by Tara Brown
I turn, every bit of my body covered in pins and needles, as I take a step toward the front doors that are closed partway with struggling zombies stuck in them trying to get out.
They don't notice me either, they stare beyond me to the fire. Just like the doctor did with Grace. I was never his target, I just didn't think about it.
Because of the bite, they consider me one of them, a zombie and yet I’m not. Or am I? Am I partly turned?
My steps get bolder as I head for the entrance, reaching with trembling fingers and grabbing the door. I take a breath and pry it open, making noise and giving the zombies room to get out. I’m almost swallowed up as they flood out into the parking lot, fighting the current they create. Scrambling to the side of the door, I cling to it and pause in the doorway, shivering from nerves and the rush of being around them but not attacked by them.
I can’t believe this is happening. After a moment, I turn and hurry inside, walking faster and faster through the dark aisles.
It starts so quiet and ends with me pushing three carts. One filled with extra clothes and guns and ammo, the other food, and the final one has water.
I’ve smashed cases and eaten as I walked and spoke aloud, but the zombies ignore me. They don't see me or hear me.
I push the overflowing carts to the door closest to the car and out into the night.
In the shadows, Grace, Celia, and Lester sit back in the car as if they never left. Their silhouettes are still again.
They never left me after the bombing?
They either tried to help me or kill me, I don’t know which.
Either way I’m alive. Alive and immune.
Hurrying over with the first cart, I leave the door ajar with the others. Grace reaches over and pops the trunk for me, but doesn't get out. None of them do. I unload all three carts, tossing water and snacks into the front seat and abandoning the carts in the middle of the alley. I leave the side door open in case we need to come back.
When I get in the car, they’re shoving food and drinks in their faces. I crack a large water and drink until I cramp up again, tossing the bottle out the window with a heavy sigh. “I’m going to assume you were trying to help me and not have me killed.” I try to be polite. “Thanks for that.”
“You walked through them.” Celia’s eyes are wide.
“Yeah, the bite must mark me as one of them. They can smell the sickness of it in me or something.”
“The blood”—Grace ponders aloud, plucking my filthy shirt—“it’s on you. Maybe that’s how.”
“Unlikely, it's mostly my blood. Very little of the doctor’s landed on me.” I crack a second bottle of water and guzzle, realizing how thirsty I am. I drink all of it and breathe heavily. “I won’t change my clothes, I’ll just stink of them until we get to safety.” I can’t help but sound smug, I am. Germs and all. “Guess I just got a lot more valuable.” My gaze darts to Celia’s in the rearview mirror. “Won’t be blowing up any more cars to kill me then, will you?”
She pops a piece of chocolate into her mouth without speaking. Maybe plugging the hole so she won’t. I’m cool with that.
I start the car and drive out the way we came, turning to Grace. “Where to now?”
“I don't know. Military base maybe, see if anyone is alive.”
“I haven’t seen a single person who wasn't bit except us.” My eyes dart back and forth to either side of the road as I race down the street. A horde follows us for a while but we eventually lose them. “So it’s safe to say, there has to be somewhere everyone else is hiding.”
“Maybe everyone was evacuated and they’re not in the state.” Grace’s doing her optimist thing again. It's cute.
“Or maybe they’re all zombies and it’s just us. I mean, honestly, how many people live in Tallahassee?”
“Almost two hundred thousand.” Celia crunches her chips, eating them with the chocolate.
“Well, we haven’t seen that many people.” I glare at her meal in the mirror. “Did you just eat chocolate and chips together?”
“Salt and chocolate’s good.” She tries to defend herself.
“And they call me disturbed?”
“You should try it before you knock it.” Grace grins at me as she takes a chip and chocolate and eats them together the same way Celia did.
Lester takes a bite too, mixing the chocolate and chips in his mouth at the same time.
“Jesus.” I wince, hating the way his massive teeth coat in chocolate. “Well, out of the almost two hundred thousand people, we haven’t seen one person driving, walking, hiding, or anything. I don't think things are going so hot here.” My gaze darts to the radio. “And there’s nothing on the radio because it’s not even working. Phones aren’t working. Power’s down except for emergency lights and solar-powered shit. No one is leaving signs to a base camp. Which means an evacuation would be hard to organize. You two got to work, what seven in the morning?"
"Six for me," Grace answers.
"Me too." Celia nods.
"And it's three in the morning now. This shit moves fast. I don't know that there would’ve been much in the way of an evacuation."
“What do you think we should do?” Celia asks.
“Well, east leads to the ocean and more population; that seems like a bad choice. North might be okay, but then again, once we get north enough, the population spikes again. I think we might need to head west. Away from this and into the areas with way less people. Arizona has some barren places.”
“Is there a chance this is only on the East Coast?”
“I don’t know what to think.” I glance at Celia. “But we can’t stay here. And there’s no way the bigger cities are doing any better. If it hasn't hit them, it will. And if it has, there’s no one left except scared people like us.” I can’t believe I just admitted that to her.
“Do you see that?” Grace stares past me, squinting in confusion.
“What?” I slow down as we all follow her gaze to a bunch of cars.
I don't see anything for the first seconds.
But then I do, it’s movement.
It’s different than the zombies with the running or swaying or pretending to be alive.
It’s real movement.
A couple of people sneaking and creeping and hiding.
They run between vehicles and check behind themselves, staying in the shadows as best they can.
“Holy shit, just as we say no people anywhere—” I pull over, lowering Grace’s window to get a better view. It’s a girl and a guy and a child. I almost raise the window at the sight of the small kid but I pause, my finger on the button.
Alive is alive.
For whatever reason, that chant’s in my head, forcing me to open the door and climb out. “Hello!” I wave and flash the headlights, giving a soft shout, “Hey.” I can’t help but check around. Just because the Walmart zombies didn’t want me, doesn’t mean they’ll all resist taking another bite out of me.
The people hiding lift their heads from their crouched positions, staring at each other and me. “Hey,” the guy speaks as he stands up and edges toward us, staying in front of the girl and kid, protecting them.
“You guys okay?” Grace asks the mother of all ridiculous questions through the open window.
“Yeah, living the dream.” The guy scowls as he gets closer.
“Where’d you come from?” I try to make it sound like we didn’t fall off the turnip truck.
“Jacksonville. You?”
“Just south of here. A couple of miles. We were hiding but then it got crazy.” I don’t mention the hospital. “Have you heard anything?”
“Nothing. When the fog hit—”
“Fog?” Grace asks.
“You guys haven’t heard about the fog? Weirdest shit ever. More of a mist maybe. Intense mist. We heard it was in Europe on the news last night and this morning. Within a couple of hours it hit a few cities here. And then New York.” He comes close enough that I’m getting uncomf
ortable and he stops, maybe sensing it.
“Mist?” Grace asks.
“Yeah, these tiny little parachutes were falling from the sky and wherever they landed the fog started. It spread like mist,” the girl speaks from behind him, leaning a little so we can see her. “We saw it in Miami but the zombies were so bad, we didn't stay to see what it was.”
“What did it do?” I ask.
“Killed all working cars and electricity and phones, zombies, everything.” The guy lowers his voice, eyeing the kid, “It just stopped everything. Like a poisonous electrical cloud.”
“Like an EMP,” I mutter. "That kills zombies."
“Jesus.” Grace gives Celia and me a look. Hell, she might’ve given Lester one. “And you escaped that?”
“It moves slowly, dissipating after a mile or so. We just keep heading west. We ran on foot until we reached a car lot, but the car we stole died, so we decided to find a new one.” The guy eyeballs me, like maybe he’s thinking our car looks good. “You guys seen a dealership around here?”
“Yeah, but even better, there’s a full parking lot at Walmart back there. Just kill one of the zombies and take their keys.”
“Have you tried killing one? They don’t die. They just keep coming, nothing stops them.”
“Brain damage does.” I crack a grin. “And I could help you out with a couple of guns.”
His eyes dart to the trunk. “You got guns?”
“I do. There’s more in the Walmart too. And lots of food and water. I left the side door to the store ajar with a cart.”
“You got water?” the girl asks from behind him.
“Yeah.” Grace gets out, making me uncomfortable. She pops the trunk and grabs some water and protein bars, tossing them at the guy.
“Thanks.” He catches and hands them to the girl and kid, helping her drink. They all drink and eat, no longer paying attention to us. They’re in full-on frenzy, eating the way the zombies bite.
“Thank you.” The girl sighs, drinking some more. “We haven’t had much luck stopping. Everywhere has zombies. I heard the West Coast is a haven though, the islands. All those tiny islands are free.”
“Really?” Grace gives me another look.
“Yeah, the military is headed that way, telling everyone to go there. The fog didn’t hit there I guess, just the East Coast and Europe, apparently.”
“Have you heard what started it, how it happened?” Celia asks a smart question.
“Nothing about how it began,” the guy answers. “First reports we heard were two days ago, disoriented people. You know, the same old story. Some homeless guy is cracked out and being violent.”
“Right,” I say but I don't know the story.
“We heard some shit about England being in bad shape, like weird bad, like on the news they said they lost contact with them. Which seems impossible. It’s the 2000s. We don't lose contact with anything. But then here cities started panicking, telling people to stay home. I saw the first one this morning. He stood still, just chilling in the middle of the road. A lady walked by, trying to hurry, and she made noise and he came to life.” He pauses, making us all pause in breath and hope.
“Now they’re everywhere,” the lady says. “The only normal people we’ve seen were leaving. Caravans of people."
“Wow.” Grace nods once and pulls a gun and a box of ammo out. I’m surprised when the bullets and gun match. She holds them out, making me wanna smack her upside the head.
“No.” I come back to life after the little story and hurry around the car, grabbing the gun from her. I toss it to the far side of the road, opposite where the guy is. “Get in the car.” I nudge her. She listens, also surprising.
The guy’s eyes meet mine. “They don’t get it.” His eyes dart to the girl he’s with.
“Nope. Sheltered lives trusting everyone.” I sigh.
“Take care and maybe we’ll see ya out West,” he speaks softly.
“Yeah. You too.” I say it ‘cause it seems like the right thing to say. I don’t know why I have the urge to do the right thing. I’ve been feeling weird since this all started. More human. “Walmart’s that way. See ya.” I shut the trunk and get in the car, closing Grace’s window and locking the doors. I drive away slowly, watching in the rearview as he grabs the gun and ammo.
“You don’t have to be such a dick.” Grace scoffs.
“Yeah, he does,” Celia mutters. It makes me wonder what kind of life she’s lived to be this skeptical of people, but also to be supporting anything I do.
“Why? They seemed nice and they had a kid.”
“You know Janine?” Celia snaps. “On the fourth floor, who’s never allowed out of her room and no one ever visits?”
Grace barely gets a nod in before Celia answers her own question.
“She used to be a beautiful girl. Long flowing red hair, green eyes, and tanned skin. She looked like a Barbie doll for Christ’s sake. She used to take her small dog and lure little girls into cars for her boyfriend. They’d keep the kid alive for a week or so and then Janine would get jealous and kill her.”
“Oh my God.” Grace gulps. I think I gulped. Lester definitely gulped.
“Trust no one, Grace.” Her eyes flicker to me, and I want to defend myself but I don't. It’s a fair assessment of me and this situation.
Grace lowers her gaze, losing the fight.
Celia sits back and keeps eating chips.
But even Lester has lost his appetite.
We ride in silence as we turn onto Highway 20, headed for Fort Braden.
Everyone is stressed and scared. I don't know the last time I was one of the everyone, but I don't like it now.
I wish I were the lion again, doing the hunting and the scaring.
But I’m not.
Chapter Five
Alabama is messy, maybe worse than Florida.
We drive along small roads, getting lost and turned around.
The streets are filled with hordes of zombies and no one walking or driving. No lights or life. Just zombies. Grace remains silent, not asking to see family or friends or even check up on her people.
We drive quickly along a back road with Celia giving me directions. She’s been through this part of the States before.
Mississippi is better, but with less food and gas at the stores. The no power thing makes everything harder, but we find places with generators and people who still take money, money I stole from dead people.
When we run out of gas and gas stations, we walk until we can get a new vehicle.
This goes on for days.
My bloody shirt is sweaty and my face is hot when we finally stop in Joplin, Missouri, at a Flying J Travel Center just outside town.
Dying to stretch my legs and wash my face, I get out of the car and grab the crowbar I now carry before I head inside the gas station. The last place we went where I brought the baton in, someone thought I was a cop. It didn’t go well for them. I switched to the crowbar in the trunk after that.
Everyone waits in the car for me to scout before they get out. I have no idea how they’re doing it, all this sitting and waiting for me. They barely leave the car to the point I’m scared they’re just pissing in the seats. But as I enter the building, listening for life or death or a little of everything, I understand why they try to stay in the car as much as they do.
It’s terrifying out here.
It’s a bad sign that I’m scared.
I haven’t been this scared in so long I forget how it affects you.
Out of fear, my brain tries making absurd decisions that I know won’t benefit us. It whispers for me to stay in the light, leave the shadows alone, don't snoop too much or talk to anyone.
Realistically, those aren’t the ways we will succeed.
The best things are stashed in shadows. Yes, with the dead.
The people we meet are leery like us, but they know things. If I talk to them I learn important details. Like the fact that the West is a haven. We’v
e heard it from everyone we meet up with. Everyone is leaving for the West, hence the reason gas is scarce.
But guns aren't. Everyone is packing. They have no problem killing the undead either. Biters’ bodies line the roads with bullet holes in them.
Nothing is black and white anymore. And fear can’t run you. If you let it, you’ll die.
And while I might not be something the zombies are into, I can still starve to death or get shot or dehydrate.
Survival comes from thought-out, smart, and calculated plans, not fear.
Defying my fearful brain, I slip into the shadows, ignoring my mind’s pleas not to. In the shadows I see it, the thing I fear.
One of them is here, asleep standing.
The soft noises I make don’t register with him. Like somehow the blood on me, the blood that moves on its own, has told him I’m not fresh meat. I’m contaminated.
Feeling bold, maybe cocky, I drag off my shirt for the first time in two days.
I need to know.
I’ve been thinking about it since the Walmart incident.
I stand staring at the man, shirtless and curious. I pull off my pants and shoes and socks and underwear and stand completely naked in front of him, with only the moonlight touching me, casting shadows around me.
The man, the monster, doesn't move. Not so much as a flicker.
I walk barefoot right past him, noting the smell of him, the ripe scent of death, and head for the cooler at the back. I grab water, room temperature water and open it, dumping it on myself, scrubbing and cleaning every inch of me. I wash the bite mark, curious at how the skin has hardened and knotted but it doesn't hurt. It’s completely healed.
I open a second water and pour it over myself, cleaning even my feet and hair.
When I’m done I walk back to the man, water dripping off my naked body and making sounds in the stillness.
But he doesn't budge.
He doesn't even breathe differently.
He stands there, swaying in a breeze I cannot feel, and sleeps.