder. The ski pole was buried beneath boxes of Halloween decorations in the basement. The nearly useless hacksaw and a pair of pliers Jerry unearthed beneath the stairs, probably left by whomever the current owners had bought the place from. The hacksaw blade was so dull Jerry was soaked with sweat and with his arms burning from working the dull blade back and forth for fifteen minutes before Holly finally ripped the basket free with the rusty pliers.
They hadn’t found anything to replace his suspect spear, not even the other ski pole. He would have to depend on it for a little while longer. He did find a roll of duct tape, which he wrapped around the area where the handle joined the tip. He was not optimistic about its chances of keeping the wood from cracking even though Rachel swore by the stuff.
The door of the final room shook with the force of the pounding coming from the other side. It had started when Jerry had cursed out loud while sawing the ski pole’s basket.
Holly looked at him over her shoulder. “Maybe we should just go get the gas,” she whispered.
He frowned, looked back at the nerf rifle, then whispered back, “I know we already cleared the master, but we don’t know there’s not a bathroom in this bedroom, too.”
Holly shrugged.
Jerry felt like he was trying to convince himself as much as the girl. “What if there are kids in there?”
“Like maybe the parents are zombies,” she said, squinting at the door, “and the kids are afraid to come out?”
Jerry nodded.
“On the other hand, what if the kids are zombies, and the parents put them in there to protect themselves?”
Jerry grimaced and shook his head. “We have to check.”
Holly nodded and wedged herself against the wall beside the door. Jerry flexed his knees and held his spear high and parallel to the floor, his back elbow pointing down the hall. He positioned the spearpoint tip at eye level, planning to go for the eye this time. His forward hand was as white as a cadaver from gripping the handle so tight. He really needed a drink of water. He couldn’t remember ever being so tense and scared.
The pounding stopped, and Jerry figured the zombie was going back into the room. It was a good time to catch it by surprise. A droplet of sweat fell in his eye when he nodded at Holly. He was still trying to blink the stinging liquid away when she pushed open the door.
Before it completed half its arc, the door thumped against something and stopped. Jerry blinked again. When he opened his eyes, a slender hand, even paler than his own snaked around the edge of the door and latched onto Holly’s sleeve. She jerked her arm back, and the door swung most of the way shut with the arm pinned against the jamb.
Jerry stabbed.
The spearpoint went high, just over the pale forearm, right through the cheap hollow-core door and stuck there.
Holly’s scream sent a surge of adrenaline through Jerry’s body. He wrenched the spearpoint free with a loud splintering noise that pulled a jagged piece of door with it. Jerry stabbed again. This time, he buried the tip midway up the forearm, and a scream from beyond the door pierced Jerry’s ears and almost made him drop the spear. The door swung open, and Holly was dragged into the room. Jerry’s spear twisted loose. A gangly teenaged z
ombie in plaid flannel pajama pants and an Iron Maiden t-shirt was dragging Holly into the room by the arm, both hands pulling her hand toward his gaping mouth. The perfectly round, golf-ball-sized wound in the kid’s cheek made Jerry think of an oversized hole punch.
Holly had dropped her spear, but she pummeled the boy’s face like a machine with her free arm. The kids head snapped back at each strike, her gloved fist hitting him sounded like when Rachel flattened cutlets with her meat tenderizer. The teenager’s head twisted to the side with every punch, but he kept hold of Holly’s other arm, still trying to bring it to his open mouth. Jerry worried Holly would cut her knuckles on his teeth even through her gloves, but she seemed to be avoiding his mouth.
The zombie finally managed to pull her arm close enough to bite down on Holly’s wrist. The sound of Holly’s scream made Jerry lunge forward without thinking. The spearpoint slipped past her side and skewered Iron Maiden’s skeleton mascot, Eddie the Head, right between the eyes.
The teenager finally let go of Holly and pawed at the spear handle while Jerry pushed the skinny headbanger across the bedroom. His back hit the wall with a solid thud and a loud crack. A poster version of Eddie hung above the teen’s shoulder, watching with impassive detachment as Jerry gaped at his broken spear handle while the teen clawed at the metal buried in his chest.
Without notice, the teen seemed to realize there was a live human in front of him, and his lunge caught Jerry by surprise. All Jerry could do was turn his head to the side as he was driven backward onto the bed with the spear handle pinned against his chest. The teen’s breath rasped in his ear, sending a jolt of energy to his muscles. Jerry’s whole body convulsed with the effort of jerking away from the bite he knew was coming. His head bumped against something, and the mental picture of the zombie teeth digging into his scalp gave Jerry a fresh surge of energy. He let go of the useless spear handle and pushed the zombie’s chest with both hands while contorting his body the opposite way. He slid off the edge of the bed and flopped onto his back.
Holly stepped over him with her ski pole gripped one hand and her other hand cocked behind her like a fencer. Jerry didn’t see where she stabbed him, but he heard a sickening pop as she danced back. A stream of blood and clear fluid sprayed over the bed’s edge and landed on the front of Jerry’s jacket.
Jerry scrambled to his feet in time to see the teen zombie’s body fall forward and convulse a couple times before going still.
Holly rubbed her wrist and looked at the dead zombie. She was breathing fast, and her words came out staggered between breaths. “I can’t believe…how fast…that happened.”
Jerry stepped away from the body and picked up his splintered spear handle. The duct tape had done nothing to prevent it from shearing off cleanly at the base of the blade housing.
“There’s a lot we have to learn.” His words came out in a whisper. “I just hope I can learn it.”
He noticed then the clear fluid on the front of his jacket. Jerry snatched a t-shirt off the floor and scrubbed at the discoloration from the teen’s eye fluid. Rabies could only be transmitted by saliva and brain or nervous tissue, and Jerry wasn’t sure whether or not ocular fluid was included in that group.
The zombie’s head hung over the bed’s edge, leaking into an overflowing laundry basket. What if Holly had pierced his brain? Jerry thought of the shower in the bathroom, but realized it wouldn’t be working if there was no electricity. Rabies can’t survive once it’s dry and exposed to sunlight. The knowledge just came to him. He’d been studying the virus since he’d read Dr. Mendez’s blog. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t remembered before. Everything depended on the virus not being too mutated, though. There was no telling how it had changed. Maybe there was some bleach in the kitchen or the laundry room.
Holly grimaced and looked at the dead zombie.
It didn’t seem like the zombie had done more than just gnaw her jacket, but Jerry asked anyway. “Did he bite you?”
She nodded and pulled the sleeve up to reveal her unblemished forearm. She took her right glove off while looking around at the posters covering every inch of the walls and ceiling. “Man, this kid loved metal.”
After making sure Holly’s hand was uninjured, Jerry looked around, too. Besides the oldies like Iron Maiden, Metallica, and Five Finger Death Punch, the rest of the bands were unknown to him. The area around the laundry basket looked like it had erupted jeans, t-shirts, and random pairs of socks and underwear into the room.
Jerry poked the zombie with his spear handle.
“I’m sure glad I had your partner’s jacket,” Holly said. Two light brown semicircles marred the leather just above her wrist.
“At least it helped someone.” Jerry frowned and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m glad you had it, too.” Mike probably would have survived if Jerry had tried harder to get him to wear it. Jerry wondered when his zombie knowledge would actually benefit him. Ever since he and Mike had been attacked, he had been a step behind where he needed to be, both mentally and physically. If it hadn’t been for Holly, he probably wouldn’t have made it out of the hospital. And Mike had saved his life, too.
“Hey,” Holly said.
Jerry gave her a blank look. He knew she’d been talking, but he hadn’t registered what she had said.
“Let’s get going,” she said, then she turned and headed out of the room.
Jerry shook the image of Mike driving the zombies out of the storage closet away and followed her.
They cleared the basement without any more zombie attacks, and in ten minutes they were back in the garage. Jerry found a garden hose and cut three feet of it to use for siphoning the gas. He’d never done it before, and it took several attempts and a lot of coughing and spitting before gas flowed. Then they were able to fill a pair of three-gallon water containers and a plastic five-gallon paint bucket they found in the basement.
“This isn’t anywhere near enough to fill the tank,” Jerry said. “We’re going to have to make at least a couple of trips.”
“How are we going to make even one before the zombies get us?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Last night, the zombies were sleeping on the floor. Seems like they need to sleep just like us. Maybe if we wait till they bed down, we can sneak out there and fill the tank without any of them noticing.”
“It’s not even noon yet. You want to wait around in here till bedtime?”
No way could he tolerate another nine or ten hours of inaction in the creepy silent house with the dead zombie upstairs, especially knowing Rachel and the dogs were waiting for him, maybe needing his help. “What about a diversion of some sort? We could make a bunch of noise a couple blocks away. Then when the zombies move that way, we fill the tank.”
“Like what? Go stand in the road and yell ‘Come and get it’?” Holly smiled and winked.
“I was thinking something a little less dangerous. Like a radio or something.”
Holly’s eyes got big, then she grimaced. “Too bad there’s no electricity.”
Jerry frowned. “I can’t get used to the fact that there’s no power.”
“Wait a minute.” Holly turned and started for the stairs. “I saw a laptop and some speakers in that kid’s room.” She pounded upstairs. Jerry listened to the thudding of her footsteps moving down the hall and back. When she returned, she had a black laptop under one arm. A tangle of wires trailed behind her.
“It’s fully charged. If I take it up to the end of the next street and set it to play music, you can fill the tank.”
Jerry smiled. “Let’s do it.”
Five minutes later, Holly had jogged through backyards and scrambled over fences until she’d reached her goal and set the laptop atop a large wheeled trash bin and pulled up the iTunes app. She turned the speakers up to maximum volume and picked an Iron Maiden album—Prayer for the Dying—in honor of the kid. When she clicked play, the volume of sound was awesome. It was only a minute or so before zombies from both ends of t
he street were making their way toward the trash bin as Holly turned to head back to the house.
Jerry saw the zombies start to move toward the music through a gap in the curtained front window. He couldn’t hear the words, but the bass beat reverberated in his chest as he eased the front door open and shuffled to the ambulance carrying the water jugs and the bucket. The makeshift funnel he’d made from a cut-down milk bottle with a length of hose taped to the mouth was a little awkward, but it got the job done. Before he had emptied the second container, Holly was easing out the front door and coming to help. While he was emptying the five-gallon bucket, she took the empties back in to refill. All she had to do was pull free the rubber band Jerry had used to kink the hose, and the gas would flow again.
They managed to get two rounds of containers into the ambulance before the zombies came back, and when they drove away, they had half a tank of gas and two extra jugs. Jerry thought about the people he knew who were always going on about how their teenagers couldn’t think about anything but their phones and their friends. So far, it seemed, catastrophes superseded teen problems, but Jerry was impressed with the way Holly consistently stepped up, figured out what needed to happen, and then just did it. She was an amazing young woman, and he was lucky to have her on his side. He hoped Rachel would meet up with someone who could watch her back, too.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The place Linda found for Rachel to sleep turned out to be a camper about a quarter of the way around the circle from the Walshes. Rachel would have a bed of her own above the truck’s cab. The area below was occupied by the neighbor’s teenaged girls, Rhonda and Constance, blonde-haired and blue-eyed twins who appeared to be on the path to motherhood in very short order and excited about it. They were eighteen and seemed to have already gotten their full share of the sisterhood Kool-Aid.