by Rosaria, A.
Ethan held the front door open. Derrick stood on the other side, his Remington shotgun with attached flashlight aimed at the feasting zombies. Brenda cajoled Lauryn inside. It was only then Lauryn realized Ralph wasn’t behind them or with the others.
“Ralph? Ralph! Where is Ralph?” She yanked free of Brenda’s hold and ran for the door. Derrick grabbed her as he ran inside, followed closely by Ethan, who shut the door.
“No, open the door. He’s still outside.”
Ethan shook his head. “I’m sorry. He’s gone.”
“No, he’s not!”
She struggled free of Derrick. Ethan rushed to her. She raised her axe. “Come near me and I’ll bash your head in.”
Ethan backed away, holding his palms out. “Calm down. We can’t do anything for him with those things outside.”
“I don’t care,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. She backed toward the door. Her axe held high, she felt for the doorknob with the other hand.
Lauryn cried out in pain when Brenda wrenched the axe from her.
“Sorry, Lauryn. I can’t allow you to get yourself killed. Ralph would never forgive me.”
Lauryn yanked her wrist free and fought to open the door. Ethan pulled her away and Derrick pushed the door shut. Something slammed against the door.
“Get something to block the door,” Derrick yelled.
A window broke.
Lauryn stopped struggling. “Let me go,” she ordered. Ethan hesitated.
Another window shattered.
Ethan let her go and grabbed his rifle. Lauryn snatched her axe off the floor. Brenda held Derrick’s shotgun.
“We can’t stay down here.” Lauryn ran for the stairs.
Brenda followed. Ethan and Derrick held for a moment. Another window shattered and they too bolted up the stairs.
As Lauryn reached the second floor, the front door smashed open and a male zombie walked inside and growled.
Lauryn ran down the hallway and searched the ceiling for the trap door to the attic. At the end of the corridor, she jumped, grabbed the rope hanging from the ceiling, and pulled the stairs down. Brenda climbed up, followed by Derrick.
“Go!” Ethan said. Lauryn shook her head. “There is no time,” Ethan said as he pushed her up the stairs. She climbed. Ethan whirled around, shot his rifle, and cursed, and looked up at her with haunted eyes.
“Sorry, I am—” He was overwhelmed by the undead and dragged out of sight.
“No. No. No. Nooooo!” Lauryn cried, turning to climb back down the stairs. Brenda grabbed her while Derrick pulled the stairs up and shut the trap door.
A scream rose up before fading into a gurgle.
Lauryn dropped on her side, covered her eyes, and cried, not caring what came next.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sarah sat at a table in the school’s cafeteria with Priss. It was Italian specialty day, a popular one based on how crowded it was. Today, it was pizza and lasagna.
“Priss, your nose is running,” Sarah whispered.
Priss flashed her a look, fished a handkerchief out her pocket, and wiped her nose. “God, if this keeps going on, they are going to put me in lockdown.”
Not only was her nose running, but Priss also looked sickly pale.
“Maybe you should go home and rest.”
“You go home and rest. I want pizza.”
Sarah watched the long line advance toward the cashier. “Shouldn’t you be standing in line, then?”
Priss puffed out air, slumped in her chair, and pouted. “I’m tired. Why don’t you go get me some?”
Sarah laughed. She wasn’t hungry and didn’t like Italian food. The sauce looked similar to blood, and she had had her fair share of that. “You think that will convince me?”
“Oh, please, pretty, pretty please? I’m ill.” Priss faked a cough and then coughed for real. Two kids passing by shot her wary glances. Sarah stared them down.
“Are you okay?”
Priss coughed once more, smiled, and looked up. “I’ll be okay if you get me pizza.”
Smart little mouse had her. There was no denying her after that comment.
Priss had been nice to her and had befriended her against her father’s wishes. Even if she hadn’t done that, Sarah still would have liked the girl. She was withdrawn in class, but once she warmed up, she was full of life.
As Sarah stood, she grimaced. “Okay, okay, just this once, I’ll get you food, but you’ll owe me one for this.”
“Are you really?” Priss said, surprised.
Sarah nodded and left the girl staring at her with real gratitude in her eyes. The damn runt had been joking, and Sarah had fallen for it.
Sarah got in line behind a redhead girl. Sarah disliked gingers. Something about them was always off, and this one was no different. The girl turned around, and when she saw Sarah, she recoiled, clamped onto her friend in front of her, and whispered loud enough for Sarah to hear. “It’s her. That girl who beat up the math teacher and got away with it. I heard she slept with the guards and they let her go.”
The other girl glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s that slut.”
Make no scenes, Terry had told her. Behave, he had said. Sarah fumed and would have loved to go apeshit on these girls. However, she held herself in check. Instead, she said between clenched teeth, “Could you please hurry? The line is moving.”
The girls jumped a little at Sarah’s voice and scurried forward to close the gap. That got the line moving, but didn’t stop their gossiping. Sarah wanted to smash their heads together until they cracked. She didn’t notice she was closing and opening her hands until people around her started staring at her. She balled her fists and opened them once more before she got herself in check.
Sarah grabbed a tray, and put two plates, utensils, and napkins on it. Each person was allowed one pizza; she would give Priss hers. Three minutes later—and not sure how much longer she could take this line of imbeciles—she stood at the counter. A plump middle-aged woman with a round face and black short hair tucked into a hairnet asked her what she wanted.
“Two pieces of pizza, please.”
The woman threw a slice on each plate. “Next!”
The service was nothing to write home about. The pay must suck. Sarah wondered why so many people were still catering to outers. It didn’t make sense. Where would you spend the money? She suspected they were indentured servants, sold into slavery to be saved from the viral onslaught outside.
“Move along, girly. You had your share.”
Sarah quickly left the line to the drink dispenser. What would Priss like? Some soda or something healthier? She filled a cup with cola and another with orange juice. Whatever Priss liked, she would get. Sarah was fine with that.
Two boys stood at her table, looming over Priss. Sarah cursed under her breath as she hurried back. She pushed the tray on the table, almost toppling over the cup with the cola.
“Leave her alone!”
The tallest boy, about a head taller, approached her. “Easy there. We were just talking.”
His pinched face oozed insincerity. Boys like him never wanted to just talk.
“Yeah right. Just go back to where you came from.”
The shorter boy joined his friend. “You gonna make us?”
The short guys always had the biggest mouth. If only she had a gun. Two quick shots to the back of their heads would teach them not to mess with her.
“Just get lost!”
“Omar, you heard that? She wants us to leave,” shorty said.
“Shuddup already. We’ll get them another time.”
The big one turned around and walked away. Shorty lingered for a second, a sly smile on his lips, his eyes gazing at her breasts. She stared back at him, showing no emotion, while she steamed on the inside. Finally, he turned and followed his friend.
Sarah sat down. “Who are they?”
“Nobodies.”
“And they dare harass you, k
nowing who your father is?”
Priss smiled, a weak little smile. She looked so pale, so fragile. “Exactly because they know who my father is. Omar is the son of the city guard commander, the other one the stepchild of a guard. They dislike my father, downright hate him.”
“Not a difficult thing to do,” Sarah mumbled.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I said nothing. Just eat your pizza. I stood damn near fifteen minutes in line to get it for you, so don’t let it get cold.”
Priss played with the pizza in front of her, picked it up, took a small bite, and put it back down. “It’s great.”
“You don’t look too good.” Sarah pushed the orange juice to her.
She took a sip. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”
Well, she was worried, a lot. She really hoped this was a minor cold, that the girl would be up and running by tomorrow. Maybe it was best if Priss went home to rest and skipped school. They had about thirty minutes of break remaining.
Seeing Priss barely touching her pizza, Sarah stuffed the other slice in her mouth, and drowned it with cola. She gathered Priss’s stuff and led her outside the cafeteria and the school building.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the guard chaperoning her said when she went down the steps exiting the front entrance.
The same pair brought her in after her run-in with the teacher.
“Taking Miss Ward home. She’s not feeling well.”
“No, you won’t.” They grabbed her and Priss. One guard dragged the girl away from her while the other one held Sarah in check. “A feisty one, ain’t cha? Better let go. Won’t be pretty if you get in trouble again.”
The front doors opened, and out came Omar and his short friend.
“Hey, Sarah,” shorty said, “you don’t want to miss class, do you?”
Omar walked over to the guard holding Priss and whispered in his ear. He handed her over.
“You go back inside,” he yelled at Sarah. The one holding her shoved her in the direction of the steps.
Omar led Priss away, who protested weakly and tried to get away, but his hands around the girl’s wrist were iron clamps. Shorty was on his heels, casting Sarah one last long sly look.
The guards faced her, waiting for her to scram. “Go back to class; they’ll take good care of her.”
Sarah doubted it. Whatever ploy they had wasn’t good, and whatever the consequences were, maybe they were ready for it, maybe things were not as peaceful at as it seemed in Haven. A façade, and really what else could it be? The world was gone. The dead walked, and inside the walls, they acted as if nothing had happened. The stupid world went on. Power play after power play. It was ridiculous to want to rule the last vestige of humanity. And to what end? To sit in wealth, surrounded by the poor, and the dead knocking on the doors to come in? Someone was apt to open the door and make the house of ill-built cards come crashing down.
“No!” Sarah said.
“Don’t be stupid,” the guard said.
He walked up to her, hand outstretched to grab her. Sarah stepped in, surprising the guard. She swung up with her elbow, connecting with the sweet spot under the chin. He went down, crumbling in a heap. The other one froze. Sarah rushed him and kneed him between the legs. She felt the balls crush against her knees. With a grunt, he fell on his knees. Sarah elbowed his mouth.
The guard fell sideways, blood spraying from his mouth. He spit out a tooth. “Bitch,” he moaned.
Sarah punched his temple once, twice, a third time; he went out cold. This had been pure luck with just a little skill. The guards never expected her to attack, underestimated her, and paid the price. They would have trashed her otherwise.
No such luck with the two boys.
Shorty was already walking back to face her, while Omar stayed behind, holding on to Priss.
Shorty closed in, fist held up. She grabbed the baton stuck in the guard’s belt. The only weapon they had. No guns. No knife. Shorty closed in fast.
Sarah backed away. “Stay away from me.”
“Oh no, you bitch. This time, you’re gonna get it.”
She swung the club. He jumped back, smiling. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
If that was what he wanted, she would give it to him. She was taller than he was, and Omar still kept back. She launched forward, her knee going for his groin. He sidestepped and swatted her on her head. She flew forward, stumbling, almost falling. Her head hurt, her ears ringing. She heard his quick footfalls behind her. She whirled around to his fist coming for her face. She ducked and felt his fist pass over her hair. Sarah twisted back and pushed him off balance. He stumbled. She swung the club. His nose splattered blood. Shorty cried, grabbing his nose. She kicked him in the belly, and he doubled over.
Sarah raised the club to finish him. A big hand closed around her wrist.
“He’s had enough,” Omar said. He pushed her aside and shoved Priss in her arms. “We weren’t going to hurt her, just mess with her father a little.”
“Sure you weren’t,” she bit out. “Sure you would.”
“You really think these people are on your side? You are just a thing to them. We all are.”
He picked Shorty up. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
Supporting Shorty, they walked off, leaving Sarah behind with two bleeding guards out cold on the ground and Priss in her arms, sobbing.
However, Omar’s words troubled her; something was not right in Haven, and some way or another, she would find out. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ralph shot the zombie launching itself at Lauryn. The other one was coming in fast. He met it midair, tackling it. They both went down in a tumble. He saw Brenda grab Lauryn and run. The next second, the zombie was upon him, biting, scratching. He fought it off, got back to his feet, and ran.
The moon was hiding behind clouds. He couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. To his right, he saw the flashlights sway in the air, dropping one by one. He swerved to the right to catch up to the others. Heavy footfalls made him look back. The zombie came in fast, and jumped at him. Ralph twirled to avoid it. The zombie fell, sprawled on the ground.
The moon came out from cover, casting it silvery light on the zombie. The zombie was naked. A female, with small breasts, an athletic body, and grayish skin. The decay was much less compared to the slow zombies. The eyes were the same—no expression whatsoever. It moaned and stood. It looked freshly made. This one had no bite wounds or body parts missing, and Ralph didn’t get the feeling this one was newly made. He knew that zombies had evolved, getting some of their motor skills back, but he never expected this.
The zombie lashed out at him. Ralph had lost his gun and flashlight in the tumble. He pulled his knife and cursed at not taking a bigger one with him. The four-inch blade was all that was standing between him and death. The zombie lashed the air, stepped closer, and stalked him, as if it could judge the distance. This was a cunning intelligence, not the brain-dead attack he was used to from them. Ralph backed down. The Zombie pounced. Ralph stabbed it in its gut and sliced upward. He felt congealed blood seep over his hand. The stench made him gag.
The zombie didn’t flinch and kept coming at him. It grabbed Ralph and bit his shoulder. The teeth didn’t break through his thick leather jacket. The zombie started to pull him down. Its weight, together with the backpack still strapped to his back, became too much. His knees buckled and he went down. The zombie crawled over him, its cold breasts pressed against him as its weight pinned him down.
Ralph grabbed a handful of the zombie’s hair and yanked. He pulled it back, half-expecting the flesh to give way, but it didn’t. For once, the thing not being in an advanced state of decay helped him. He pushed the knife under the zombie chin. The four inches proved not to be enough to reach the brain. It thrashed in his arms, breaking his grip. Ralph pushed up and sideways, throwing the thing off him. Ralph jumped on its back
as it rolled on its belly to get back up. With one hand, he pushed the zombie’s head to the ground, and with the other, he rammed the knife in its temple. It kicked once and stopped.
Ralph stood up and gasped. In the moonlight, he saw zombies eating, ripping apart the bodies of his friends. He staggered forward, stifling a cry. “Lauryn.” A shot rang in the night. A flash came from the upper floor of a nearby house. There were survivors. No more shots followed the single one.
Ralph rummaged through his backpack. He grabbed his spare gun, checked the cartridge, and chambered a bullet. He ran toward the house, keeping close to the trees and out of sight. Not that he expected the zombies to come after him. They were in an eating frenzy. At the back of the house, he climbed through a broken window. Above, he heard stumbling and the wet chomping sound of teeth on meat. God, he was too late.
With his gun in hand, he climbed the stairs. On the second floor, his back leaning against the wall, sat Ethan. Two zombies were tearing out his guts and eating his entrails. Ethan looked at Ralph dazed. His lips moved, but no words came out.
Ralph froze for a second, but his pent up rage and desperation quickly broke him out of it. He aimed and shot twice fast. The two zombies’ heads snapped back and they fell to the floor.
Ralph ran to Ethan’s side and knelt next to the man. Ethan grabbed onto him. Sputtering out blood, he said, “Up. They are…” He coughed. “Attic.” A trembling finger rose and pointed up. “Take… good… care…” His eyes rolled back and his hand fell limp. Ethan heaved in a last breath and lay still. Ralph wiped his hand over Ethan’s eyes, shutting them.
Downstairs, feet clomped on the hardwood floor. He picked up Ethan’s rifle and went to the landing. Four zombies closed in on the stairs, their naked body untouched by any mark, gray, pale, dead skin, but not the same walking dead he was used to seeing. It disturbed him to look at their more lively bodies, knowing that behind those glazed over eyes there was no human soul left. Something else moved these bodies, some mutagen, bacteria, virus. Maybe it was aliens, who beamed themselves into these corpses. Whatever it was, he knew one thing for sure; he would end every one of them.