by Max Danzig
“I'll be all right,” he insisted.
Peter stood near the Jeep. He looked around the yard, scanning the barrier to make sure it was still secure. Then he shifted his gaze up high, staring into the surrounding trees, listening to drops of water from an earlier rainfall drip… drip… drip.
“Look,” he said, feeling he needed to talk Steve out of leaving, “are you sure you know what you're doing?”
Steve sighed. “I got this same bullshit lecture from Rachel earlier...”
“It's not bullshit. We're just worried that...”
“Worried that what?”
Peter hesitated feeling awkward and reluctant to show his true feelings. “We're worried that you're doing the wrong thing. I've heard everything you've said about wanting to go back to the community center and I understand why you think you need to go but...”
Steve stopped what he was doing and looked at Peter.
“But...?”
“You’re confused and having trouble coming to grips with it everything that's happened to you. You're vulnerable and not capable of making rational decisions at the moment and...”
“I'm not crazy,” Steve said, his voice calm, “I know what I'm doing. I haven’t been more clear about anything since this all began. The truth is we're not safe here. And before you say it, I know we're not safe anywhere, but I don't feel the same about this place as you two do. That poor excuse for a fence we built also doesn't make me feel any better.”
“That poor excuse for a fence,” Peter interrupted annoyed, “held back hundreds of those fuckers last night.”
“Yes it did, but there's thousands more of them out there. Can’t you see? We’re in the fucking middle of Nowhere, USA, and more of them keep arriving almost every day. Where the fuck are they coming from, and why the fuck are they staying in the area? Eventually, there will be too many and they’ll get through that fence.”
“I don't agree.” Peter said.
Steve stood and stared at Peter for a moment. “I’ll tell you what, let’s make a bet. I’ll come back next year and see how you're doing, and then you can tell me ‘I told you so’.”
Peter wasn’t amused with Steve’s attempt at humor. “Okay, so we're not as isolated as we thought, but we've done pretty well so far.”
“Better than I expected,” Steve acknowledged.
“So why do you want leave now in the dark? You'll get ripped to pieces out there.” Peter insisted.
Steve thought for a moment. He kept the real reason he wanted to leave from the other two for over a week. The pair of them were so wrapped up in building and protecting their precious sanctuary that they forgot there were other things just as important.
“I want to go to someplace familiar,” he admitted. “I know I'm taking a big chance, but for me it's worth the risk. If I'm going to spend the rest of my life hiding from those… those things out there, I'll do it someplace I know. Somewhere I want to be. Derry’s my home.”
“Derry’s dead like all the other towns and cities. Besides the walkers, there's rotting bodies lying all over the place. Every town is filled with infected and decaying corpses. The very air in those places is festering with all sorts of diseases.”
Steve shrugged his shoulders.
“I don't know what’s really out there. None of us do. It doesn't matter if there’s disease all over the place because there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I'll take my chances back in Derry, the same way you and Rachel will right here.”
“But we're not taking chances...” Peter insisted.
“How do you know?” countered Steve pointing at the walkers in the distance near the woods. “With all the decaying bodies out there, an infectious disease may already be in the air and water.”
Peter knew he was right, and there was no point in arguing.
“You don't have to go,” Peter said. “Will you do us a favor and think it over for a couple of days?”
Steve shook his head. “For the past week all I've done is think about it. It's not personal. You were the one who kept telling us how important it was to look after ourselves, weren't you?”
“Yes.”
“Can't you see that's what I'm doing? You and Rachel keep doing what's best for you two, and I'll do what’s best for me. We could be dead tomorrow, but then again we might still be here in ten years. I just can't lock myself up in here, waiting for something to happen. If all we're going to do is hide in fear for the rest of our lives, then we might as well just end it now.”
“I understand what you're saying,” Peter sighed, accepting that there was nothing he could say to make Steve stay. “I understand, but I still think you're a fucking idiot.”
“That's your opinion.”
Realizing that prolonging the conversation would be pointless; Peter turned and walked back to the house.
It was after midnight when Steve had the Jeep loaded and was ready to leave. He was standing next to the gate dressed in a black sweatshirt, gray hoodie, jeans and work boots. He turned and walked to the porch where Rachel and Peter stood. This was it. He knew there was no turning back now, and no point in delaying it any further.
He glanced at the other two.
“Ready?” Rachel asked her voice low.
He nodded and swallowed. His mouth was dry.
It was a cold night with a biting wind. Rachel zipped up her fleece jacket and thrust her hands deep into her pockets.
“Last time I ask,” Peter said over the wind, “are you sure about this?”
Steve nodded again.
“I better get going,” Steve said turning around taking the Jeep’s key out of his pocket as he walked several steps and stopped to look over his shoulder. The distance made him feel detached from the other two, and that sudden perception of distance made it easier to keep walking and leave.
The three survivors walked together towards the Jeep.
“I'll open the gate,” Peter said. “Don’t start the engine until the gate is open. As soon as you’re through, I’m closing and locking it, and you keep moving. Okay?”
Steve nodded and took one last look over his shoulder at the farmhouse, then climbed into the Jeep.
“Wait by the house,” Peter said to Rachel. They had no idea what would happen once the gate was opened, or what would emerge from the nearby woods. Eager to put as much distance between her and the rest of the world beyond the barricade, Rachel took backward steps towards the house. She watched as Peter unlocked the padlocks and lifted the wooden bar securing the gate.
“Ready?” Peter asked.
Steve sat in the driver’s seat, with the key in the ignition. His hand poised to turn the key and the other hand gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were pale white. He nodded. Peter pushed open the gate. Steve waited, the tension making him feel wired. He glanced over and saw Peter take a few steps back, holding onto the gate ready to slam it shut as soon as Steve left. The gate had been open only for a few seconds when he could already see movement in the bushes.
Steve twisted the key in the ignition starting the Jeep. The headlights illuminated the darkness as the engine roared into life sending a cloud of fumes billowing out of the exhaust. As the first few corpses emerged from the shadows of the forest Steve sped through the gateway.
As Peter pushed the gate closed, he saw the Jeep swerve as Steve avoided the first body to stagger into his path. With shaking hands Peter lowered the wooden bar back into place and snapped the padlocks closed. Rachel was standing just a few feet behind him. He turned around and her sudden unexpected appearance made him gasp in surprise. He reached out and held her tight. The warmth of her body was reassuring. They turned and walked back onto the porch.
The silence of the evening enveloped them as the sound of Steve's engine faded into the night. Peter and Rachel held each other. Rachel shivered thinking how the roar of the engine and the headlights would attract the attention of hundreds of walkers, every one of those creatures chasing after Steve. She won
dered what would happen if he had to stop? She couldn’t bear the thought of it.
Once they were sure they could no longer hear the distant sound of the Jeep, Rachel and Peter went inside and locked the front door of the farmhouse behind them.
Chapter 47
Steve drove along twisting, narrow roads, hoping and praying he’d come across a road sign showing he was going the right way. He needed to find an interstate or highway heading south-east, back to Derry. As he drove, he laughed at the irony of wanting to return to the town which he, Rachel and Peter were so desperate to leave a few weeks earlier.
Driving fast through a landscape with a developing fog in the pitch dark was tiring and required more concentration than he expected. The condition of the roads made the journey even more hazardous. Although empty of any other moving traffic, they were littered with random piles of trash, twisted, rusting wrecked vehicles and rotting human remains. Steve was aware of shadowy bodies moving in the darkness. Although they could do nothing to harm him while he traveled at this speed, their ominous presence was enough to unnerve him. He knew one slip was all it would take. A lapse of focus and he could lose control of the Jeep. If that happened he’d have seconds to regain control and go before the zombies arrived.
The Jeep’s headlights and fog lights pushed back the dark and mist to illuminate the roadway in front of him. In spite of everything he’d seen over the last few weeks, there were things emerging from the inky blackness that chilled him to the bone. As he drove towards a car facing him, the dead driver lifted its decomposing head and stared at him. In a fraction of a second he saw it. The corpse had not looked past him; it had looked right at him. In those lifeless, dull eyes he saw malicious intent. An electric shiver ran up his spine, and the darkness seemed even more menacing.
Hundreds of pathetic, straggling bodies turned and stumbled towards the source of the sound that disturbed the otherwise all-consuming silence. Most of the time they were too slow and, when they arrived where the Jeep had been, Steve was long gone.
Sometimes fate and circumstance converged where several of the bodies got dangerously close to the Jeep. Steve tried avoiding them but he ended up hitting a few. The bush bar on the front of the Jeep did a good job of ramming emaciated and empty corpses out of the way without damaging the Jeep. He grew more confident in the ruggedness of the vehicle.
The shadowy silhouette of a dead, young woman stumbled into the middle of the road and walked towards the approaching Jeep. Instead of swerving to avoid her, Steve pushed the Jeep faster and collided with the emaciated body head-on. The rotting corpse disintegrated on impact and splattered the Jeep and windshield with gore. He had to use generous amounts of windshield washer fluid to clear the windshield; he decided that wasn’t such a great idea and wouldn’t do it again.
Other than the light from the Jeep, the world was swathed in pressing darkness. Steve knew he couldn't afford to stop even for a moment. Even if he turned around and headed back to the farm, he would have little chance of alerting Rachel and Peter to his return. Crowds of bodies would be upon him before he'd be able to get through the gate. He had no choice but to keep going until he reached the safety and security of the survivor's base in Derry.
Chapter 48
The farmhouse was as cold and empty inside as the world outside. For hours, Peter and Rachel sat together in total darkness and in complete silence, both thinking about Steve. While they understood that he wanted to go home, neither of them liked that he left.
Peter’s home seemed a million miles away to him, but he knew in his heart it was not worth going back. All he had left behind was the familiarity of property, and possessions; none of that mattered anymore. There were things which had a sentimental value he wished he had with him now. But even those few precious belongings weren't worth putting his life at risk.
He acknowledged that Steve left behind more than he or Rachel had. Returning to Derry would never bring Steve his family back, but if it brought him some peace, then Peter guessed it was worth taking the chance.
Without the generator operating the house was dark, cold and uninviting. In the late evening gloom, Rachel and Peter could hardly see each other despite sitting at opposite ends of the same room, and they barely spoke.
Both of them had things they wanted to say, but didn’t. Even though Steve spent most of the last few days locked away in his room, his absence was painfully obvious.
Nothing felt the same, and all Rachel and Peter did was worry about what might happen to their friend out on the road. The worst part was not knowing if he was okay. They wondered if he had reached Derry, and if he had, would the other survivors still be at the community center? Had the numbers of walkers increased along the road? If it was getting bad where they were now, how much worse was it in Derry?
No matter how hard they tried, neither Peter nor Rachel could clear these persistent dark thoughts from their minds. The oppressive atmosphere proved too much for Rachel. She went up to the bedroom, preferring to be alone.
By midnight, Peter spent the last hour yawning and dozing in his chair. The yawns followed one after another, leaving his eyes watering. Despite Rachel having gone upstairs over an hour earlier, he wondered whether it would be worth the effort of going up to bed himself. Once there, would he be able to switch his mind off long enough to sleep? For a while, he thought about sleeping in the chair, but it was uncomfortable and he knew he’d wake up stiff, aching and still tired. It was almost one when Peter got up and headed upstairs.
At the top of the stairs, Peter decided he wanted to be alone and went into another bedroom to sleep. He and Rachel had slept in the same room every night since they had arrived at the farm. He still wanted her company, but tonight he wanted to sleep somewhere else. On his own in the dark he couldn't bring himself to shut his eyes for more than a couple of seconds, let alone sleep. Less than an hour after climbing the stairs he took out his flashlight and walked back downstairs again.
Trying not to make any more noise than necessary, he got himself a drink of water, lit a fire in the hearth and sat down to read a book. Twenty minutes later Rachel tiptoed into the living room. She also couldn’t sleep and became concerned when she heard noises downstairs. She found Peter curled up in a ball on a rug in front of the fire; she reached out and gently shook his shoulder.
“FUCK!” he yelled out, spinning around and sitting up in a single movement. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. I didn't know you were there.”
Taken aback by his unexpected reaction, Rachel sat on the nearest chair. She brought her knees up under her chin, trying to shrink to the smallest possible size. In spite of the fire, the house was still cold.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “You looked like you were asleep.”
“You're joking right? I haven't slept all night.”
“Me neither.”
Peter finished his drink, stretched and looked around the living room. The house felt much bigger tonight. Behind tightly drawn curtains, random flickering shadows from the fire filled the living room.
They were afraid to let even a sliver of light escape out into the night for fear of attracting more of the walkers to the house. When they spoke to each other, it was in hushed whispers that echoed in the empty house. When they needed to go into another room they tiptoed, taking care not to make any unnecessary sounds.
They didn't dare do anything that might alert the outside world to their presence at the farm. The constant oppression made Peter feel trapped. He wanted to shout or play loud music or laugh or do anything other than sitting there waiting for time to pass. But they both knew they couldn't afford to take any chances.
Peter glanced over at Rachel sitting curled up on the chair. She looked tired and sad. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue, and she was deep in thought.
“Come here,” he said, holding out his arms to her.
Not needing any further encouragement, she slid down from the chair and sat next to him. He put his arms around her shoulder
s and pulled her close. He lightly kissed the top of her head and held her tight.
“It's cold tonight,” she whispered curling against him.
“You tired?” he asked.
“Exhausted,” she admitted. “You?”
“The same. Can't sleep though.”
“Me neither. My minds racing and I can't switch it off.” Rachel said.
“I’m pretty sure I don’t need to ask what you're thinking about, do I?”
She shook her head. “Not really. It’s difficult to think about anything else.”
Peter hugged her a little tighter.
“I should have stopped him. I should have locked the stupid bastard in his room and not let him leave.”
“Shhh...” Rachel whispered. She pulled back slightly from Peter to allow herself to look deep into his eyes. The low orange flames of the fire highlighted glistening tears running freely down his face. “There's nothing either of us could have done and talking about it is pointless.”
“I wish he was here now...” Peter said.
“I know,” she whispered, her voice soothing and low.
The two friends held each other again. After a moment of awkwardness and reluctance, they kissed. The kisses were gentle and touching and warm. Then they cried, held each other tight and let the tears flow.
They cried for everything that was gone; and cried for their missing friend and they cried for each other. The much-needed outpouring of emotion diffused the building pressure they’d been under and quieted their troubled minds. Once their tears had dried, they felt more relaxed. After several minutes they talked again while watching the fire burn to glowing embers.
“You know,” Peter yawned, lying on his back and watching the shadows flickering on the ceiling, “I’d have liked a house like this if I could have afforded it.”
Rachel, lying at a right angle to him with her head resting on his stomach, smiled to herself.
“Me too.”
“Really?” he asked, lifting himself up onto his elbows and looking at her.