by Perrin Briar
It was what they were wearing that really surprised her.
Mr. and Mrs. Grierson were dressed in matching leather chaps and gimp masks. Mrs. Grierson had a whip, still clutched in her dead fingers. Mr. Abbott had chosen to wear a cowboy costume with matching pearl handle revolvers. Jenny wore a seventeenth century dress, complete with bustle.
Dana’s father wore a Roman soldier costume, straight out of the movie Gladiator. Amanda, though less shocking than the others, was the most surprising to Dana. Always so buttoned-down and in control, she wore a ballerina costume with pink tutu and shoes.
So that’s why her father put up with Amanda. For her wild tastes in the bedroom.
Furniture had been tossed aside. Long scratch mark graffiti stained the walls. Gouges signed the floor. These people hadn’t died quietly or meekly. They had fought back, but it hadn’t helped. In the end they had all been bitten, had all been eaten, had all died.
How long before they would rise again? Would they rise again? Should she use some of her ammunition to finish them off now? Or should she save it for when she needed it? She only had what was in the gun.
These were the thoughts running through her mind as she looked over the human detritus, not memories or feelings of loss or sadness.
Dana felt strange at their absence, odd that she should feel so little at the passing of her father and stepmother. But she had no reason to pretend to be sad. She had no one to pretend to. It wouldn’t have done any good now anyway. They were dead. She was alive. She still had worries and concerns. Theirs were well and truly over.
But she wasn’t a robot. She did feel some emotions. They were all negative.
Pity for her father. Pity for what he had done to her her whole life. For the violence, for the abuse. Anger had hitched a ride too. Anger that he had died so quickly, and not by her hand. That was what should have happened, what justice would have looked like.
The only goodness her father was capable of had been given to Max. She was all that mattered. Dana shut her eyes and whispered a prayer. Please be safe.
Dana turned and headed up the stairs.
Chapter Sixteen
HER HEART pounded in her ears like a drum. Her mind raced, throwing up one gory image after another of what she would find in Max’s room.
Dana wanted to run, to get to Max’s room as soon as she could, but she couldn’t force herself to. She stopped every few steps to lean against the wall. She felt physically sick.
If Max was hurt or bitten, what would she do? She would take care of her, she knew, for as long as she could. And when she became one of those things?
Then Dana would be her first victim. Dana couldn’t leave Max, anymore than she could bring herself to harm her. And that was fine.
‘Monsters inside! Beware!’ was written on Max’s bedroom door, a picture of a roaring green ogre underneath it. Max didn’t know how right she was.
Dana put her hand to the door and pushed it open. Moonlight draped the room in grey scale, picking out the furniture’s skeletons.
There was a shape in the bed. A lump. Dana’s hand went to her chest, clutching her jacket, as if reaching for her heart. A thick hot globule mass formed in the back of her throat, the impending flood of tears dammed behind her eyes, ready to fall. Dana approached the small figure.
Max lay on the bed, eyes shut, hands across her stomach. Peaceful. She could have been sleeping… If it wasn’t for the claret that caked her tiny fingers, the smear across her cheek, like a child’s finger painting.
Dana made a noise, strummed from her aching soul. A gasp knocked her to her knees. She was too late. Her Max, her darling Max, was already dead.
The floodgates opened. Tears spilled down Dana’s face. Her body shuddered, and her heart pounded like it was going to explode. Dana didn’t care. Let it.
She buried her face in Max’s blankets, her hands running along the cool lines, gripping them in her fists. She wept into the bed, and for a moment, she thought madness was going to take her. It might. Her nose filled with snot and wet the bedspread. Her eyes made round circles of damp, drool leaking from the corner of her mouth.
She was angry. Angry at herself, at Darren, at the police, at the world, at everything and everyone. She wiped a hand across her face, wiping away the mucus and snot and tears.
She felt the need to punish someone, to destroy something beautiful, to make the world pay for what it had done to her darling Max.
The undead. There was no doubt in her mind that was what they were. Dead bodies having come back to life. She would exact her revenge upon them. She would tear through them, as many as she could find. She would lay waste to them. She would find their creators and butcher them too.
She would be a raging siren of destruction, come to sign the death warrant of every infected man, woman and, yes, child she could find. She may not survive long. She didn’t need to. She would take as many of the unholy creatures with her to hell as she could. Her death would not come cheap. The rage filled her, consumed her. She would be a vessel of death.
Her body stopped shaking and she got to her feet. Her legs felt weak, like they couldn’t support her weight for long. But they strengthened. She sat on the edge of Max’s bed.
Max’s face was calm, like a sleeping angel. Dana determined this would be the last image she would have of her, not the one of placing her in her coffin, burying her out by the flowerbeds in the garden that she loved so much when she was alive, but this image here, of her resting, calm and peaceful.
Dana leaned over her sister and kissed her gently on the forehead. More shivers shook her, to the core, and though she might have declared herself an angel of death, she was still an older sister.
She looked on Max’s face, at the baby soft, unblemished skin, the pouty lips and the tiny upturned nose. Max’s eyelashes fanned across her cheeks, dark and long.
Dana lowered her forehead to Max’s and closed her eyes. Her little sister was gone, gone like everyone else in Dana’s life, like everyone else in the entire city. Dana was more alone now than she ever had been before, and she ached at the thought.
“Dana?” a small voice said.
Dana’s eyes shot open. She couldn’t believe her ears. She daren’t. Had she gone mad? Had she imagined the voice? Had she wanted so much for her sister to be alive that she allowed her mind to break and for it to come true? If so, good. She could live with that. She pulled back to look at Max’s face.
Max’s big blue eyes were open, looking at her. Dana eyed the figure with some trepidation. She wanted to believe her little sister was still alive—desperately wanted to believe—but desiring it didn’t make it true. Her mind was broken, cracked and liable to lie. She knew she couldn’t be trusted.
And yet…
“Max?” Dana said, as if speaking to a specter.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Max said. “I thought I was alone.”
“Your hands…” Dana said. “They’re covered in… red.”
Max looked at them, as if seeing them for the first time. She wiped them on her blanket, in a panic.
“Get it off me!” she said. “Get it off!”
Dana held her sister’s arms.
“Calm down,” Dana said. “It’s okay. It’ll wash off.”
She ran her fingers through Max’s short hair.
“It’s really you?” she said.
“Who else would I be?” Max said.
Dana smiled. She was the smartest eight-year-old she knew. Tears shimmered in her eyes.
“It’s really you!” she said.
She leaned forward and embraced her little sister, hugging her tight. Max didn’t complain. She squeezed back just as hard.
Dana pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“There are important things we need to talk about,” she said. “How did you get blood on your hands?”
“I must have got it when I came back home,” Max said.
“Came back home?” Dana said. “From w
here?”
“From Lucy’s,” Max said. “I was meant to stay the night, but with all the crazy things happening, her parents got scared and brought me back here. They left to go to their cabin in the mountains. When I came in, I saw… I saw…”
Max fell forward and wrapped her arms around Dana, who could imagine the shock Max must have felt upon seeing the scene downstairs.
“Listen to me carefully,” Dana said, pulling back from Max. “Did you get bitten?”
“Bitten?” Max said.
“By Amanda, Pop, or any of the others?” Dana said.
“No,” Max said, a frown bending her features. “Why would they bite me?”
“It’s what a lot of people are doing now,” Dana said. “You have to make sure they don’t bite you. It’s very, very important. Okay?”
Max nodded.
“Did any of their blood get into your mouth?” Dana said.
“No,” Max said. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re sure?” Dana said.
“Dana, you’re scaring me,” Max said.
“I’m sorry,” Dana said. “But this is really important.”
“No,” Max said. “I didn’t eat any of it. It’s horrible.”
Could it be, that she was really alive and uninfected? Dana could barely bring herself to believe it. But here she was, in her own flesh and bones, untouched and unhurt.
The lump returned to the back of Dana’s throat, and this time, it dissolved the fear she’d felt. The anger remained, the hatred of those who had let this cataclysm take place, but it had mellowed.
“What’s that?” Max said, pointing to the bandage on Dana’s arm.
“Nothing,” Dana said. “Just a scratch.”
“I knew you’d come,” Max said with a grin. “I knew you’d come home. But I fell asleep waiting.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” Dana said. “It’s different outside now. We have to be more careful.”
“I heard gunshots,” Max said. “Police cars. And… other noises. Like they were hurting each other.”
“That’s because they were hurting each other,” Dana said. “They still are. Listen to me, Max. This is crucial. If anyone comes up to you—anyone at all—you run. Okay? You run until you can’t run anymore.”
“Okay,” Max said.
She didn’t really understand the situation. Why should she? She’d been closeted upstairs this whole time. She hadn’t seen the city falling into the undead’s clutches.
If Dana had her way, she never would see it. But she knew that was a pipedream. There was no keeping it a secret from Max, no matter how hard she tried.
This was going to affect them all.
Chapter Seventeen
“LET’S GET you out of bed,” Dana said. “Come on. Into the bathroom. Get washed up.”
Dana checked the bathroom was clear before letting Max enter. Max hummed to herself as she took a shower. Dana locked the door and washed in the sink.
Her arm was stinging again. Dana opened the medicine cabinet and searched amongst the items. No first aid kit. No antibiotics. Damn. Dana wasn’t going to be much use if she turned, or got an infection and lost her arm—or her life. They would need to make a stop on their way out of the city.
Max turned the shower off and came out. Dana helped dry her.
“I need to dry my hair,” Max said.
“Take a towel,” Dana said. “We don’t have time.”
Max didn’t complain. Another reason Dana loved her. She wasn’t like other kids who’d been spoiled. If she was told to do something, she didn’t ask pointless questions. She just did it.
Max’s stomach rumbled.
“You must be hungry,” Dana said.
“Starving,” Max said.
“Let’s pack a few things first,” Dana said. “Then we’ll get something to eat.”
They grabbed a pair of suitcases and threw a bunch of clothes into them.
“Pack some clothes,” Dana said. “And one toy. Preferably something quiet.”
“Okay,” Max said.
“I’ll just be next door if you need me,” Dana said.
She moved to Amanda’s wardrobe and began sorting through the clothes. They were uniform black. Shiny shoes for work, high heels for dinner meetings. Dana turned her nose up. At least it wasn’t a wardrobe full of pink tutus. She pulled out the few casual items she could find and tossed them into her suitcase.
“All done?” Dana said to Max.
Max had chosen a fairytale storybook. Dana couldn’t help but smile. The quietest distraction there was. Dana picked up the two suitcases and carried them downstairs.
Dana paused every few steps to listen. The house was silent. As the grave. A poor turn of phrase these days.
“Not that way,” Dana said as Max stepped toward the front room.
“I just want to say goodbye,” Max said.
Dana forgot her father had been like a real father to Max. She must have been genuinely upset when she’d found his body in the front room.
Dana picked up a family photograph and slid it out of its frame.
“Say goodbye to them here and take them with you,” she said. “The people in that room don’t exist anymore. I know it’s difficult to understand, but it’s the way it is now.”
Max nodded, a frown creasing her brow. She would learn. Dana wasn’t looking forward to teaching her all the things she would need to survive. Then again, she still had a lot to learn about surviving herself.
They moved through to the kitchen. Dana opened the cabinets and tossed the tinned food into their suitcases. Then she moved to the fridge and took out all the water.
“Right,” Dana said. “I think that’s about all we can carry right now. How about some food?”
Dana made ham sandwiches. She kept an eye on the clock and the door that led into the front room. Strange to think a nightmare resided behind it. They ate quickly, barely bothering to chew.
“Let’s get the bags in the car,” Dana said.
They moved through the door that communicated with the garage. Dana hit the switch and scanned the area before entering, a new habit she was quickly forming in this brave new world of theirs.
They approached her father’s Saab and dumped their bags in the trunk. They moved to the front seats and climbed in.
“Keys…” Dana said.
She checked the usual hiding places, but didn’t find them.
“Dad always has them in his pocket,” Max said.
“Of course he does,” Dana said.
She could have hotwired the car—another trick she’d picked up in juvie—but how would she get the garage doors open? Dana slammed her palm against the steering wheel. She needed the keychain in her father’s pocket. It would have the garage door remote attached to it.
“Put your seatbelt on,” Dana said. “I’ll be right back.”
Dana walked to the door leading back to the kitchen. She pressed the door and peeked through the gap. The kitchen was empty.
She approached the door leading through to the front room and repeated the procedure. It opened from the left-hand side, meaning she needed to open the door farther if she wanted to peer into the room. Delaying it wouldn’t make it any safer. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Thankfully it opened on silent hinges.
She was relieved to find nothing standing up. She was less relieved to find nothing lying down either.
The bodies were gone.
Chapter Eighteen
OF COURSE they were gone. Things couldn’t possibly go smoothly when there was an obstacle that could be tossed in the way.
Dana took out her pistol, resting her finger on the trigger. It gave her confidence. She moved back through the kitchen and pushed open the door that lead to the hallway.
A figure cloaked in shadow stood with his back to her. Perfect target practice. Dana raised the pistol. She aimed at the figure’s head. He was half a dozen yards away. No great distance, and y
et Dana’s hands were unsteady, moving all over the place. She had a fifty-fifty chance of hitting him, she guessed.
She moved a little closer. The figure still hadn’t noticed her. It was Mr. Grierson in his leather gimp getup.
Dana was within a few inches now. Her hands shook—out of fear, not the weight. She squeezed the trigger, closing her eyes in anticipation of the shot that would be fired.
Bang!
Dana opened her eyes to find that somehow, she had missed. Lesson number one: always keep your eyes open.
Mr. Grierson grunted and began to turn.
“Shit!” Dana said.
She raised the pistol back up at Mr. Grierson. He faced her now. It took a moment for his white near-blind eyes to recognize what he was staring at. His lips peeled back from his teeth. He raised his arms to grab her. Dana pulled the trigger.
Mr. Grierson’s head snapped back, returning to its original position before he swayed side to side and hit the floor. A black hole had formed in the center of his skull, a small sliver of blood dribbling from it.
Some angel of death she turned out to be. But she’d done it. Killed her first zombie. Even a bringer of death had to take baby steps, she supposed.
Dana had expected a part of her to feel like it had been taken, missing, stolen, like they said in the movies. But she didn’t feel anything. Maybe because what she’d killed was already dead, and there was no fear she’d taken anything from it because it had nothing left to give. It had been a shell of a human being. Now it was a pile of floppy appendages.
A growl. Over Dana’s shoulder.
Jenny reached for Dana through the staircase bannister, a grim look of determination on her face. But her arms were too short.
Dana took aim, her hands not shaking this time, and squeezed the trigger. Jenny’s body slumped.
The front door was open. Dana’s heart was in her mouth.
“No…” she said.