She watched as the speedometer climbed past 30, 40, 50, 60 miles an hour. She hadn’t even topped 70 since she was a teenager, in 2010, before everything. Yet as she tore along the road, Michelle found herself topping 90.
“Michelle,” Donnie said, sounding nervous. “These aren’t the best roads in the world. You might want to…slow down?”
As if on cue, Michelle slammed on the brakes. Ahead of them, they saw an almost identical scenario to the one that had caused their initial turnaround — an abandoned vehicle, its now-deceased former occupants, and a horde of zombies kneeling over them.
“What now?” Donnie asked again, his tone turning dejected. “We’re a good three miles from any other decent side road, aren’t we? Won’t we come across the Z’s from that van if we turn back?”
Michelle squinted at the mass of humanity and ex-humanity ahead of her and suddenly got an idea. On their initial path, the road had been blocked by a big conversion van on a two-lane road, meaning she’d have had a hard time pulling past even without the mass of bodies on either side.
This time, though, the vehicle before them was an ancient VW Bug, at least 65 years old, that was more rust than its original purple color. It took up barely one lane of the road, and the opposite lane had only bodies in it.
“Michelle?” Donnie said. “What do we do?”
Michelle glanced over at her passenger. Donnie sat low in the seat, looking younger than he was. She looked back in front of them one more time and put both hands on the steering wheel. “Buckle up,” she said.
Donnie’s eyes bulged as what Michelle was about to do dawned on him. As he fumbled with the belt as quickly as he could, Michelle gunned the accelerator again and aimed directly for the zombies in the left-hand lane.
As the car sped toward them, some of the zombies seemed to realize the situation. Michelle saw two of them stand up and start to run toward them. Before they could get more than a step or two, she and Donnie were upon them.
The first zombie, a teenage boy with a blood-saturated face, flipped over the hood of the car. His head collided with the windshield just in front of Michelle’s face, making a sickening crack, but the windshield appeared to hold. Michelle hit the second, a slightly younger teen with no visible injuries, on the dead center of the hood, knocking him over backward. The car bumped as the zombie went underneath it, but Michelle didn’t let off the gas.
Finally, the old sedan got to the rest of the zombies, and the dead bodies that had captured the attention of the other Z’s. Donnie reached out his left hand and placed it on the dashboard before him, while the right clenched the emergency handle just above his head. Michelle’s own knuckles had turned completely white on the steering wheel.
She collided with the pile, sending some of the zombies, the ones who had been bent over instead of on their knees, flying away. Others fell to the ground, and the car bounced over the mass of bodies below it.
Seconds later, it was over. The car was beyond the zombies and the VW, and it hadn’t stopped. A rattled Donnie turned in his seat to look at the carnage, then turned to face Michelle, his eyes wide.
Michelle glanced over to Donnie for a second, then hit him with a jab to the shoulder.
“What was that?” Donnie asked.
“Punch buggy purple,” Michelle said, trying to smile. “No punch back.”
For several seconds, Donnie continued to stare at her. Suddenly, he realized she was making a joke, and he cracked the smallest of smiles.
The brief moment of relaxation didn’t last, though; within a mile or two, Michelle noticed steam pouring out from under the hood.
“What is that?” she asked Donnie nervously. She was far from a car expert, but knew that seeing anything coming out of your hood was a bad sign.
“If I had to guess,” Donnie said, leaning forward and squinting at the zombie-shaped damage, “one of the collisions knocked the serpentine belt out of whack. That goes, the radiator goes.”
“And if the radiator goes…”
“The car goes. We’ll be able to keep driving this thing until we can’t anymore. And that’ll be soon.”
Michelle nodded wordlessly. He confirmed exactly what she was worried about. She checked her rearview, curious if any of the zombies from the road were still on their tail. She saw none, but knew that they could show up at any moment.
“Is that something we can fix? The belt, at least, if not the radiator?”
“Not without more tools and time than we have right now,” Donnie said, his voice as low as Michelle thought her own sounded.
Michelle shook her head. She kept driving for another few hundred yards, then pulled off into the small parking lot of a church. By this point, steam was pouring out from the hood, to the point that Michelle knew she was stopping soon regardless of whether she wanted to or not. She parked the car in a row of spaces near the exit, about fifteen feet from another car, popped the hood and jumped from the car.
Donnie climbed out as well, and together they lifted the hood and were greeted by even more steam, forcing the two to step back. When it had dissipated, Donnie crept forward and peered at the belt and the radiator. It revealed exactly what he had been scared of — the belt had snapped clean through, and Michelle’s car wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.
“It’s toast,” he said.
“Damn it,” Michelle said. “That was stupid.”
“What was?”
“Driving over the zombies. I shouldn’t have been so reckless.”
“I don’t think you had any better option, Michelle,” he said, trying to console her.
“What do we do, Donnie?” Michelle asked. “I’ve got to keep moving.”
“We could walk,” Donnie offered with a shrug. “We figured we’d have to eventually. It’s why we got all the supplies.”
“Yeah,” Michelle said. She had hoped they’d be able to make it to the Cape before resorting to the slowest and least safe possible mode of transportation. She fished her pack from the backseat, and watched as Donnie did the same. She looked back out to the road, still searching for any zombies that may have been following, but still saw none.
Donnie started to lead out to the road when Michelle was struck with an idea.
“Donnie,” she said. He stopped and looked back at her, then followed her gaze to the parking lot’s other vehicle.
He started to nod, but stopped. “But… what if someone needs it?”
Michelle turned to the church. It looked like it was still in use, with regular upkeep, but other than the car, she saw no signs that there might have been anyone present at that moment. “Anyone inside the church is going to stay there,” Michelle said.
Donnie nodded again. Michelle approached the vehicle, hoping its owner was as cavalier about leaving it unlocked as she was with her own car. She crossed her fingers and pulled the driver door open.
For a split-second, Michelle was disappointed, but then the ding-ding-ding noise that indicated keys in the ignition started up. Michelle never thought she’d be so happy to hear that noise.
She opened the back door and slung her pack onto the seat. Donnie turned and walked back to the car as well. Before he put his own pack inside, though, he stopped and looked toward the church.
“What are you doing?” Michelle asked.
Donnie put his right hand on his gun and started walking toward the church front. “I have to check,” he said. “If they don’t have any food, any way to stay here, and we take their car, I couldn’t live with that. Maybe we take them with us.”
Michelle watched him go. She wasn’t at all a fan of adding any more people to their small group, but wasn’t about to tell Donnie to leave whoever it was to die. She hadn’t enjoyed leaving Nick behind, even when Nick was being a jerk.
Nonetheless, Michelle thought, she wasn’t about to help Donnie. She was going to stay right next to the car, ready to go as soon as he returned.
Donnie climbed the short flight of steps in front of the
church. He knocked twice at the church door and stood at the door, waiting.
“Donnie…?” Michelle called from the car. When he turned, she almost smiled. She couldn’t help the feeling that Donnie reminded her of a 12-year-old boy. “It’s a church. You can go in.”
Donnie looked thoughtful for a moment, like the idea hadn’t occurred to him. Then he nodded to Michelle and started to turn back to the door.
Just as Donnie reached for the handle, though, the door burst outward, knocking him backward off the step. He hit the ground hard on his backside, his legs caught up in a small bush that grew alongside the step. His head hit the sidewalk as he fell.
Michelle’s attention, though, was still on the door, on the thing that had forced the door open. Standing on the step, scanning the outside world, was the body of a woman in her mid-50s. It wore a long skirt and thin sweater over a bony frame and, though Michelle could see no signs of visible injury, the eyes gave away that it, like the ones from the Volkswagen that were doubtless heading that way, was a zombie.
The woman’s head swiveled around, searching for whatever had knocked at the door. It didn’t notice Michelle standing beside the car, but finally settled on Donnie, rubbing his head and still seeing stars on the ground.
The zombie, spying its prey, leapt from the stoop with agility that belied the age of its body, landing on a small plot of dirt between the first and second bushes. From this vantage point, with the zombie’s back to her, Michelle could see blood stains on its back, though she still couldn’t determine the wound that had caused it.
The zombie knelt over Donnie just as he regained awareness of his surroundings. The first thing he saw, after the stars, was the zombie bending over him, mouth open.
Donnie pushed his legs hard against the bush he was tangled in, gaining just enough traction to force himself a few inches backward. He wrenched his legs free and rolled to the left, away from the zombie, but it, being largely uninjured, sprang after him. Donnie continued his roll until he was on his back again and grabbed at the weapon at his side.
It was taking him too long, though, and the zombie was above him again before he had even found the gun. Donnie flinched back, closed his eyes and held his breath, wondering whether the zombie would go for his neck or his shoulder. Maybe it’d be more random, he thought, and go for his pec. Or his ear.
But the bite never came. Instead, Donnie heard a shot ring out and felt his face get wet. The body collapsed on top of Donnie, and he froze, not sure what to do next.
“Don’t move!” he heard Michelle call. “Don’t open your eyes! Don’t even breathe!”
Donnie obeyed, and the next sound he heard was the door of the car opening. Seconds later, it slammed back shut, and Donnie felt a moment of panic that she was leaving him. Another moment later, though, Donnie heard footsteps hurrying over. He heard a grunt from Michelle at the same time that the body was forced off of him.
His hands free, Donnie reached up to wipe his face.
“Hold on,” Michelle said. The next thing Donnie felt was something else wet, slightly cooler this time, falling across his face. Some kind of cloth was next, wiping Donnie’s face clean.
“Okay,” Michelle said, with a tone of nervousness in her voice. “You can get up.”
Donnie opened his eyes squinting. Michelle stood over him, a half-empty bottle of water and a rag in one hand, her gun in the other. She was looking down at Donnie and appeared to be concentrating hard.
“Thanks,” Donnie said, pushing himself upright. His head was killing him, and his butt was stinging, but those pains paled in comparison to what he assumed a bite would have felt like.
Instead of joining Donnie in his relief, though, Michelle backed up a few steps as he rose. Her finger, Donnie noticed, was still on the trigger. “What’s up?” he asked.
Michelle squinted at him, examining his face. “Did any of the blood go in your mouth?” she asked. “Your eyes? Anything?”
Donnie flinched, realizing her concern. If any of the blood had gotten in through one of those entry points, Donnie knew, he was as good as dead. And while he didn’t think any had — he was pretty sure his eyes had stayed closed continuously after the gunshot, and he thought he’d taste any blood that might have gotten in his mouth — he couldn’t say for certain either way.
“I…I don’t think so,” he said, worried that one wrong word would cause Michelle, rightly or wrongly, to shoot him in the head, a result he wasn’t exactly eager for. “I really don’t think so,” he repeated.
“How do you feel?” Michelle asked.
“Fine,” Donnie said. That was the truth. Other than the external injuries from his fall, and the fact that his heart was beating so hard he thought it might burst at any moment, Donnie felt none the worse for his encounter. “I feel fine right now.”
Michelle nodded. “That’s good,” she said, “but infection can take a few minutes, especially if it doesn’t directly enter the bloodstream. If it got in through your eyes or your mouth, you’ll feel it eventually.”
Donnie knew all this was true. “So what do we do?” he asked.
Michelle shrugged. “Wait.” She put the water bottle and rag on the church stoop and climbed the stairs, where she entered the church and looked around inside briefly. There was one body she found, only a few feet inside the door. It had once belonged to a small child, no older than 8, and, judging by the blood streaking down each side of the child’s mouth, it had been a zombie by the time the bullet hole that Michelle saw in its forehead found its target. A few feet away, Michelle found a gun. When the rest of the area proved empty, Michelle assumed this child had infected the woman that had attacked Donnie, and the woman had destroyed it but, for whatever reason, hadn’t killed herself. Heaven, Michelle thought ruefully. There’s that old worry that suicide is the one way not to get there. Even in infection, some clung to that.
When Michelle came back out of the church, deciding that no one else was inside, she made sure to shut the door behind her.
Donnie stayed several feet away from Michelle while she secured the area. If he had been infected, he wasn’t about to stand so close to her that she wouldn’t have the chance to react when he changed. “What I don’t understand,” he said, “is how it happened that she came out the door right then. It’s been hours since this started. Why was it right when I was standing by the door that she wanted to leave?”
“You ever read Salvisa’s stuff?” Michelle asked immediately.
“On the website? Sure, a lot of it,” Donnie said.
“He conducted this…oral history after 2010. Spoke to all sorts of survivors. One of the conclusions everyone seemed to come to is that a zombie, if it is somehow in an enclosed space without knowing there are people outside, will just…be. They’re content to stay trapped, because they don’t know they’re trapped.
“But the second something alerts them to the outside world,” she continued, “like, for example, knocking, they’ll do anything to get out. Once they know where food is, it’s all-consuming. There was this story I read, from a juvenile detention center. Some zombies in a cell ended up destroying their own brains trying to get through the bars.”
As she spoke, Michelle had moved on to the body of the woman on the ground. She rolled the body over and felt around her person, in her pockets, through her clothes.
“What are you looking for?” Donnie said, taking a seat on the stoop from which he had fell.
“Not sure,” Michelle said. “But it can’t hurt to look.” She pulled a small gold chain with a cross on the end out from underneath the woman’s sweater. “Maybe this is why she didn’t like you,” she said, turning to Donnie with a smile.
Donnie chuckled. “Maybe,” he agreed, nodding.
Her search concluded, Michelle stood up. “It’s been, what, five minutes?” she asked. “How do you feel?”
Donnie started to answer, then stopped. He wasn’t about to lie to her. He stood up himself and paced about ten feet in e
ither direction, feeling his face and hands as he did. Finally, he stopped. Michelle, he noticed, had yet to put her gun away, or even to remove her finger from its spot just millimeters from the trigger as she watched him consider.
“I think I’m good,” he said.
“You sure?” Michelle said, raising an eyebrow toward Donnie. As she did, though, he noticed her gun hand relax. She wanted confirmation, but she also trusted him.
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, my head hurts like hell from where I fell. And my ass is killing me. But that’s all external stuff, right? I’m good.”
Michelle eyed him bottom to top, ending by stepping close to Donnie and checking his eyes. Finally, she tucked her gun back into its holster. “Good,” she said, putting a little too much of a light tone into her voice. “Then let’s go. Hyannis awaits.”
Donnie nodded and followed Michelle toward the church car. He too tried to affect a light tone. “I can’t believe we’re stealing a church car.”
Michelle spared a glance back at the body of the woman in the bushes. “Yeah,” she said. “We’re stealing a church car.” After a short pause, she added, and Donnie was sure she was no longer talking about the car, “May God forgive us.”
Chapter 12: Hungry
Celia couldn’t remember ever in her life feeling hungrier than she was right then. At first, she thought she was just being childish, until she really thought about it and realized that she hadn’t eaten since sometime the night before, and it was now early evening.
She was hesitant to say anything, though; their lives were on the line, she felt like a little hunger was the last thing she should be complaining about. After all, she knew her father had gone days at a time without food in 2010; surely she could go one.
By the time her father had gotten the car turned around, the convoy of military vehicles was out of sight. They drove along in its wake at a slightly slower speed than they had been going before. Once, briefly, Celia thought she caught a glimpse of the trailing vehicle, but Roger slowed long enough that the convoy disappeared again.
After Life Page 14