by Jeff Olah
“I don’t know what you want?”
Roland lowered his head and breathed out through his nose. “You’re hiding something.”
He was hiding something. But he had no idea who these people really were or what they actually wanted. Until he did, they weren’t getting anything of substance from him. “There’s nothing we have that you need.”
Roland shook his head. “You can talk to me or you can—.”
A voice from the doorway interrupted. “Hey, we have something.”
Roland furrowed his brow and turned away. He met the thin man at the door and the pair spoke in hushed tones. Bryce held his right hand above his eyes—shielding the light coming in from the interior of the home—and watched the thin man’s lips. He was only able to catch six words before the two men parted.
High School … Rear Gate … Two Men
As Roland followed the thin man up the steps and into the home, he stopped at the threshold. Gripping the handle before closing the door, he turned back to face Bryce. “Looks like we may not need you after all.”
3
Ethan opened his eyes, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and for a moment, just stared at the ceiling. He pulled away the thin green blanket and let it fall to the ground before allowing his eyes to drift right and confirm what he already knew. She was gone. Shannon hadn’t slept in the same room for the last four nights, and although it gave him pause, he couldn’t seem to muster the energy needed to actually care.
He sat up, dropped his feet over the edge, and cautiously held them just above the cool linoleum. Looking out into the hall, he exhaled slowly, watching as his sour breath crystallized and then drifted away.
The temperature outside hadn’t risen above fifty for the last seven days, and if it was possible, the classroom he’d slept in was nearly as cold. As his bare feet touched down, Ethan rubbed his hands together and blew into them. A chill ran up the length of his spine and his shoulders shook as he prepared himself for what was to come.
Pulling on a long-sleeve t-shirt, he steadied himself and started across the former history classroom. Even for the West Coast, the temperatures were abnormally low for this time of year and it seemed as though they dropped with each new day.
Ethan walked on his toes to the door, pulled it open, and squinted as he peered into the darkened corridor. Was it morning, was it still the middle of the night? How long did he have before the sun found its way into the world and woke the others? He had no idea.
Out into the hall, Ethan quickly moved to the pair of rusted folding chairs that sat near the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the parking lot. He sat in one and propped his feet up on the other. Rolling his neck from left to right and then back again, he counted to three and looked over his left hip.
Three bottles.
Instinctively he reached for the first, used the gap between the chair’s legs to pull away the cap, and then raised the twenty-two-ounce bottle to his lips. Without hesitation Ethan tilted back the amber shaded glass and let it fill his mouth and throat.
A twinge of regret followed, but was immediately pushed away by a second and third swallow. He was pulling the cool liquid down, permitting himself to breathe only when absolutely necessary. Ethan wanted to get to the end of the bottle, but beyond that he needed to get to where he was headed before any of his friends could say something to stop him.
He finished the first bottle in less than two minutes, slid it back into its cardboard home, and quickly reached for another. Before he could place the cap between the one inch gap, the distant sound of rushed footfalls made the hair on his arms stand at attention.
“Perfect.”
Ethan popped the cap, slipped the bottle between his legs and rested his shoulders back against the cold metal of the folding chair. Over the last four weeks, he’d become exceedingly familiar with the tone and pacing of each member of his group. The shallow heel toe, heel toe of his mother ran in sharp contrast to the heavy thud, thud, thud that always preceded Griffin’s arrival.
But this was neither. The hurried tempo, the short strides, and the heavy breath sounds could only mean one thing. She was back and from what he could piece together from the night before, this conversation probably wasn’t going to end with the two of them sharing a warm embrace.
As she rounded the last corner, Ethan quickly took a long pull from his bottle and set it on the floor to his right. He then dropped his feet from the chair opposite him, slid back toward the window and offered his sister a smile. “Emma?”
She walked right up to him and without a word or a change in expression, gripped the bottom of his chin. Pulling his head up to meet her eyes, Emma breathed in through her nose and quickly released him.
A look of disappointment washed over her face as she stepped away and fought back a tear. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
Ethan leaned forward, placed his hands together and stared up into her eyes. “Can’t you just give me a few days? I just need to work through a few—”
“No Ethan, I can’t. And by the way, it’s already been nearly three weeks.”
The fog that he’d been hiding behind for the past several days was beginning to lift as the thundering jackhammer working the inside of his head turned up its intensity. Ethan couldn’t let the voices back in, and although his sister as well as the others would continue to pull away, he wasn’t ready to come back. “This isn’t what you think.”
Emma shook her head, stepped around her older brother, and sat in the chair across from him. “It doesn’t matter.” She curled her nose and thought for a moment. “Right now we don’t have the luxury of working through anything, none of us … least of all you. I know that isn’t what you want to hear, but that’s the way it is. You have people looking to you and that isn’t going to change.”
Ethan turned his gaze back to the window, looking out toward the street. “You mean Zach.”
“No, well yes. But also Shannon, Mom, Carly, the guys, and me.”
He knew the others could overlook his current misstep and although she hadn’t highlighted the boy, it was who Emma was really talking about. “I don’t know what you want, I’m not hurting anyone, and I will get past this—”
Emma shifted in her seat. She looked at the bottles on the left and on the right and then back at him. Offering a flat smile, she folded her arms and sat back. “Two beers and you’ve only been awake what, like ten minutes?”
Ethan didn’t respond
“That isn’t a misstep. That’s a problem and you know how this starts. You’ve gone through this before and you know how hard it is to go back the other way.”
“And?”
“And it’s only six o’clock in the morning.”
He leaned forward and looked into her eyes. “I’ve got in under control Emma, trust me. I won’t let it take control.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay, tell me something.”
“Huh?”
Emma sat forward, matching his posture. “The run you and Griffin went on yesterday, how much of what you brought back was alcohol? I mean it’s like that’s all you went looking for, and just for the record, that was all for you. You know that.”
Ethan shook his head. “We brought back plenty of food, not to mention all the other—”
Another set of heavy footfalls and then a voice shot from the opposite end of the hall. “Ethan …”
Ethan stood, bracing himself on the back of the folding chair. He squinted into the darkened hall as Griffin turned the corner. “Down here.”
His friend was out of breath. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s the rear gate, somehow they broke through again.”
“How is that even possible? It was chained.”
“I don’t know, but it’s wide open again.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
Griffin turned to Emma, then the scattering of bottles on the floor, and finally back
to Ethan. “I think Boone, Tom and I can handle it.”
“Okay?”
“But you’re gonna need to get yourself together, I don’t think this thing out back was an accident.”
4
Griffin strode out past the glass-lined trophy case and in through the double doors leading to the gym. Boone and Tom were huddled together near the opposite door that opened to the rear of the high school and the chain-link fence that was—up until a few hours earlier—holding back the massive horde that had taken over the city.
Moving quickly across the hardwood floor, he kicked a wayward basketball off into the corner. Griffin cursed under his breath and then turning his eyes back to his friends, noticed they had gained a fourth.
He was already shaking his head before they turned to face him. “Not a good idea.”
Before either Boone or Tom had a chance to respond, Shannon stepped away and cut her eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I just don’t think you’re ready for—”
She looked over at the three men and stopped again with Griffin. “I’m just as fast as any of you, maybe faster. And you need me.”
Tom offered an even smile and slowly began to nod. “I’m sure Ethan’s in no shape to give us a hand and she’s right, she could get out there and back quicker than any of us.”
Griffin turned to Boone. “You okay with this?”
Boone looked back toward the door and furrowed his brow. “Not really, but it’s got to be done. There’s at least twice as many out there this time and they’re getting closer to the other doors. Once they do, this place is toast. It won’t matter what we do at that point.”
Griffin breathed out heavily and paused a moment before starting toward the door and peering out through the small square of glass. “How we gonna do this? I don’t think the old way is going to cut it this time.”
“I agree,” Boone said. “I say the three of us go out and take down those closest to the building and then start working our way toward the tennis courts, lead them away from the gates.”
“Okay, then what?”
“We have Shannon wait inside until she’s got an opening and can get them re-locked. We clear whatever remains and then meet back here.”
“Okay,” Griffin said, turning to Shannon. “But you do not step one foot outside this door before I wave you out. You watch through the glass and only move when I give you the signal, you good with that?”
Shannon nodded.
Back to Boone and Tom, Griffin tapped his hip and the nine millimeter resting in a holster. “No guns unless it’s absolutely necessary. We don’t need any more of those things drawn away from the highway … and I have a feeling that we aren’t alone on this side of town. We get out there, get it locked, and get back inside. We can figure out what happened later.”
Tom peered over his shoulder and through the glass. “You still think we’ve got someone intentionally letting them in here?”
“We’ve been through three padlocks in eight days and only found a small piece of one of the shackles. It was cut, not broken.”
Boone stepped around Tom and motioned toward the doors at the other end of the gym. “What about Ethan—he know about any of this? I think it may help snap him out of whatever he’s fallen into.”
Griffin shook his head. “One fire at a time.”
Shannon stepped toward the set of double doors and checked her weapon. She looked back at Griffin and reached for the handle as she attempted to steady her hand. “I’ll wait for you to wave me out, but you need to understand that this isn’t my first time—”
“Yeah,” Griffin said as moved to the door, “I don’t doubt you for one second.”
And back to the others he continued, “Stay close until we pull them out away from the building. No back-tracking this time and remember your positions.”
Boone and Tom nodded in unison.
As Griffin pulled open the door, the sound echoed across the blacktop. Quickly scanning the rear yard and field beyond, he estimated there to be at least a hundred of those things and now each and every one of them began to slowly turn in his direction.
Griffin waited for the others to clear the threshold before slamming shut the set of doors and pointing toward the tennis courts. “That’s where we take them.”
Tom was the first to break off and head toward the left side of the building. He was light on his feet and could swing a baseball bat like no one else. Before the others had a chance to react, he had taken out three Feeders with a trio of well-placed headshots.
Griffin looked out to where the open gate swayed from side to side. He knew the others could take care of themselves—hell they’d been in much worse situations just making their way to the coast. Ducking a large, slow moving Feeder, he twisted left and raised the three-foot section of Rebar and slashed at the beast’s neck.
Without turning, he moved quickly forward, avoiding the former city worker as the massive body slammed face-first into the blacktop. To his right, another group of four moved in a straight line toward him, one behind the other. Sidestepping the first, he pushed a petite female Feeder to the ground and swung on the next. The remaining pair fell over the small pile-up and fought to right themselves.
Griffin quickly twisted back, confirming that Shannon hadn’t left the door. And standing over the mess of snapping jaws and flailing arms, he eliminated the group one by one with a single strike to the head. Fast, clean, simple.
As Tom led a small group of six toward the tennis courts and Boone made use of the tire iron he’d become fond of, Griffin started in the opposite direction. There were less than a dozen new Feeders that had come through the gates since he walked out the door and he was much closer than she was.
No need to risk any more than was necessary. That had become his new motto, and as the moment presented itself, he decided to test his theory.
Shouting to the others, Griffin continued toward the gates. “Keep going toward the courts, get ‘em inside.”
Tom shouted back, although his voice was lost to the sounds of the dead. Boone gave a thumbs-up and walked backwards toward the open door at the edge of court number four.
With the others playing their role, Griffin looked back over his right shoulder one final time. Shannon was staring through the small pane of glass, also now shouting something indecipherable.
Shaking his head, Griffin mouthed only two words. “Not now.”
He turned away without waiting to see if she was actually going to stay put or if she even understood. Shannon could hold her own, but Griffin had a bad feeling about whatever or whoever had been tampering with the only thing separating his group from the rest of the devastated city. And although she offered to help, he just couldn’t see the point.
Back to the twelve beasts that stood between him and the reinforced twelve-foot chain-link fence, he flashed to his friends inside. Griffin pictured Emma and Carly as they continued to search for answers in Zach’s fight against the infection that had already taken so many. And Helen, who sat with the boy for hours on end, just reading, talking, and laughing. He didn’t like that the youngest member of their group had to be separated from the others, but he understood why.
And then there was the new version of his friend Ethan. No one wanted to speak about what his change meant, although avoiding the conversation—so far—didn’t appear to be working. With each day that passed, the man who had led the small group of nine from Colorado to California slipped further away. Griffin just didn’t know how to help.
He wasn’t ready to lead this group. That wasn’t who he was. He was a fix-it guy, someone who saw problems before they happened. He wasn’t the man to hand out assignments and order others around. He had no interest in making decisions for anyone but himself. For now, he would do what needed to be done to keep everyone safe, but in the long run, he needed Ethan to be who he was three weeks ago.
For the fourth time in the last week, he reached into his coat pocket, slipped
his left hand around a standard issue padlock, and started toward the gate. The first four Feeders who approached were spread far enough apart that Griffin was able to take a step to the right and eliminate the threat without losing any ground.
The next grouping looked to be a bit more trouble. Tightly spaced, and for the most part intact, they moved over their fallen comrades quickly. Something else about the six individuals struck Griffin as odd. He even began to laugh at the absurdity.
Four men and two women all still adorned in the same green and orange polyester uniform. It appeared they had all been infected while on the job at a local movie house and then somehow managed to stay together for the last forty-seven days. The chances of this happening were almost incalculable, although—for the moment—he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Another much larger group was less than thirty feet from also entering the yard.
Griffin again checked on Tom and Boone. They had all but three of the remaining Feeders either eliminated or corralled into the tennis courts. The threat from behind was now virtually zero.
Back to the half dozen theatre workers, he quickly eyed each one individually. Not one showed any of the usual signs of decay he had come to expect, and other than the copious amounts of blood covering their faces and hands, the tight-knit group appeared nearly untouched.
Twisting left, he swung on the largest of the six. A man in his late twenties that must have outweighed him by a good sixty pounds. Lunging forward, he pierced the right temple of the large man with sharpened edge of his weaponized Rebar. As the man dropped to the asphalt, Griffin took a step toward the gate and drove the three-foot piece of discarded metal into the head of the young blonde who followed close behind the oversized ticket collector.
Making quick work of the next three, Griffin ran the short distance to the gate and dropped to one knee. He had ten seconds before the last of the theatre employees was on him, but even less time than that to get the gate secured. The massive horde filing away from the commercial building across the street had already entered the parking lot.