by Megan Berry
Ryan hops into the F-150 with Jack, we need it for the extra fuel it can haul, while Silas, Dad, and I take the new truck.
Silas drives and my dad sits in the passenger seat with the map spread across his lap. I sit in the backseat, staring at the DVD players in the headrests and wishing I had a DVD.
“How far is it to Atlanta?” I ask, leaning forward so I can poke my head into the front between Silas and my dad.
“Ten hours,” Dad answers automatically, just like he used to do when I was a kid and we’d go on road trips; I would hound him unmercifully about the time.
“We won’t be getting there today though,” Silas interrupts. “We don’t want to find ourselves in the middle of Atlanta with the sun going down. I’m not saying this to scare you, but that place is going to be crawling with the dead.”
He might not be trying to scare me, but he succeeds anyway. I swallow hard, trying to block out the image of what a city with a population of half-a-million people would look like post-apocalypse. “Hopefully they didn’t bomb it like New York,” I say, and Silas nods his head.
“There is no way to know until we get there…but it doesn’t seem as likely. New York and Atlanta are not even in the same category population-wise,” Silas reassures me. I pray he’s right, or else I’ve just dragged everyone away from the safety of the cabin for nothing.
We try to stay on the main roads as much as possible. Sometimes, due to deep snow or vehicle pile-ups tangled on the road, we have to backtrack and find an alternate route. After a few hours, the snow disappears and the temperature gauge starts to climb. It’s amazing to see grass after the weather we’ve had up on the mountain, but the lack of snow and cold also means zombies.
We slowly start to see more and more of them, but they aren’t moving very fast. “They must not be cold enough to freeze, but it’s still cold enough to limit their mobility,” Silas says, leaning forward with interest as we pass a slow-moving herd along the side of the Interstate. The zombies stop and gawk at us and then very slowly start to raise their arms in our direction, but their feet don’t quite follow. It would almost be comical if they weren’t still zombies!
I have no idea how I manage to fall asleep, but I’m woken with a start when the truck slams on its brakes. “What was that?” I yell louder than I intended as I bolt awake and look wildly around, expecting a hoard to be pounding on the windows. I take a deep breath and turn to find Silas and my dad staring at me with big eyes.
“The bridge is out,” Silas explains slowly, like he thinks I’m slow after my performance.
I stare past his head and see the crumbled remains of a bridge. “What happened to that thing?” I ask in surprise. The bridge isn’t just broken. It’s totally annihilated.
“It looks like someone blew it up,” Silas answers as he becomes more alert and starts scanning the landscape for anything that could pose a danger.
“I don’t know what anyone’s reason for that would be, but I don’t like it,” Dad mumbles, and Silas nods.
“It could be a trap, create a bottle neck,” he agrees, making my pulse spike.
Silas reaches over and picks the walkie off the dash. “Bridge is out, let’s get out of here,” he explains.
After a moment of strained silence, Ryan replies from the other truck. “Ten- four.”
My dad pulls the map out of the glovebox and spreads it out. “There are a few more bridges if we go east,” he tells Silas.
Silas grunts in acknowledgement as he cranks the wheel. I look behind us and see the Ford following doggedly on our tail.
“Where are we?” I ask, not quite sure how far we got while I was napping.
“Kentucky,” Silas and my dad say at the exact same time.
“Not too far from Louisville,” Silas adds, “But I think it’s probably best to avoid the bigger cities.” I’ve never been to Kentucky before, and the irony that I’ve been seeing more of the United States since the zombies came than I ever did before isn’t lost on me.
“Hopefully the rest of the bridges will be intact and we won’t have to,” Dad mutters.
“What’s that up ahead?” I ask, leaning forward to identify the dark blob in the ditch up ahead.
Silas rips open his backpack and pulls out a pair of binoculars. “It’s a car in the ditch,” he calls out, grabbing the walkie talkie again. “There’s a car in the ditch with a couple dead-heads scratching at the door,” Silas says, relaying the message back to Ryan and Jack as he slows the truck.
“What should we do?” my dad asks, and I know he’s thinking about our last run in with humanity. I am too, and I definitely want to avoid getting shot.
Silas shrugs as he stares at the non-descript four-door sedan parked up ahead. “It definitely looks like someone is inside, or they wouldn’t be that interested,” he says, thinking out loud, and I have to bite down on my first instinct to suggest that we go help them. I’ve learned the hard way that not everyone deserves our help. The preacher that we picked up on the side of the road flashes through my mind, and I grip the butt of my gun.
"What if it's a kid?" Ryan asks through the walkie talkie, and we all glance at one another uncomfortably. My mind is instantly pulled to Sunny.
"Maybe we should take a careful look?" I relent, and Silas looks like he wants to refuse. I turn and shoot my dad the sad eyeballs until he looks like he's starting to waver.
Dad finally nods his head to Silas, and Silas let's out a curse that even I would hesitate to use in front of my dad, but he cranks the wheel and hits the gas pedal.
I wince when we get closer—expecting to feel the pierce of a bullet at any minute—but it doesn't come.
When we pull abreast the car, the zombies turn their attention to us. Through the gore-caked window, I can definitely see movement inside. Silas goes agonizingly slow while he baits the zombies along beside us. Finally, when we are clear of the other car, he pulls over, hops out, and puts a neat bullet between the eyes of all four zombies.
“Stay in the car, Jane,” Dad instructs, but I pretend I don’t hear him as I jump out. There is no way I’m hiding in the car while Silas is out there risking his life.
Silas is stepping up to the door with his gun out, kind of policeman style, and I watch with my breath held while he throws the door open and steps back, raising his gun.
A woman’s scream pierces the otherwise quiet. “Please don’t hurt me,” she begs, and the fear in her voice sounds real. I push past my dad, who’s followed me outside, and head towards the car. I peek inside. An older woman, maybe in her mid-fifties, is cowering inside.
“Ma’am?” I call out and watch her head swivel at the sound of a female voice. She’s shaking as her eyes land on me, and she looks momentarily relieved before her eyes flick back to Silas. “I think that’s good, Silas,” I tell him, and he slowly lowers his gun, but he doesn’t put it away. He clearly remembers our run-in with the preacher as well.
“Thank you,” the woman tells me, tentatively moving to get out of the car. Silas watches her every move like a hawk, and I know he’s making her nervous, but I can’t really blame him.
“Sorry,” I tell her, nodding towards Silas. “We’ve just had a few bad experiences.” The woman nods like that makes total sense.
“Of course,” she says, her voice growing steadier by the moment when no one attacks her. She gets out and steps into the sunshine and stretches, her back giving a loud pop. “I was trapped in there all night,” she tells us, and I frown.
“Are you having car troubles?” Dad asks, finally joining the conversation, and the woman nods.
“Something went in the old girl last night,” she says with a laugh. “I’m not very far from Louisville, so I thought I’d just wait it out—I’m too damn old to walk—and I knew someone would be along eventually.” She frowns up at the sky. “I thought my useless son would come looking before now though,” she shakes her head.
“Louisville?” Silas asks, and the woman points in the direction we w
ere heading.
“It’s a settlement about ten miles that way,” she tells him, and I frown at her unfamiliar use of the word ‘settlement.’
“You live there?” Silas asks, and she nods. “Not before the break-out, but now?” he clarifies, obviously fascinated at the idea.
The woman nods again like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “I lived there before too,” she tells him. “A bunch of us do. It’s a designated safe zone.”
Silas, my dad, and I all stare at one another in surprise.
“I’m Daphne, by the way.”
Ryan and Jack walk up beside us, and Silas fills them in while Dad, Daphne, and I move her stuff into our truck. “What were you doing out here by yourself?” I ask once we are in the truck. Dad’s driving now and Silas is in the back with me. I reach out and grab his hand, and he squeezes back.
“I go out a couple times a week to check on my friend, Mary. She lives on a farm nearby, but even with the zombies, she refuses to move to town,” Daphne chuckles. “She’s a firecracker all right,” she tells us. “Last year her nephew tried committing her to one of those nursing homes so he could sell the farm out from underneath her—she met him on the porch with a twelve gage—changed his mind pretty quick.”
I can’t help but chuckle, Daphne just has such a flair for life. Her good mood is contagious. I have no idea how she managed to keep her spirit throughout the zombies.
We aren’t driving for very long when we pass a sign for the city of Louisville. “Where do we go?” my dad asks, and I feel Silas’s hand clench in my own.
“The second exit,” Daphne tells him, pointing it out. The exit merges onto an overpass that has been completely blocked off with chain link. I hold my breath as a man and a woman each step up to one of the windows. They are armed, but they don’t raise their weapons. When my dad rolls down the window, the woman stares across the seat at our newest addition.
“Daphne, where have you been?” she exclaims in a thick accent, and Daphne gives her a big smile.
“Brenda, dear, how are you?” she asks, but she doesn’t leave the woman enough time to answer before she’s talking again, a mile a minute. “I had car trouble. I was trapped on the side of the road with the biters swarming my car when these fine folks came along and saved me.” Daphne beams at us all, but Brenda doesn’t look quite so happy to see us.
“What is your business in the area?” the man standing beside Brenda asks, and my dad frowns at his invasive questions.
“We were just on our way through, but the bridge was blown out,” my dad says, answering the man evenly. The man glances in the back at me and Silas, then behind us where Jack and Ryan are sitting in the Ford.
“Who is that behind you?” the man asks again, and my dad shrugs.
“Friends of ours that are travelling with us,” Dad answers, and the man looks skeptical.
“Why are you travelling in two vehicles?” the man practically barks, and I can see my dad’s shoulders starting to grow stiff with tension.
“It’s always good to have a backup,” Dad replies, “In case we have car trouble.” Daphne barks with laughter at that.
“That is too true,” she tells the guards, who humor her with a small smile.
“Why are ya’ll trying to cross the Ohio River?” Brenda asks, seeming every bit like a police officer interrogating someone caught speeding.
“We’re trying to get to Atlanta,” Dad answers honestly, and Brenda’s face goes slack with surprise.
“Don’t you know that place belongs to the dead?” she asks. “It’s completely overrun.”
“What about the CDC?” I blurt out, making her eye me suspiciously. “We wanted to see if they had maybe developed a cure?” I cover, but Brenda shakes her head.
“There ain’t no cure for this sickness,” she tells us. “We have a few people that fled from that direction, even a couple scientists. Believe me, we would know if there was a cure.”
Silas and I exchange twin looks of excitement. What are the chances?
“What happened to the bridges?” Dad asks, probably to change the subject as much as from actual curiosity.
“We blew them up,” the guy answers. “The South has too many zombies; they were using the bridges to cross. The damn things won’t go near the water though, it helps protect the city.”
“I think we’re gonna get going now, if you two don’t mind,” Daphne interrupts suddenly, and I’m surprised when neither of the guards argue with her. “I’m going to take these fine folks into my home and feed them a decent dinner,” she says, waving goodbye as she motions for my dad to drive forward.
Dad looks unsure, but Daphne reaches over and gives him a friendly poke. When the guards still do nothing, he puts the truck in drive and follows Daphne’s directions to an enormous plantation-style house in what is clearly a fancy part of town.
“This is where you live?” I blurt out, unable to help myself.
Daphne nods with pride. “Fourth generation to do so.”
We drive up to a large wrought iron gate, and a man jumps forward to swing the gate open for us. Daphne waves and the man nods his head in respect before swinging the gate shut behind our two vehicles.
“Are you the mayor or something?” I ask, barely resisting the urge to substitute the word mayor with queen. Daphne looks back and smiles at me.
“That is very close. My late husband was the mayor, and my son has taken over his duties since he…fell ill.”
I nod, not able to miss the fact that ‘fall ill’ probably means turned into a zombie—I guess Daphne isn’t as untouched by the apocalypse as I’d assumed.
The house is enormous and sprawling and each room has its own marble fireplace, some are lit and some are not. It is clear this house has been around awhile and possesses a rich history, probably dating back to the days before electricity and indoor heat, which explains why there are so many fireplaces.
Daphne leads us to an enormous sitting room with a cheerful fire glowing in the hearth, and she offers us each a drink. Silas, Daphne, and my dad each take a whiskey in a fine crystal glass. Dad frowns at me when I nod my head as Daphne’s pouring, so I hastily switch my order to water. Daphne actually takes the time to pour it out of the plastic bottle and into a crystal glass of my own. It is so surreal, almost like the zombies never even happened as we all sit around this fancy room with its expensive art and oriental carpets, sipping out of real crystal stemware. I glance over at Silas and he looks uncomfortable—which makes me smile into my glass a little.
“Now,” Daphne says with a matronly grin. “Why don’t we all cut the bullshit and you tell me why you really wanted to get to the CDC?” Her words shock me, and the smile never once waives from her face.
Finally, we all look sideways at Jack, leaving the decision up to him whether he wants to share his story with the mayor of Louisville’s mother.
“Ma’am,” Jack says, standing up from his chair and turning around to peel his shirt off. I watch Daphne’s eyes grow wide as she stares at the bite marks that decorate his back.
“You’re immune,” she breathes in excitement, and Jack nods.
“I don’t know why,” he answers as he starts to pull his shirt back on. Daphne springs out of her chair and halts him with a gentle touch to his elbow.
“Do you mind?” she asks, even though she’s already leaning in and tracing the raised scar tissue with her fingertips.
“Have you ever seen anyone else that was bitten and didn’t turn?” I ask when she seems to get lost in the motion. Daphne pulls her hand away and shakes her head.
“Never,” she admits, “You were wise not to bring this up earlier in front of just anyone,” she tells us seriously. She reaches toward the side table and picks up a bell, pausing her hand just before she rings it. “Do you mind if I call the doctor to examine you?” she asks, and Jack hesitates.
“I suppose not…” he says, though it’s obvious he has some reservations.
“Dr. Rup
pert is very good,” Daphne promises. “She was one of the doctors that joined us from the CDC.”
My ears perk up at this news, and finally Jack nods. Daphne smiles happily and rings the bell. A moment later, a tired looking woman pops her head inside the room and curtsies.
“You rang, Ma’am?” she asks, and Daphne nods like having your own personal servant during the apocalypse isn’t super weird!
“Yes, please go find Dr. Ruppert and bring her to me. Tell her it’s important.”
The woman nods and takes off without having to be told twice. We all sit awkwardly around the room, waiting. Finally, the door opens and a man steps inside the room.
“Brenda told me you were entertaining,” the man says in way of greeting as he walks into the room and pours himself a large portion of whiskey in one of the crystal glasses. He’s wearing an impeccable three-piece suit and his hair is pulled back with gel. Not one hair is out of place. I stare at the man in wonder, people like this were an anomaly, even before the world ended.
“Dr. Ruppert?” Jack asks, stepping forward with his hand out. The man takes a long swallow of whiskey before ignoring Jack’s hand and shaking his head.
Daphne slaps the man on the arm and lets out a tut. “Please forgive his rudeness. You’d swear he was raised in a barn,” she says with a small trill of laughter. “Please meet my son. Raddison, the mayor of Louisville.
Chapter Twelve
Raddison stares down his nose at us like bugs under a microscope. He doesn’t even stop sipping his whiskey until the cup is empty.
Daphne reaches up and slaps her wayward son in the back of his head, making him cringe and reach for his hair to make sure it is still perfectly gelled. I instantly dislike him. He is rude and unwelcoming, and he reminds me of a spoiled man-child. Daphne doesn’t seem too thrilled with him either.
“Were you aware that I didn’t come home last night?” she asks her son, and he shrugs.