by Tara Brown
Lester grins his moronic monkey smile, appearing ready to crack some skulls. He truly loves smashing things.
“I’ll come with you.” Grace cocks a dark eyebrow at me. “You and Lester should be fine together.” She gives Celia the same scowl.
“We’ll be fine.” Celia climbs out, grabbing a gun and a baton.
Lester gets a baton and a crowbar, our new favorite weapon.
Grace stretches and I struggle not to notice the way her shirt lifts and her skin shows. I don't want to wonder how soft it is or if she thinks about me the way I now think about her. I grab a gun and a crowbar from the trunk where everyone else is gearing up.
This SUV is much larger than our other vehicles. “Try to find something similar.” I point at the trunk.
“Okay. And you guys be fast and careful.” Celia’s eyes dart to Grace’s. They have a secret meeting for a heartbeat and then she turns and steers Lester by the arm.
I don't need to read the meeting’s minutes, I know what it was about. Celia warned Grace to keep an eye on me and not to trust me. My previous record will never be cleaned by the perfect behavior I’ve exhibited these past four days. I could go years of being Celia’s version of a good person, or at least not a terrible person, and Celia would never see anything but a killer.
It’s not exactly an unfair assessment. All I’ve done since we left is kill people.
Grace puts a gun in the back of her pants like she’s some badass gang member and grips a crowbar. We all have a matching set.
If we had a gang name it would be the Crowbars.
Not sure it sounds cool enough to be menacing, although watching someone bludgeon another human being with one is incredibly aggressive.
“Be back here in like twenty,” Celia calls out to us softly as she rounds a corner behind the Taco Del Mar next to the Starbucks.
Grace gives me a hard stare. “You ready?” Her tone suggests she’s actually frightening and ready to wreak havoc on the world. Even if she’s hidden in the car most of the time.
“Lead the way.” I hold a hand out, resting the crowbar on my opposite shoulder, casually.
Her eyes don't match her scowl. They’re filled with fear and doubt.
I could tell her that she has nothing to fear, that I would never let anything happen to her. I will always protect her.
But I don't.
I try to make that lingering fear in her stare hit me right where it counts, right in my cold, dead heart. But I’m forced to pretend to enjoy it, like I used to. I miss being me. I miss enjoying someone else’s fear.
We creep across the parking lot, staying silent.
The trigger for the zombies is noise. You can move past them if you stay quiet enough. But the moment there’s one sound, they all come running. It’s like they’re communicating. Similar to bees or wasps.
The hotel is a Holiday Inn Express, nothing fancy but it should have guests who didn't get to check out. The town is close enough to Seattle that it’s likely a place people stay on the way. The last sign we saw said it was just over a hundred miles, a couple of hours if we’re lucky. If the road’s clear, which so far it hasn’t been. We’ve had to figure out our way using back roads and old highways most of the time. The map I found in some quaint little town called Rawlins has been our saving grace, after we all learned how to read the damned thing. I’m hoping it helps us navigate around Seattle. Thus far we’ve managed to avoid cities, the few we ventured into the outskirts of were nightmares.
Our steps make tiny noises, unavoidable noises. The dead don't notice those as much. It’s more like gasps and huffing breathes or speaking that gets them going.
We don't see anyone for a few minutes as we cross the parking lot to the hotel. But when we get closer to the front doors Grace pauses. Her hands shake as she holds the crowbar, trying to be steady. I wait, watching her for the reaction to the softly swaying zombie, but she doesn't move. She breathes deeply, waiting. After a moment I walk by her, keeping silent, showing her how it’s done.
Getting closer I realize why she was frozen. Just past the doors in the lobby there’s a horde. I wince and peer back at her, shaking my head. I don't want her to come. She pleads with her eyes. I point at the side of the hotel. “Side door,” I whisper so softly I don't know that she’s heard me until she furrows her brow, glances at the side of the hotel, and shrugs defeated.
She steps back, taking measured and silent movements to the side of the hotel. I hurry inside, no longer being quiet. I don't need to.
The dead don’t hear me.
They don't notice me.
I’m invisible.
When I get inside, I notice a lady with a black dress shirt on and a button that says Assistant Manager. She has a keycard on her wrist. She stands still, not swaying as much as the others.
I walk to her, sliding the card and then pausing. A mocking smile slips across my face, and I’m glad Grace wasn't here to see what I just did. No power means keycards don't work.
I sigh and make my way to the left side of the building, searching for the exit door Grace will be at.
Her wide eyes are waiting there for me through a slit of a window in the door, darting back behind her and then to me. I push the door open, letting her in. “We have to pry doors with the crowbars and raid fast. If there’s a zombie in the room, let me handle it.”
She nods, not speaking. The fear in her eyes almost makes me wish it weren’t there. Almost.
We make our way to the first set of doors, pushing at the knob until it bursts, creating far more noise than I want. We freeze as the door creaks a little. No one comes so I push the door and check inside. A pristine room is on the other side.
We walk away, popping open the next door. This one makes a wood-cracking sound. I open the door quickly, pushing her in as the faces come around the corner. I shut the door, turning the deadbolt but certain it won’t hold. The room has a small suitcase in it. I grab it and Grace’s hand, noting how cold her fingers are. I drag her to the window, checking for the dead before I slide it open.
The banging comes as I get my head out the window, checking for them.
They don't hear it yet, but they will. They’ll be here soon. The zombies in the hall at the door are making too much noise, thumping against the wood.
Grace pushes me aside, scrambling through the window. She’s gasping for air as she lands on the grass. The door bursts behind me, and as much as my body screams at me to run, I don't. I slide the window closed, trapping myself inside with them.
Her eyes are wide, dark pools of fear I would’ve swam laps in, before.
But I shut the curtains and grab the suitcase, turning and facing the horde. They’re confused. They see me and stop, standing motionless. A sea of soft moans and disgusting faces.
They’re not getting better looking, that's for sure.
I burst through two more rooms, stealing the suitcases and heading for the side door. When I’m done, I close the front door, leaving the monsters alone in the halls and rooms, the places they’ll wander until the army comes and finally kills them all.
I’ll never sign up for that job.
I don't really like killing them as much anymore.
It feels weird, like I shouldn't.
Maybe it’s the lack of sport.
Grace is back at the parking lot, waiting amongst the cars when I get there. She grabs a suitcase and shakes her head. “I can’t do this, Liam. I’m sorry I didn't help you. I thought I could.” The way her voice cracks and her eyes fill with emotions tugs at something inside me.
“Then don't. I’ll protect you. I’ll get you everything you need.” I step closer.
“Why?” she whispers, almost sounding defeated. “Why are you being so normal? I heard about you. The crazy killer in Group Seven. Nothing about you is supposed to be normal. Only, I’ve been with you every second of every day for four straight days, and I’ve seen nothing that would suggest you aren’t a normal guy. What’s changed? What’s the
act and what’s real?”
“I don't know, Grace. I don't have a reason to be angry, I guess.” I don't tell her I think it’s the blood that moves on its own. All that driving gave me time to think about it. I’m different since the bite. “We should hurry back.” Changing the subject, I grab the suitcases and start walking.
“Wait.” She grabs my arm, spinning me. “Celia has a plan. She’s using you to get us to safety and then she’s going to make sure you’re locked up again.”
That hits hard in the guts but it doesn't surprise me, or make me angry. Nothing makes me reactive anymore.
“I told her not to but she won’t listen. She’s determined that you and Lester will be locked up again.” Grace’s eyebrows knit. “But I don't want that.” She sounds sincere.
I’m close enough to smell her, enjoy the scent of her. I’m close enough to kiss her, and although she’s told me of something that should enrage me, that’s all I seem to focus on. I want to kiss her.
“I suspected she had something up her sleeve.” I step back, needing to protect her, even from me. “Celia’s an idiot. I knew that when she was my group’s leader and it hasn't changed in four days. I’m not going anywhere.” I say it sincerely too, hoping she gets my drift. I won’t leave her alone.
“Okay.” Her eyes glisten.
We walk back in silence to where Lester is standing looking ridiculous. His pale hands are coated in blood, matching his shirt. He watches as Celia loads the contents of our old trunk into the trunk of a new Suburban she has driven over.
“Wash your hands, Lester. The blood moves on its own.” I sigh, wanting to be annoyed though I’m unable to really reach it.
“That's not zombie blood.” Celia glances back at me. Her lip is bleeding and her shirt’s torn. I want to enjoy the look, assuming Lester gave her a knocking about, but I’m broken. I can’t enjoy it.
“Jesus, he hit you?” Grace runs to her.
“No.” Celia shakes her head. “He saved me.” She turns back and continues loading. Lester the giant pasty monkey stands confused, bloody and useless, in this moment. I bet he wasn’t anywhere near useless when he saved Celia. I bet he was savage. Cracking skulls.
“Where are they?” I turn in the direction of the Starbucks.
“Dead,” Celia murmurs.
“Well done, Lester,” Grace says.
I pat him on the arm, wanting to tell him what a traitor Celia is, but there’s no point. Instead, I focus on the task at hand, stocking up. I lift the suitcases and open them, revealing the contents.
“Looks like you robbed an old man, a skinny lady, and a traveling salesman,” Grace almost jokes.
“Yeah. At least there’s toothpaste.” I shrug.
“And cardigans.” Grace gives me a look. We have a secret conversation. I’d bask in it longer if I could, but the moment she does it, men move in behind her.
Chapter Seven
I shove Grace out of the way and pull my gun at the same moment the two men lift theirs. They’re military, wearing SEAL uniforms and carrying assault rifles.
“Stay back,” I command.
“We don't want any trouble. We’re just looking for our friend,” one of the guys says, continuing to move forward.
“I’m going to shoot when I finish this sentence if you don't stop moving.”
They both halt.
“Older guy, fifties, fit. He’s a doctor.” They scan the area while continuing to watch us.
“Haven’t seen him. Unless—” I glance at Celia who shakes her head. “Haven’t seen him.”
“Where’d you guys come from?” he asks quickly.
“Florida,” Grace offers too freely. Celia and I both sigh.
“No way. What’s it like over there?”
“There’s mist that kills electronics and power and zombies and everyone says go west to the island off the West Coast. They said there’s no zombies on the islands,” she keeps going.
“That's a lie.” One of the guys lowers his gun and his tone, “The islands were supposed to be safe, but they’re not. We left today. The remaining survivors were hunkered down in an army bunker on an island with loads of Zeke. Don't go there. The bunker’s a ticking time bomb waiting for a spark.”
“What?” Celia asks.
“Zeke, zombies.”
“Shit.” My stomach sinks. “None of the islands are safe?”
“No, man. There’s nowhere that's safe. Maybe the mountains where it’s cold and they wouldn't survive the winter. Or a boat.” The other guy lowers his gun too. “We’re headed to Montana and Idaho. You guys come through there?”
“Idaho. Yeah.” Grace nods. “It’s overrun in the cities.”
“Oh shit. What about the farms?” The guy’s eyes get a desperate look in them.
“The less populated areas seem better off,” Celia offers. “We drove the 30 from Little American to Montpelier, and we hardly saw anyone but then we arrived in Pocatello and it seemed like the entire city was already turned. Blackfoot was bad too. We didn't find many people alive.”
“No, it’s been slim pickings for places to rest. And we haven’t seen the number of people we should have, coming this way. Everyone we met said they were headed west. People are all talking about it, but we haven’t come upon much traffic.” Grace shrugs as another man rounds the corner of Taco Del Mar.
"There you are."
The military guys spin, sighing when they see a man striding toward us and lower their weapons again, so I lower mine too.
“Dr. Stoddard! We were worried,” one of the military guys says.
“Sorry, I was a bit lost,” the man says casually, implying it’s not nearly as serious as it actually is to separate from your herd. “I see you’ve met up with some fellow survivors.” His eyes dart to mine. There’s something fierce in his stare, like he isn’t a real doctor. “Hello.”
“Came from Florida,” one of the military guys says, nodding at Grace. His eyes linger on her, making me want to raise my gun again, but a voice in my mind whispers for me to stay calm.
“Florida? That's a journey.” The doctor doesn't remind me of any doctors I know. He’s got guns strapped to him and the way he moves suggests he’s been trained in the military. His eyes flicker around, never staying put long and his fingers linger at the holsters he’s wearing. He’s the first person I’ve met that I think might shoot us. Everyone else has been friendly.
“It was a crazy journey,” Grace yammers on like an idiot. Pretty soon she’ll be volunteering our water and food. “It’s taken us days to get here. We just keep trading vehicles. It sucks. That's why we stopped here. Get food and go to the bathroom and change cars but we didn't see anyone else here.”
“How have you made it this far?” the doctor asks. “Is one of you trained or military?”
“Him.” Celia points at me. “He can walk amongst them. Got bit but it didn't seem to affect him.”
My jaw drops to come up with a story but the response from the doctor shocks me more than Celia throwing me under the bus. I expected that.
“You were bitten?” The doctor cocks a dark eyebrow. When I don't answer he smiles. “It’s okay. I’ve seen this before. You’re bitten but you lived through it.” He lowers his gaze. “Electrocution, right?”
Grace gasps. “The Taser!”
All the little pieces click into place. Of course. The Taser. The guy biting me was electrocuted the moment he bit down.
“It’s nanorobots.” He cringes when he speaks, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of doctor is being escorted by two military personnel and would know what this is. Especially here in the middle of nowhere. “Have you noticed the way the blood moves in the bitten? Moves like it’s being c—”
“Controlled,” I cut him off.
“That's because it is. Nanorobots are tiny robots that can be programmed. The ones in the biters were originally used for medical purposes, good intentions. Someone changed that, making all this mess happen. The electricity tri
ps and resets them. They go back to being good again.”
“Nanorobots?” The word is one I never gave much thought to. “How do you know?”
“One perk of being military, kid. We got a bit of a warning that the world was ending.” One soldier laughs bitterly.
“Because we ended it,” the doctor mumbles and gives me a look. “How ya feeling since it happened?”
“A little like God.” I pretend it’s a joke but it isn’t. “I walk amongst them and they don't see me. I’m invisible.”
“I bet. There’s no guarantee the shock works to reset everything, so you’re lucky.”
“Guess so. I feel lucky. More than lucky. Like I said, I feel invisible sometimes, especially in the middle of a large group of them.”
“Of course. You are invisible. They’re communicating with each other. Anyway, don't go to the coast. Turn around and find somewhere else to go. We’re headed for Laurel, Montana. You can come with us.”
“No,” I blurt, not thinking how obvious it sounds that I want to avoid the military.
“We will,” Celia says quickly, ignoring me. “We should.”
Grace glances at me. “What do you want to do?”
“No.” I shake my head. I don't trust military or doctors. And I don't want to say that aloud so I leave it at no. But I’m not as dumb as I look. A military doctor wanting me to come with him, after he figures out I’m not a zombie after the bite, makes me leery. Not even adding in Celia’s evil plan.
Lester steps closer to me, clearly agreeing with my assessment of the situation. There’s no way he’d ever trust anyone with the name “doctor.”
Celia sighs and steps closer to the doctor. “Lester, come with us. You can’t be running around out here.”
Lester shuffles closer to me, not making eye contact.
“They’re mental patients. I can’t just let them go,” Celia says with all the authority in the world. “Criminally insane.”