Living Amongst The Dead (Book 2): Dark Days

by J. N. Morgan

  CRACK, one of the pricks outside rolled its ankle in the reinforced dip of the ground where her bedroom window sat. It awoke her, and it was still dark but the brushed grey steel watch with the turquoise face that sat on her night stand said it was 4AM once she turned her lantern to dim. Bright enough for light illumination but not so bright that it’ll attract attention from outside. That contrast between the somewhat dull and unglistening steel band and body of the watch, with that shiny and bright blue with a tinge of green face, it gave some colour to her usually so dark wardrobe. The brushed steel also matched her big coat, she noticed. It was a good find, and had been forgotten on her hectic search to find her roomie. After her fun with fire-crotch which in itself was a few days of work that turned out to be for nothing having ended how it did, she was worried upon returning to an empty house. The rifle she typically left by the door unless going to a part of town that was known to be littered with the dead, was missing, as were the spare rounds she left on the window sill that was high up next to the door, too high to even see through on that landing between floors.

  Had to move quietly, watch on her wrist hidden by the incredibly warm coat that she had used as a second blanket, the egg was already in the pack so she zipped it up, loosened the straps to accommodate for the coat, and wore it properly with both straps over her shoulders. Dim lantern in hand, she crept up the stairs, slowly picked up the bags, and then the empty rifle with the same right hand. Letting down the lantern, the door was opened terribly slowly. Anticipating something to see her in the barely noticeable light, to barge through the door on top of her, her heart was racing, but through the crack she could only see darkness, then with a step a walker came into view from her right. Goosebumps erupted on her flesh, the door was quickly brought just to the point of closing before the latch would have started being pushed in by the corner of the wall.

  It didn’t see or hear her, though her breathing had hiked up into her chest, but now was let go and a few quick breaths were made. She’d seen the side of its back; it faced away from her… how to make it fuck off? Looking down to the mat where some footwear lay, a sandal was taken. Foamy light blue plastic base with a stiffer dark blue plastic used as straps on the front, one section of it meant to be kept between a couple toes. Very simple, light, and cheap, yet comfortable and not entirely unstylish with the right outfit to match it. It cost less than two dollars, possibly less than a dollar; it was Tiff’s, but she wouldn’t be needing sandals for many, many months. Opening the door up, slowly, just enough to reach her arm though, the back of the walker was a mere meter away.

  Tossed into the darkness, Tiffany’s right-footed blue sandal was given a chuck, and somewhere out there it skidded on the ground. Immediately, the trespassing corpse gave a moan and made its way clumsily down the steps towards the offending bit of footwear. Knowing the streets all too well, the dim light was turned off entirely, the door opened, other sandal grabbed in the same hand as the simple but efficient Made in China white-plastic lantern, she crept out. She used mostly memory to guide her through the pitch black darkness of this moonless night. No street lights, no house lights, no vehicle lights, no porch lights, it was as close to total darkness as she could expect while being out in the cool night. It was terrifying, afraid of bumping into one, her mind made up shapes in the darkness, movement where there was none, and she forced herself to turn the lantern on to its dullest setting.

  It was not very bright, but in this darkness it was as though she just turned the knob that switched on the Sun. One was just 3m or so to her left, in the middle of the road while she was on the side of it, and so she started jogging, breathing heavily from all the weight she carried, but kept on going. The sandal hadn’t found a use as she moved quickly now, so was dropped as she attracted enemies with noise they barely heard, and light they barely seen with their decomposing eyes.

  CHAPTER 5

  Tiffany had awoken at least three times that night, and each time it was from Richard’s stirrings, with each successive awakening making her fear the worse, that the injured Newfie beside her had died, changed, and was about to attack her like in her dream. Each time he groaned in pain from the jolt, once screaming from it, or maybe it was from whatever haunted him in his sleep. He wouldn’t tell her about it but it kept playing in his mind, being held at gunpoint by that black woman, being looked at with such hate, that look of a person who would kill you and not think twice, then the rifle went off, and he would awaken. One of the nightmares was startlingly similar to hers, essentially the very thing she feared; her sleeping beside him, him changing, and taking a bite out of her.

  The third time, she gave him some water, both of them hoping it would help calm him, help him sleep. Maybe he had awoken again a fourth time from a dream, she couldn’t remember now as she looked down at the coffee table in wonder. She just remembered the last time she had awoken but it wasn’t from one of his nightmares, it was a knocking on the door.

  “Where have you been?!”

  “Let me in…” she was out of breath, standing on the front porch with hands and shoulders weighed down.

  “What the Hell is all?... where did yo-?”

  “I’m exhausted… please!” Nick pressed testily, doing very little to try and keep her voice down. Tiff turned to let her gain access to the kitchen but was nearly knocked aside as she let herself in.

  “Hey, no, not in ther-!” It didn’t stop her, Veronica let herself into the living room but instead of passing by the injured man, sat down on the couch, putting the butt of her rifle down on the carpet beside her and leaning the barrel against the arm rest. The lantern was put down on the coffee table, turned up a couple notches but not to the point that it was blinding to the three who’s eyes were adjusted to the present darkness. The Autumn Sun had not yet risen that morning, so artificial light illuminated the immediate area ahead of time before nature could do so. A heavy breath came from Richard who stared at the one who put him in this predicament where he fought for his very life, then to the rifle that was the tool used, and back and forth the weak brown eyes flickered.

  With backpack and three bags on the floor, she started bringing things into view. Can of SPAM, two cans of the beef stew which had pull-tabs just like the name-brand SPAM, three cans of beans without the tabs, Tiffany came to sit beside her as the can opener was put on the wooden surface and she almost squee’d, leaning over and hugging the woman next to her who was still catching her breath, sweating, having never stopped jogging almost the whole way. She didn’t want to attract the dead like last time.

  Over-the-counter painkillers, a bottle of prescription medication, Richard was gawking at all the things that were coming to view from the plastic bags and backpack. A couple books, BOOZE! “Aaahhhhhhhggh…” It was an eerily dead-like moan, a moan he did not mean to make sound that gravelly and airy, but the sight of the bottles of liquor clunking onto the counter, it made his eyebrows curl up with desire. He hated not knowing if, in his present state, the alcohol would be too much a burden on his health. The women looked at him alarmingly, Nicky turned the lantern up a dial to better see him, and the eyes of want moved between the ladies, and then looked down, realizing what he had just done.

  “He likes to drink…” Tiff explained, and her friend looked to her when the explanation was given before returning her gaze to the man, who slowly nodded, looking a little ashamed at how he had reacted to it. The dark woman’s eyebrows bounced up while she turned her neck slightly in a gesture that suggested ‘whatever floats your boat… it is your body…’ then a little bottle of rubbing alcohol… condoms… the box of which she audibly lay heavily down onto the coffee table and slid it loudly towards her right where the chubby woman sat. Heavy blushing ensued, and a weak laugh came from the man which ended in his body tensing suddenly in a groan of pain.

  Metallic clinking… and the clap of cardboard boxes on the counter. Pained eyes opened suddenly, body shaking as he craned his head for a better look. Boxes of ammo, four of
the- no, another one came, then yet another, SIX! They weren’t big boxes of course, but it was still ammo none the less! She left the batteries in her bag, returning her book as well, of course she pointedly never exposed her private little ‘egg’ device.

  “Antibiotics… wisdom teeth… 3 years ago…” she said matter of factly, moving the prescription bottle to the corner of the coffee table closest to Richard without looking at him. The hug on her, which never left, tightened.

  “Thank you, Veronica… thank you so much…” to see the woman who supposedly cares so much for him, hugging the woman who did this to him, it stirred up a lot of mixed feelings in the man as did this gesture. She haunted his dreams, even now he still felt fear as though she would take her rifle and finish him off any second. He said nothing. The provider in this early morning was tempted to state her intention of being instructed on how to reload, but thought that might be a bit too brazen, so kept it in and tried to ignore that he hadn’t so much as muttered a ‘thanks’. He had lost a lot of blood after all, so was quite loopy.

  The hug was finally released, the soft woman getting up and heading round to the other side of the coffee table. The bottles of pills were taken, brought over to the water bottle, and she started unscrewing them.

  Getting up herself, already having nearly caught her breath, reflecting her good cardio, the angel of death now the angel of mercy headed upstairs with the rifle that she pretty much called the first of those two names. With her backpack in the other hand, she left the lantern downstairs for the night.

  “Nnh!” He mumbled aloud.

  “What is it?” Tiffany whispered, and seeing he was looking to the stairs where the woman was heading.

  “Veruh!...” it was embarrassingly difficult for him to speak; through the pain, through the weariness of blood loss and tiredness of broken sleep, through the raw fear of seeing the woman who did this to him holding the very rifle she had used to do it, both of which haunted his dreams, she heard what sounded like the first half of her name. The African Canadian stopped and looked over to the Caucasian Canadian on the floor, her stare hard as though anticipating, almost daring him, to ask for more, or to tell her she can’t stay. The fantasy she had in her home around 12 hours ago still fresh in her mind. Of choking him with her foot, then having his way with that gorgeous, faintly red-dyed, plump woman next to him who was now looking her way as well.

  “Th-…” her look pierced him, the eyes mirrored those that terrified him in his sleep, those eyes that seemed so ready and willing to end his life. The words of thanks were unable to be uttered, so he nodded his head to her, slowly, not wishing to move his wound about. After a couple seconds the nod was briskly returned, eyes coming away from him, looking down at the steps almost as though she were wondering if that was the right gesture to make, and then welcomed herself upstairs into the guest room.

  “God… she disappeared… when was it? Yesterday morning? Yesterday afternoon? I thought she’d left us; didn’t know she had left to get us all this!” Tiff whispered, reading the prescription bottle. It said to take 1-2, and considering Nick is so thin, granted she’s tall but still shorter and much thinner than Richard, she took two, tempted to even give him three but with his weak state figured that might have been excessive. He grunted in agreement, not even knowing that she had gone, and watched as she unscrewed the bottle with her good right hand. The dressing on her had been redone as well, Polysporin used to disinfect it, and white fabric from the shirt that was cut up was used, though not too much of it. The bleeding had evidently stopped by now.

  It was difficult, but he downed the medication followed by two Extra Strength Aspirin. It won’t be enough, he knew, but perhaps it would dull the pain. Once he had percocets, prescription of course, and was only given 8 or 10 of them. They were apparently a recreational drug in… the 70s? 80s? Something like that, but he couldn’t understand why. They knocked him the fuck out, almost put him to sleep every time, made him just about completely numb; no pain whatsoever, and would have loved some of those right about now. Help him sleep, help him to not feel pain, it would have been great, but using them recreationally? Didn’t understand it, he’d rather get drunk, or have a toke, though he hadn’t been stoned in years.

  “If only. I would love… to get drunk… right now…” he said, figuring that it would be too hard on his recovering body. “Please… put them… away. Save… for later…”

  “Good idea, yeah, I’ll put em up in the cupboard!” Those brown eyes of his barely left the liquor all the while she was getting the pills out, and knew that it was paining him to see it but be too afraid to drink it. “There will be celebration once you’re on your feet and moving about on your own, baby! Don’t you worry about that!” The cupboards closed, and she went to the couch to marvel at all that had been brought to them this wonderful night. The beef stew would of course be saved for him, perhaps a can of beans at some point since the label said that it had much more iron than the stew. Yes, this should keep him going for a good few days if they could ration it, and he himself wasn’t eating all that much.

  “You’re going to be OK, Richard, you hear me?” He smiled up at her, “you’re going to be just fine…” it would take more than just a couple days for him to be back on his feet, but every day that she could keep him fed and hydrated was a good day, let alone with medication. Hopefully this will speed up the process of healing and recovering the lost blood. Being able to prevent infection with the antibiotics was also hugely helpful, no doubt.

  The next morning Nicky came down on her own time. She hadn’t slept much due to having fell asleep relatively early yesterday evening so even after all that jogging, she didn’t need much more rest. In her jeans and muscle shirt as she walked through the living room, for once, the man awoke without a throbbing of pain. More just a light nudge of the unpleasant feeling, until his tired and lazy eyes flashed open upon seeing her, and his body shuddered. Fear obvious on his features as though he had just woken up to one of his nightmares, though thankfully she was without her rifle.

  “Agh! NNH…” the tall woman jumped at the muffled cries of pain that he tried to keep down from the jolt of her being the first thing he seen in the morning. Tiff woke up with a start, the usual fear of hearing his sounds, fearing he had died and was about to turn on her. She looked to the movement in her peripherals and relaxed as she lie there under the blanket with him, just next to him on the floor while he lay on the couch cushions. The arm connected to which was her wounded left hand was resting on top of the comforter, on his chest, and now gently for the sake of her own injury it rubbed at the man’s torso.

  “Good morning, Nicky.” She said with a smile and a yawn, now looking from her to him as he was dealing with the pain of his sudden motion. Something in Veronica liked the fear of terror in his eyes upon seeing her, she had enjoyed it, though did not let it be known. She took a can of beans from the coffee table along with the can opener and headed into the kitchen after giving a brief “’morning...” in reply.

  The dyed redhead got up slowly, gently, giving an affectionate touch to her man’s uninjured left shoulder before making sure he was tucked in once she stood, once he was calmed from the pain, and then headed into the kitchen.

  “Thanks again for bringing all that stuff here, Nick… I can’t tell you how much it means to me, how much I appreciate it.” The hug came from behind, it was a friendly show, a show of gratitude. Feeling that softness against her back, however, that warmth, those arms around her midsection, with the can open her right hand came down to the older woman’s forearm and stroked it.

  “It was nothin’, I was hungry… and uh… you said that Nathan can reload?”

  “Richard, and you mean making bullets? Yeah, he knows how to do that, has stuff for it.” The hug slowly came away, none of the gratitude lost in the question though the right hand slid along to the right side of that slim stomach, on around her body as Tiffany stood on the taller one’s left side while rubbing her ath
letic savior’s back. “Did you want me to ask him something for you?” A spoon was taken out once the cutlery drawer was found, enjoying the stoking.

  “Well it’s why I brought the ammo, maybe he could, like, take the powder and bullets from those, and make some .308 for me?”

  “Mmm… well… he can’t do that right now; he’s pretty weak… lost a lot of… well…”

  Watching from behind, uncomfortably craning his head forward to see down towards the two, he didn’t mind seeing the affection Tiff showed to ‘Veronica’ in terms of her being a sexual rival but was still troubled, seeing the casualness between attempted murderer and his lover. “Ahem-ERRR… damn…” Attempting to get their attention, he coughed while his neck was craned, which made his body shudder in a way that jostled his arm, bringing a groan and a curse out of him. Tiff looked back to him worriedly, arm coming away from Nick’s back. Before she could ask if he was alright, he went on; “I’m still… here you… know…”

  Feeding a spoonful of beans into her mouth, Nicky looked back as well, her eyes softer than they were last night when heading up to bed. He continued, though was no longer looking down towards them due to not wanting to mess up his shoulder further so basically spoke towards the ceiling for now. “What did y-… you want to… know?... Vera?” It was as much said because it had fewer syllables so was easier, as much as it was because she had given him the wrong name as well.

  “It’s Veronica, and yeah, I heard you can reload ammo?”

  “I like… Vera… and yes;… powder… casings… bullets… and pri-… primers…” She ignored the new nickname for now, not particularly pleased with it, but she wanted answers. Tiff watched on nervously from the kitchen, ashamed that she was suddenly keenly aware of the sidearm holstered on her hip. She loved and trusted Nick, but knew she was the one who did this to Richard and now the two were close to one another. Her black friend went over to the bit of carpet between TV and coffee table then sat down, Indian style, just to his right; bloody bandage on his shoulder in view outside of the blanket. It made him nervous when she approached but now that she was sitting it put him a little bit at ease, or perhaps not at ease but at least less uneasy.