by Max Danzig
“What about him?”
Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Just look at him. That could be you or me.”
“Yeah but it isn't,” Peter yawned, about to lie back down again.
“And there's another. See that one in the convenience store?”
Peter squinted into the distance. “Where?”
“The convenience store with the red sign. Next to the laundromat by the gas station...”
“Oh yeah, I can see it.”
The two men stared at the body in the building trapped in the entrance to the store. A display rack had fallen behind it, blocking any movement backward, and a crashed car prevented the door from opening outwards. The body moved incessantly, edging forward and stumbling back, edging forward and then back.
“It has no clue what's happening, does it?” Steve muttered. “You'd think it would give up, wouldn't you?”
“It's moving for the sake of it and doesn't know how, why or what to do. It just needs to move.” Peter said.
“And how long will they keep moving? Shit, when will they stop?”
“I don’t know. I guess they won't. There isn't any reason to stop is there? Nothing registers with them anymore. Look, watch this.”
Peter stood up and looked around. He walked over to where the slanted roof of the main part of the building met the flat roof they were standing on. He picked up a small, empty glass bottle that once contained orange juice. Steve watched interestedly as Peter walked back to the edge of the roof.
“What the hell are you doing?” he smirked.
“Watch,” Peter whispered.
He waited for a few seconds until one of the wandering bodies came into range. After taking careful aim, he threw the bottle at the staggering corpse. The bottle hit the walking cadaver in the back making a hollow donk sound and causing the corpse to stumble, but it kept moving. The bottle bounced away clattering onto the road without breaking.
“Why did you do that?” Steve asked.
Peter shrugged. “Just proving a point I suppose.”
“What point?”
“That they don't react. That they don't live like you and me, they merely exist.”
Steve shook his head with despair and disbelief. Peter went to the skylight opening. In a strange way, he regretted throwing the bottle at the body. No matter what it was today, it had been a living, breathing human being just a few days ago. He felt like a bully, preying on an innocent victim.
“I don’t believe that,” Steve said. “If they don’t react then why did that thing attack Eddie today?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said. “I’m still trying to figure that out. Maybe that one was just different somehow.”
“Do you think it was because of Eddie’s bandage? Do you think it smelled his blood or something?”
“I saw that too, but I doubt it. We’re human beings and not bloodhounds for chrissake.” Peter said, too scared to admit he already had that same thought.
“Do you think it was a virus that did this?” Steve asked. “Rachel seems to think it was. What do you think?”
“I don’t know and I don't care,” Peter replied.
“What do you mean, you don't care?”
“What difference does it make? What's happened has happened.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I'm saying it doesn't matter what did all of this. I just don't want it to happen to me, but what's done is done, isn't it?”
“I suppose.”
“Look, I've lost friends and family like everyone else here. I might sound like a cold hearted bastard but I'm not. I just can't see the point in wasting time coming up with bullshit theories and explanations when none of it will make the slightest bit of difference. The only thing any of us have any influence and control over now is what we do right now and tomorrow.”
“So what are we going to do tomorrow?” Steve asked.
“I haven't got a fucking clue!” Peter laughed.
Chapter 18
It started raining. A few fat drops turned into a downpour of near monsoon proportions. Steve and Peter scrambled across the roof and squeezed back through the skylight and lowered themselves into the ominous silence of the community center.
“It feels good getting out once in a while,” Steve breathed.
“That’s truer than you realize,” Peter replied, trying to make himself heard over the noise of the pounding rain.
“What?”
“You're right. It is a good idea for us to get out of here.”
“What are you saying?”
“You, me and whoever else wants to leave here. We can’t sit here waiting around and doing nothing. We need to find answers and other survivors.” Peter said.
Stephen was looking down, his head nodding, “I agree, but have you thought about all the bodies?”
“Of course, who hasn't? I’m sure they’re on everyone’s mind, but what about them?”
“What's going to happen if those bodies really are dead and start rotting? The stench will be bad enough, but even worse there'll be all sorts of disease floating around in the air. There's not a whole hell of a lot we can do about that, is there?”
“There's plenty we can do about it,” Peter said. “We could get away, leave.”
“Leave? And go where? Anywhere we go is going to be like this.” Stephen said.
“Maybe.”
“So what good is leaving if we don’t know where we’re going or what we’re doing?”
“Think about it for a minute. We're on the edge of a large town filled with thousands of walking corpses.”
“And...”
“And I think we should head for the countryside. Fewer dead bodies walking around means there’s less chance of disease. We won't be completely safe anywhere but we should try to give ourselves the best possible chance. We should pack up and leave here as soon as we can.”
“So, you’re really thinking of going?” Steve asked.
“I’d go tonight if we were ready,” Peter replied.
Chapter 19
Despite the survivors reaching new levels of emotional and mental exhaustion, none of them could sleep. The lack of sleep compounded the fear and anxiety of the survivors, and the dim lights of a few gas lamps made them feel isolated and alone. By midnight even the calmest members of the group felt tensions rising in the room. The air was thick and claustrophobic with it.
Erica Desantis, who watched her three-month-old baby boy die in her arms three days before, was now complaining about the food Eddie gave her. Although her comments were innocent, the usually quiet and reserved Eddie Cook took it personally.
“You stupid fucking bitch,” he screamed, his face inches from hers. “What gives you the right to complain or criticize? You're not the only fucking person here who's had it rough. We're all in the same fucking mess.”
Erica wiped streaming tears from her face with shaking hands. She convulsed with fear and could hardly co-ordinate her movements.
“I didn't mean to...” she stammered. “I was only trying to...”
“Shut up!” Eddie shouted, grabbing hold of her arms and pinning her against the wall. “Just shut your fucking mouth!”
For a second Peter stood and watched stunned, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He snapped out of his trance, strode across the room and grabbed hold of Eddie and yanked him backward. Erica slid down the wall and collapsed in a sobbing heap on the dirty floor.
“You sonofabitch,” She said through clenched teeth, looking up at him. “You fucking bastard.”
Peter grabbed the collar of Eddie’s coat and marched him across the room and pushed him down into a chair.
“What the fuck’s going on?” he demanded, noticing the thick bandage on Eddie’s hand, spotted with rosettes of blood.
Eddie didn't respond. He sat staring at the floor. His face was flushed red. His left fist clenched tight, while he flexed his hurt right hand, and his body shook with anger.
“What's
the problem?” Peter asked again.
Eddie still didn't move. “We’re not good enough for her?” he muttered.
“What?”
“That bitch,” he seethed. “She thinks she's special. She thinks she’s better than everyone here. Who is she to complain about the food she gets? Who is she to criticize anything anymore?” He looked up and stared and pointed at Erica with his bandaged hand. “She thinks she's the only one who's lost everything.”
“You're not making any sense,” Peter said, sitting down on a chair close to Eddie. “What are you talking about?”
Eddie couldn't or wouldn't answer. Tears welled up in his tired eyes. Rather than let Peter see the depth of his emotion, he got up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
“What was that all about?” Rachel asked as she walked past Peter and made her way over to where Erica sat on the ground. She crouched down and put her arm around her shoulders. “Come on,” she whispered, “It'll be all right.”
“All right?” she sobbed. “How can you say that? After everything that's happened, how can you say it's all right?”
Ann Vachon sat down next to them. Cradling Erica in her arms, Rachel turned to face Ann.
“Did you see what happened?” she asked.
“Not really,” Ann replied. “They were just talking. I only realized something was wrong when Eddie started shouting. He was fine one minute, you know, calm and talking normally, and then he just went off at her.”
“Why?”
Ann shrugged her shoulders.
“Apparently she told him she didn't like the soup.”
“What?” Rachel asked.
“She didn't like the soup he'd made,” Ann repeated. “I'm sure that's all it was.”
“What the hell,” Rachel sighed, shaking her head in resignation.
Steve walked into the room with Jim Burke. He'd taken only two or three steps when he stopped; sensing something was wrong.
“What’d I miss?” he asked, almost dreading the answer. The atmosphere in the room was so heavy he thought something terrible had happened.
Peter shook his head.
“It's nothing,” he said. “It's all over with now.”
Steve looked down at Rachel on the floor with Erica curled up in her arms. Something had happened, but it looked like it was resolved. He decided not to ask any more questions because he didn't want to get involved. Selfish and insensitive as it was, he just didn't want to know. There’s been enough drama and he had enough problems of his own without getting himself wrapped up in other people’s bullshit.
Chapter 20
Peter understood where Steve was coming from, but he found it impossible to stand there and do nothing. When he heard more crying coming from another dark corner of the room, he went to investigate. He found the sounds were coming from Francine Baker and Emily Forrest, two of the oldest survivors.
The two ladies had themselves wrapped in an unzipped sleeping bag, holding each other and doing their level best to stop sobbing and drawing attention to themselves. Peter sat down next to them.
“You two okay?” he asked the pointless question, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.
Francine smiled for a moment and nodded, trying hard to put on a brave face. She wiped away a single tear which trickled down her wrinkled cheek.
“We're all right, thank you,” she replied, her voice soft and fragile.
“Can I get you anything?”
Francine shook her head.
“No, we're fine,” she said. “I think we'll try to get some sleep now.”
Peter smiled and rested his hand on the cold papery skin of hers. He really did feel sorry for these two women. Peter couldn’t help but wonder what chance they would have if this plague, or whatever it was, affected the whole world. He noticed they had been inseparable since arriving at the Community Center.
Emily, he had learned from Rachel earlier, was a widow and a former mayor of Derry. Francine told Peter she'd lived in the same three bedroom Victorian house all her life and intended to live out the rest of her days there. Once things settled down, she said she'd go right back home. She even invited Emily over for coffee as soon as she got back.
Peter patted the old woman's hand, stood and walked away. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as the two huddled closer together talking in hushed whispers. Although their life experiences were very different, they came together because of their similar ages. Money, position, possessions, friends, and connections didn't matter anymore.
Rachel was still sitting on the floor two hours later. It was late, and she cursed herself for being so selfless. There she was, cold and uncomfortable, still cradling Erica Desantis in her arms, who had been asleep for the better part of an hour. ‘Why am I always the one who ends up doing this?’ she asked herself. ‘Why? Because I wanted to be a nurse is why. Giving of ourselves is what we do.’ Rachel reminder herself.
The Community Center was silent but for a muffled conversation taking place in one of the dark rooms off the main Community Center. Rachel eased herself away from Erica and lay her down on the floor and covered her with a blanket. In the stillness every sound she made, no matter how careful, seemed too loud. As she moved Erica's body she strained to listen and locate the source of the conversation. She was desperate for some calm and rational adult company.
The voices were coming from a little room off the main hall she hadn't been into before. She pushed the door open and peered inside. It was pitch black, and the voices stopped.
“Who's that?” a man asked in a whisper.
“Rachel,” she whispered. “Rachel Morris.”
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw two men sitting with their backs against the far wall. It was Peter and Steve. They were drinking water from a plastic bottle which they passed between themselves.
“You okay?” Peter asked.
“I'm fine,” Rachel replied. “Mind if I come in?”
“Not at all,” Steve said. “Everything calmed down out there?”
She stepped into the room, tripping over his outstretched legs and feeling for the nearest wall in the darkness.
She lowered herself to a sitting position on the floor.
“It's all quiet,” Rachel said. “I had to get away, know what I mean?”
“Why do you think we're sitting in here?” Peter asked.
After a short silence, Rachel spoke again.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “Did I interrupt something? Did you two want me to go so you can...?”
“Stay here as long as you like,” Peter answered. Rachel's eyes were adjusting to the darkness and she could almost make out the details of the men's faces.
“I think everyone's asleep out there. If they're not sleeping, then they're being very quiet. I guess they're all still trying to process what happened today. I sat there listening to Erica talk about...” Rachel realized she was talking for the sake of talking and let her words trail away into silence. Both Peter and Steve were staring at her.
“What's the matter?” she asked shrinking, self-conscious. “What's wrong?”
"Were you out there with Erica all this time?" Steve asked with a sigh.
“Yes, why?” She said nodding.
He shrugged his shoulders... “Nothing, I’m wondering why you even bother, that's all.”
“Somebody has to be there for them, don’t you think?” she replied accepting a drink from the bottle of water Steve passed to her.
“So why does it have to be you? Who’s going to sit up with you for hours when you're...”
“Like I said,” she interrupted, “someone's got to do it. If we all shut ourselves away in rooms like this when the shit hits the fan, then we don't have much of a future do we?”
Rachel defended her actions, despite having criticized herself for the same thing just a few minutes earlier.
“So you think we've got a future then?” Steve asked sounding sarcastic
R
achel was feeling uncomfortable but stood her ground. She didn't come in here to get picked on.
“Of course we've got a future,” she snapped.
"There are thousands of people lying dead, or somehow wandering around in the streets. Then there are living people ready to kill each other because someone doesn't like the soup. Doesn't hold much promise does it?" Steve mused.
Another silence.
“So what do you think?” Rachel asked looking at Peter. “You have an opinion about everything. Do you think we've got any chance, or do you think we should just curl up in the corner and die?”
“I think we've got a damn good chance, but not here,” Peter said.
“If not here then where?” she asked.
“Well, what do we have here?” Peter began. “Let's see, we’ve got somewhat of a shelter with limited supplies, but there's an abundance of resources for the taking in town. That is of course providing there's someone with enough guts to go out and get them. Then let's not forget the unlimited supply of rotting corpses walking around, spreading a whole host of diseases, and occasionally biting people. See what I'm getting at here?”
Rachel and Steve remained quiet and nodded.
“And I suppose,” He continued, “there's also the flip-side of the coin. As good as the shelter is, it's beginning to resemble a prison. We've got no idea what's around us. We don't even know what's in the buildings on the other side of the street.”
“But it'll be the same wherever we go...” Rachel remarked.
“Maybe. Steve and I were talking about heading out to the countryside earlier, and the more I think about it the more it makes sense.”
“Why?”
Steve explained, remembering the conversation he'd had with Peter a few hours ago.
“The population is concentrated in cities, right? There’ll be fewer bodies out in the sticks. And fewer bodies equal fewer problems...”
“What problems are you talking about?” Rachel asked, already knowing the answer.
“Um, you don’t think a bunch of dead people walking around poses a problem?” Peter said.
Nodding Rachel asked, “So what's stopping us?”