by Max Danzig
“Steve,” she began, “what exactly are you doing? And please don't tell me it's nothing when it's clearly something.”
He continued to ignore her. Rachel noticed a bulging backpack resting against a wall in the storage room next to the kitchen.
“Were you planning on leaving? she asked.
Still no response. The kettle whistled, and Rachel made a cup of coffee for herself and one for Peter. She sipped at her scalding hot drink and looked at Steve over the brim of her mug.
“Where are you going to go?” she asked again, her voice low and calm.
Steve turned his back to her and leaned against the kitchen counter.
“I don't know,” he replied. Rachel felt he was lying; that he knew where he was going and what he was planning to do.
“Come on,” she sighed. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you want,” he snapped. “It doesn't matter to me.”
“You can't leave the house alone, it's too dangerous. Hell, you saw how many of those things found their way here last night. If you think you...”
“That's the fucking problem, isn't it?” he said, turning round to face her. “I saw how many of those walking corpses were here last night. There were way too many. It's not safe to stay here anymore.”
“It's not safe anywhere these days. Face it, Steve, this place is as good as you're going to get.”
“No it isn't,” he argued. “We're out on a limb here. There's nowhere to run. If that fence comes down we're totally fucked.”
“But don’t you see we can get past that? When they're here in large numbers we just shut up and sit tight. If we stay silent and out of sight for long enough, they take off.”
“And is that what you want? Are you satisfied to sit and hide for hours every time those fucking things get near us? If you haven’t noticed they're changing and getting stronger every day and it won't be long before...”
“It's not ideal, but what's the alternative?”
“The alternative is to go back home. I know Derry like the back of my hand and there are other survivors there. I'll have more of a chance back there. It was a mistake coming out here.”
Rachel struggled to comprehend what she was hearing. “Are you fucking crazy?” she stammered. “Do you know the risks you'd be taking?”
“Rachel, I'm going. If you've got nothing constructive to say then do me a favor and don't say anything at all.”
“Have you thought this through? Do you really believe this is the right thing to do?”
“There's safety in numbers,” he said, turning his back on her again. “Those things proved it last night. Being part of a larger group of survivors gives us a better chance of survival in my...”
“You're wrong,” Peter interrupted. He was standing in the kitchen doorway. Neither Rachel nor Steve knew how long he'd been there or how much he heard. He leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed in front of him.
Steve shook his head.
“Leaving here is fucking stupid,” Peter added.
“Staying here is even more fucking stupid,” he snapped. “Ever hear of Custer’s Last Stand?” Steve said.
Peter took a deep breath and walked further into the kitchen. He sat on the edge of the kitchen table watching as Steve busied himself and avoided eye contact with him and Rachel.
“Convince me,” Peter said as he took his coffee from Rachel. “Just how much have you thought this through?”
For a second Steve was angry, feeling like Peter was patronizing him. But then he decided that he sounded as if he was at least going to listen to what he had to say.
“I've thought it over long enough,” he replied. “It's not something I decided to do on a whim.”
“So what's your plan?”
“Get back to Derry and to the community center. See who's still there...”
“And then?”
“And then find a more secure place to set up a home base.”
“But you said you didn't want to lock yourself away and hide. Aren't you going to be doing that somewhere else instead of here?” Rachel asked.
“There's a three-story bank building in town. It’s made of granite and brick, so it’s very secure and there’s only a front and back entrance making it easily defensible. And if we ever need to, we can escape through the upper floors. Once we're in there, we're safe.
“How are you going to get in?” Peter asked.
“I'll get in.”
“And what if there's no one at the community center?”
“I'll go to the bank on my own then.”
Peter stopped and mulled that over for a few seconds. “So when are you leaving?” he asked.
“We've got to go out for supplies,” Steve answered. “I figured I’d try to find a good car or truck while we were away from the house and then I'll take it from there.”
“We could go out and get supplies today,” Peter said, surprising Rachel who looked at him in utter disbelief.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed at him. “Jesus, are you thinking of going too?”
Peter shook his head. “No, but it seems that Steve’s going to go no matter what we say or do to stop him.”
Steve nodded. “I’d go now if I could.”
“Then there doesn't seem to be any point in Rachel or me wasting our time trying to persuade you that you're making a mistake.”
“I don't think I am. You are right though, you'd be wasting your time.” Steve said.
“And if we try to stop you from leaving, we’ll end up beating the crap out of each other and in the end you'll still leave. Am I right?”
“You're right.” Steve said standing tall and rigid.
Peter turned to face Rachel. “So we don't have a lot of choices, do we?” Peter said.
“But… Peter, he'll end up dead. He won't last five minutes out there.” Rachel said.
Peter sighed and watched Steve disappear into the store room.
“That's not our problem,” he said. “Our priority is to keep ourselves safe, and if that means that Steve leaves, then Steve leaves. Think of him as a homing pigeon. We send him on his way, and with any luck, if things don't work out in Derry, he'll bring the survivors back here.”
Rachel nodded. She understood everything he said but still found it hard to accept.
“He's a fucking idiot,” she seethed under her breath.
Chapter 45
Once they accepted that Steve was leaving for Derry, Rachel and Peter knew they had to take decisive action. Steve was eager to leave as soon as he could. Peter and Rachel were eager to make the most of still having him there.
They had to take a trip into town for needed supplies. Three pairs of hands working together instead of two meant they could collect more supplies, allowing Peter and Rachel to delay their next excursion for a few days longer. It was a cold, wet morning, and they returned to Newport, where they had gone to the supermarket a week ago.
The tension in the SUV was profound as they approached the main street of the town. It was no surprise that the sound of the engine upset the fragile silence and attracted unwanted attention from scores of the walking corpses in the area. As soon as they stopped, they lay down on the seats and pulled a tarp over the top of them to stay out of view of the ghouls. They lay there terrified as throngs of the monstrosities surrounded the SUV, pawing at it, and hitting it. The din of the horrid moaning almost made them scream. When the stench of the decaying corpses reached them they had to stop themselves from making gagging noises. They had to wait for over an hour in the battered vehicle, under the tarp until the zombies drifted away.
Peter had parked near a small convenience mart. Once the zombies dispersed, Rachel quietly opened the SUV door nearest to the building and disappeared inside while Peter and Steve started their search for a new vehicle. In the store, Rachel gathered as many cans of food and other non-perishable supplies as she could find, and loaded them into the back of the truck.
Each movement she made was slow and careful so that she remained silent and out of sight of the horrific creatures.
There was a service station and a dealership near the convenience mart. Peter was pleased to find a Honda Pilot SUV at the dealership that suited his needs. He went into the dealership office, and after a short search found the keys. He also found two five-gallon plastic gas containers in the garage. One was full and the other empty. He siphoned extra fuel from another vehicle in the garage to fill the tank of the SUV. He then filled an empty container and loaded both into the back of his new transportation. As he worked, he watched the occasional body stagger by as he hid from view.
He was never sure if they could see him. He thought the zombies were used to seeing bodies moving, and hoped their rotting brains weren't able to distinguish between him and a corpse dragging itself along the streets. Still, sound seemed to be the thing that attracted the attention of the corpses, so he kept as quiet as he could.
At the gas station near the convenience mart, Steve found a Jeep Wrangler Rubicon, the perfect vehicle to get him back to Derry. It was smaller and more nimble than the full-sized SUV Peter favored, but it was rugged and powerful enough to go off-road if he needed to do so. He found the keys to the Jeep on the ground next to a dried blood stain by the gas pump. Steve got into the Jeep. He closed the door to mute the dinging sound when he put the key in the ignition. He turned it to the accessory setting and was happy to see that the Jeep had been filled with gas before its owner succumbed to the plague. He didn’t dare start the engine until they were ready to go, so he turned off the ignition and removed the key. As this was a newer model he was confident it would start without hesitation. He walked back to the convenience mart where Rachel waited and helped her load up the Ford.
“I’m taking the Jeep,” he whispered. “It should work for my needs.”
She nodded but didn't say anything and climbed behind the wheel of the old SUV. She was eager to leave and didn't want to attract the attention of any corpses wandering around in the distance, and she also didn't have anything she wanted to say to Steve. As the morning progressed she had become angrier with his selfish intentions. Not only did she think he was a fool for even thinking about going back to Derry, she also decided he was an uncaring bastard for leaving her and Peter.
Three is a safe number. If one of them was injured, then the other two could help. Left alone with Peter, she knew they'd be in serious trouble if anything happened to either of them. And the chances of Steve surviving on his own in an accident were next to zero. By leaving, he was putting them all at risk.
“What do you think of this?” Steve said pointing to the Jeep, as Peter returned to the SUV. Peter couldn't even pretend to be interested in either the Jeep or Steve. He grunted in resentful acknowledgment.
“Ready to get going?” he asked, directing his question towards Rachel. She nodded.
“I'm ready.”
“I found a Honda Pilot,” he continued. “You start the truck up and I'll try to get the Honda going. If it works I'll lead, if not get ready to let me back inside and get going.”
She nodded again. Her throat was dry and her heart thumped in her chest. She knew as soon as they started the first engine the corpses would swarm them.
“I'll follow on behind,” Steve said.
“Whatever,” Peter muttered as he jogged back over to the Honda.
Once he saw Peter get into the new vehicle, Steve climbed into the Jeep and waited. Rachel looked across to the dealership and waited for Peter to start the SUV. He shuffled in his seat, put the key in the ignition and then put his thumb up to Rachel. She started the Ford and within seconds the first bodies turned and lurched their way towards her; others came from all directions.
Peter started the Honda and inched forward over the high curb and down onto the road. Steve started the Jeep, which was louder than the other two vehicles, and seemed to attract the attention of every corpse in the area. A sudden crowd of them surged towards the scene as fast as their stilted, rotting legs would carry them.
Body after dead body bounced off the sides of the Honda. Peter pressed the accelerator and carved a path through the gathering creatures before they could close in and make a solid mass. Rachel did the same, following in his wake, and then Steve moved forward.
The acceleration of the powerful Jeep caught him off guard. He almost lost control as he shot forward and then steadied the vehicle. The nearest corpse lurched towards him, catching hold of the passenger door handle, more through luck than judgment, it opened. Terrified, Steve sped up and the putrid creature fell away, the door closed. He hit the lock button and accelerated out of the remains of the desolate and dead town, leaving a mass of pursuing corpses behind him.
Steve caught up to the Ford and the Honda and stayed with them. The small convoy weaved their way through the wrecks, bodies, and ruins which lay in their path.
By the time they'd reached the turnoff leading back up to the farm Steve felt he was ready to pack his stuff and go. He surged ahead of the two SUVs and raced up the road. He drove up to the gate, stopped the Jeep leaving the door open and the engine idling. He got out, unlocked the gate and waited for Rachel and Peter. As soon as they were both through the gate, he jumped in the Jeep and followed them into the farmyard. He stopped, got out again slammed the heavy gate shut and snap-locked the two padlocks they used to keep it secure.
Zombies still in the area from the previous night began to approach. As he backed away from the gate he saw dozens of shadowy figures appear from the forest and stumble towards the house. Although still clumsy and sluggish, they moved with an unnerving determination and reason. A week ago they had wandered aimlessly without direction. Now it was clear the creatures had a purpose.
Steve drove the Jeep closer to the house, killed the engine, and locked the doors when he got out. He didn't want to go inside just yet. Now that his decision to leave the house was certain, he felt disconnected from the others, like he no longer belonged at the farm. He felt alone. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Rachel was walking over to speak to him, and for a second that made him feel a little better.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I'm all right,” he replied. “You?” Glancing at her but then turning his attention back to the zombies.
She nodded. Her voice was tired and emotionless. Steve sensed she was talking to him more out of duty than any real desire to do so.
“Look,” she began, “I know you've said that you're sure about this, but have you stopped to think...”
“I don't want to talk about it anymore,” he snapped, interrupting and silencing her words.
“You don't know what I was going to say...”
“I can guess.”
She sighed and turned away. After thinking for a second she turned back, determined to make her point.
“Are you sure about what you're doing?”
“As sure as anyone can be about anything at the moment...”
“But you're taking a big risk. You don't have to leave. We could stay here for a while longer and maybe go back to Derry later. We could bring the others back here. There might even be more of them by now...”
“I've got to leave. It's not just about surviving anymore, I've already done that.”
“So why are you going?”
“Take a look around you,” he sighed, gesturing towards the house and the barrier which surrounded it. “Is this enough for you? Does this give you all the protection and security you need?”
“I think we're as safe as we can be...”
“I don't. Last night we were surrounded.”
“Yes, but...”
“Just answer me this, Rachel. What would you do if those things got through the barricade and got into the house?”
Rachel struggled to answer.
“What would happen? As far as I can see you wouldn't have many choices. You could lock yourself into a room and sit tight or you could try to get to one of the t
rucks and try to get away. Or you could just run for it.”
“I'd have no chance on foot.” Rachel said.
“That's exactly my point. This house is surrounded by miles and miles of absolutely fucking nothing. There's nowhere to run.” Steve said.
“But we don't need to run...” Rachel protested, raising her voice.
“But you might. Back in Derry, there are a hundred places to hide on every street. I don't want to spend the rest of my time locked away in this house.”
Rachel sat down on the porch steps, dejected and frustrated. Peter was busy working unloading the supplies from the back of the Expedition. He was doing his level best to ignore Steve.
“I'm worried about you, that's all,” Rachel said quietly. “I just hope you realize that if anything happens to you on your own, that's it.”
“I know.”
Steve turned and looked at Rachel. It was the first time in days the two of them had anything resembling real, purposeful contact with each other. Looking into his world-weary eyes, Rachel felt her earlier anger mellow and change into something resembling pity.
The man standing in front of her was a shell. He was less than half the man he had been when they first met. He had lost everything including, it seemed, all direction and reason. She knew he wasn't bothered about surviving anymore. All of his talk about finding shelter and reaching the survivors was bullshit. She knew in her heart that all he wanted to do was go home.
Chapter 46
An hour after returning from Newport, Steve was outside packing supplies in the Jeep and loading his few belongings into a backpack.
“So you're leaving tonight?” Peter asked.
He looked up and nodded at Peter. “Might as well,” he replied.
“You sure you want to risk it?” Peter continued to probe.
Steve shrugged his shoulders.
“We're all taking risks whatever we do,” he answered.
“You're asking for trouble by leaving at night. You should at least wait until the morning when it's...”