by Joshua Guess
Hungry as I was, there should have been no way I could fall asleep. Yet somehow I did.
It was the deep sleep of healing usually reserved for people with serious injuries.
I did not dream.
21
“What we know is this,” said the tinny voice coming from the speaker.
It was how every broadcast of what the group had fallen into calling radio Lovecraft began. The actual broadcast had no name, and I suspected the hints the voice dropped about the location of the research facility were deliberate misdirection.
The same man always delivered the updates, referring to himself as Zeke. Having never met a real person with that name, I had to guess he thought it sounded cool or was Amish or something.
“The human response to the Nero virus falls across a spectrum,” Zeke intoned. “Originally our researchers believed it was a binary response, either death or immunity. Now we know of at least six outcomes. They are as follows…”
I switched off the radio and finished my cereal. Not milk and cereal, mind you. Just cereal. Yeah, I put it in a bowl. I’m not a Neanderthal.
As I crunched the last dry bite of stale corn flakes, Robert walked out of my bedroom. We’d moved things around so my bed wasn’t covering the entrance to the bunker.
“You about ready?” he asked.
Still chewing, I glanced down at myself. I was wearing cotton basketball shorts and a long tank top with characters from Space Jam on it I’d found at a thrift store. I was barefoot.
“Yeah, I’m totally set here,” I said around the mouthful of food. I didn’t put any sarcasm in the words, mostly because reality supplied all the obvious sarcasm required.
Robert had the grace to look embarrassed. Rather than say anything, he just shrugged awkwardly and said he’d wait for me outside.
Thanks to the lack of running water in the house, my bathroom had become a kind of all-purpose storage room. The tiny window over the toilet let in enough light to keep me from hitting myself in the face as I dressed for a day out in the world. Honestly, keeping all my gear in there was so convenient I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it earlier. No more schlepping down to the bunker to grab stuff.
Jem was waiting for me when I stepped back into my bedroom. He looked grumpy.
“You look grumpy,” I said.
“I don’t like the idea of you going out there with such a small group,” he said. “If these people are as bad as we think, even one of them might be a match for the three of you.”
“You’re just mad I’m not taking you with me,” I said.
Jem shook his head, but I knew I was right. After my last bout of the Shivers, radio Lovecraft issued an update about Nero that explained the weird reactions some people were having. Some people with my symptoms—the same symptoms my captors exhibited—fell into the state permanently. Information was thin, but the early indicators suggested that if you didn’t get stuck with a constant hunger and black veins the first time it happened, you weren’t at risk of permanent change.
This information itself had no bearing on why I was miffed at Jem. Turns out while I was suffering and stuck at the house, Jem and Tony had seen packs of people who had been affected that way out in the world. Nowhere close to as numerous as zombies, but enough of them to cause real problems with their effort to loot as much stuff as the two of them could find.
I was pissed because they kept that information from me. It was only when Robert was attacked out on a run the day before that I learned about it. Though still nominally human, these things were attacking, killing, and eating other people.
Maria, who turned out to be a hardcore science fiction addict, jokingly called them Reavers after the cannibalistic bad guys from Firefly. The name stuck during the ensuing conversation and argument that followed Robert’s return to the house.
“Well, that sucks for you, because I’m going,” I told Jem simply. “You kept this from me—no, I get that you did it because you didn’t want to scare me more than I already was—but you didn’t have the right. I think a lot of you, Jem, but you don’t get to decide what’s best for me. So I’m irritated and I don’t want to spend the day out there with you.”
I let him process this for a second, then put a hand on his arm. “Besides which, you need to be here to back up Carla if anyone tries to give her shit. I might be angry, but I still trust you to watch out for everyone. I guess that’s a side effect of you fucking up with good intentions.”
He opened his mouth to speak, then caught me completely off guard by bending down to hug me. It felt weird through my riot gear and armor, but nice. It was gentle and sweet, an expression of concern and care without subtext.
If my return hug was awkward, chalk it up to lack of practice.
When we broke apart, he didn’t have the abashed puppy dog look on his face I expected. Just worry.
“I kinda thought you’d tell me to be careful,” I said.
Jem’s smile was thin and brittle, but real. “I know you will be. It’s the Reavers I’m worried about.”
The idea was to keep things low key and observe them from a distance. The low key part was kind of important for my first trip out since getting sick. According to good ol’ Zeke, extreme physical stress was bound to trigger the Shivers. Since Robert and Gregory, my companions, were unaware of my condition, I wasn’t inclined to push myself very hard.
We drove the Jeep along the ridge overlooking the hospital and slowly followed its wavy curves toward town. The area gave us a lot of options for escape in the event of a catastrophe. No one wanted to get stuck in the middle of town on foot.
“Here,” I said, directing Gregory toward a corner of tall grass and bush just off the road. He parked and sat forward, staring over the wheel with concern etched on his face.
“Are we gonna walk into that?” he asked.
The ground below the hill led to the outer edges of Wallace’s small warehouse district. You wouldn’t think a town our size would have one, but the equally small processing plant sitting next to them made the economics of the whole thing work out. We had higher than the average number of farms in the area, and you can count on someone to capitalize when there’s money to be made.
“It’s where I saw them yesterday,” Robert said from the back seat. “Most of the food was looted or rotten, but those things are so hungry I don’t think they’d care.”
I tried not to grind my teeth at his use of the word things to describe the Reavers. Not that I had a lot of pity for them, but that was for what they’d done rather than what they were.
Gregory moved the Jeep back behind a bush so it couldn’t be seen from below and we settled in. Luckily there weren’t any zombies nearby, at least none on the back of the building we were looking at. I had a guess there were plenty around front, based on what Robert had seen the day before.
“You think they heard us?” Robert asked as we lay on our bellies in the grass to keep watch.
I shrugged, though he had no way to see it. “If they did, we’ll know about it pretty soon. What makes you think the people you saw yesterday will show back up here today?”
He pointed at the loading bay door on the back of the building, which was raised few inches in its frame. “There’s a lot of stuff in there. It may not be good, but it’d take a week to haul it all out and search through it. Those fuckers tried to bite me, they were so hungry. I don’t think they can leave any potential food source alone.”
The tone was that of a lecturing professor. “What did you do before this?” I asked.
Robert smiled. “Between jobs. I was supposed to start work for the state a week after all this shit happened. Before that I was in Kentucky working for Fish and Game and the Parks Service as a consultant.”
I felt my brows furrow. “Consultant? For what? Are you a wildlife expert?”
“Search and rescue,” Robert said. “I helped them overhaul their procedures and set up training programs.”
“Ah,” I said, letting
the word stretch appreciatively. “A fellow data jockey. I like that.”
Gregory, standing behind us with compound bow in hand, said, “Guys. Look.”
We looked. Our line of sight gave us a view running along the backs of every building lined up below end-on. I could see the side of the building closest to us, but nothing was happening there. Gregory noticed something moving in the distance, which resolved into a truck creeping down the wide alley so slowly it might have been idling.
“Look familiar?” I asked.
Robert nodded. “Same truck from yesterday. I think they’re watching for us.”
I slapped at my belt for the small pair of binoculars hooked there. While I was moving, I tried to readjust my vest. The thing didn’t fit right any longer, which was my own damn fault. I’d spent the weeks too sick to go anywhere fiddling with it. Customizing already custom gear was never easy and I apparently hadn’t done a great job.
“This thing is killing my tits,” I muttered as I jerked the vest to one side.
Beside me, Robert suppressed a laugh.
Through my binoculars I saw a wary set of faces. The threads of black reached upward to cup their faces like hands, fading just after they crested the jawline. The back of the truck was full of them. The driver of the truck looked familiar.
It was Len.
“Greg, get down,” I said.
“It’s Gregory—”
“Get the fuck down!” I snapped. Gregory got the fuck down, and not in a boogie fever sort of way.
“What is it?” Robert asked. I could tell his eyes were on me, but I couldn’t take mine off the approaching truck. I really, really hoped Gregory hadn’t been seen.
“Those people captured me a while back,” I said. “Tied me up in a basement. I got away, and I thought I’d killed one of them. He’s driving the truck.”
“Holy shit,” Gregory said. “I hope they didn’t see me.”
“Right?” I said. “Though I’m guessing they’ll have a hard-on for me if they see me.”
Look, I don’t believe there’s any kind of cosmic force like God or Karma that actively interferes with us. I really don’t. I think it’s the height of arrogance to consider ourselves so important that an all-powerful being would stop and take the time to fuck with us specifically. I wish I did, because then I could blame what happened next on something other than pure, blind luck.
The cloud cover, already thin and what weathermen would call partial, broke in just the right place. Direct sunlight poured down at just the right angle, because of course it did. There must have been a reflection off the lenses of the binoculars, because one of the jerks in the back of that truck suddenly pointed right at me.
“Holy shit,” Gregory said again.
The truck sped up, apparently no longer interested in digging around for scraps among piles of spoiled vegetables. I scrambled to my feet just as the sharp thrum of the bow cut the air.
I wanted to scream at Gregory, but he was right to do it. Pissing off the Reavers by shooting at them wasn’t going to do any actual harm considering they were likely to attack and eat us either way. At least he took the shot.
We ran back to the Jeep and hopped in, tearing down the road. We left a rising column of dirt and dust behind us. It would be obvious which we we’d gone.
Gregory was behind the wheel while Robert and I sat smashed against each other in the back seat. I handed him one of the pair of pistols I wore.
I hoped it would be enough.
22
Robert had his arms around me and his face buried against my ass, and it was the opposite of the good time that makes it sound like.
Bracing me so I could lean out the window and shoot meant hanging on tight. Giving my lower half a bear hug, he held me close to his torso. The sheer difference in mass made the whole thing something like a rhino cradling a gazelle.
Upside? I could shoot without spending any thought on keeping myself tethered to the car.
The truck fell further back every time I put a bullet in it. The first two shots missed, but as I compensated for the sway of the Jeep and the drag of the air, my aim improved. Shot three slapped into and through the bumper. Shot four ricocheted off the hood. Shot five sent spider webs through the windshield, which was when our pursuers slowed way the hell down and fell out of sight.
After Robert pulled me back in, I straightened myself out and crawled into the cargo area. I told him to keep an eye out to the sides and front, and I’d watch the back. While I planned very much to do that, I was more focused on controlling my heart rate and staying out of his line of sight in case any black lines started showing up.
I was only mildly worried about it. I felt good, or more accurately I didn’t feel the specific sort of good that meant Nero was amping up in my system. Better safe than mistaken for an angry cannibal. I’m famous for saying that.
Within five minutes of losing the Reavers, the Jeep began to slow. “What’s going on?” I asked, looking toward the front.
“We have to turn around,” Gregory said. “Backtrack a little and find a side road. There’s a bunch of trees down across the road ahead.”
“How much you want to bet Reavers did that?” Robert asked.
I shook my head. “No bet. Haven’t had a storm that could have done it, and no reasonable person would block off a road they might need to escape.”
This was the part of the apocalypse people always seemed to forget in movies and television: the tedious, terrifying boredom. You wouldn’t think you could be scared shitless and bored at that same time, but I assure you it’s not only possible but increasingly common. I felt every second of the time it took to turn the Jeep around.
“There,” Robert said a few minutes into our slow crawl. Keeping the engine noise low to avoid attracting zombies meant barely making any headway, and I was grinding my teeth in agitation.
Gregory made a dismissive sound in his throat. “That looks like a driveway, not a road. I thought we wanted to get out of here.”
“We do,” Robert said. “We’re barely moving. Don’t you think those Reavers will come this way at some point looking for us? We can hide the car behind the house and wait it out. Once they check the area and don’t find us, they’ll leave and we’re solid.”
Gregory glanced back at me. “Ran? What do you think?”
I thought about it for a few seconds, absently chewing the inside of my cheek. “It’s the safe bet. If these were normal people I’d say we were already good, but if they’re as hungry and deranged as Robert says, they won’t give up looking for us easily.”
“You said they caught you,” Gregory reminded her. “Were they like that then?”
There was no warmth in the smile on my face. “They attacked all of us and took me prisoner. I didn’t see them kill anyone, but their leader was acting like he was strung out and barely able to keep his shit together. That was weeks ago, so who knows how much they’ve worsened since then. There’s no harm in hiding for a little while as long as we’re not stupid about it.”
Gregory had brought the Jeep to a halt while they talked it out. Reluctantly, he let off the brake and guided us down the long, somewhat winding driveway. I couldn’t see a house, but some of the more distant properties in Louis County were tucked far enough back to create the sort of lavish privacy being totally concealed by woods provided.
The house itself was, to my surprise, new construction. I expected an ancient but well-maintained farm house, common enough out in the boonies. This wasn’t just new, but modern and expensive. The footprint was irregular, with a shining polarized glass sun room jutting off to one side.
“Go ahead and pull around to the back,” I said.
Gregory nodded, but said, “We couldn’t see this place from the road. You really think they’re going to spot the Jeep?”
“If they decide to go down the driveway, they will,” I said. “Let’s err on the side of caution.”
The land looked flat enough, but the rear of
the house held another surprise in the form of a long incline leading to a garage door at basement level. There weren’t any cars sitting there, so Gregory rolled down the ramp and parked.
What we should have done was sit there with the windows cracked and the engine off. Listening to the sounds around us for any sign of new arrivals. The smartest, safest thing was to remain in the Jeep and stay ready to roll out at a moment’s notice.
Instead, we decided to check the house for useful supplies. We were there anyway, right? Why not take the time to do a quick run-through?
It was a stupid, bad decision, and everything turned to shit.
We went in through the back door. It was locked but whoever had owned the place must have thought no one else on the planet had ever seen those fake rocks you store a key in, because the thing was glaringly obvious. I entered the house first, pistol at the ready but low.
A man stood in the kitchen beyond with a shotgun leveled at my face.
I froze. Jem might have had something to say about that reaction, which just made me glad he wasn’t there. I kind of thought it was the right one to have since the time it would take me to raise and fire my weapon was much shorter than the travel time of the shotgun’s trigger.
“Drop it,” the man said in a tone of voice leaving no interpretive wiggle room. I dropped it. Behind me, Robert also dropped his borrowed gun.
I raised my hands, though only to shoulder height. I stood there with my arms wide to show I wasn’t going to reach for another weapon. “I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. “We thought this place was abandoned.”
“It’s not,” the man said tersely. “You need to get the fuck out before I put a hole through your chest I could stick a fist through.”
It was the sort of threat you hear in the movies but rarely in real life. Most people let the weapon be all the threat they needed. I would have backed away then and sacrificed the Springfield as well as the pistol Robert dropped, but a flicker of movement across the room caught my attention.