by Rick Wood
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Gus roared.
“S – s – sorry!”
“Sorry? All you needed to do was fucking shoot it!”
“I know, I’m sorry!”
Gus felt Sadie tugging on his arm. He reluctantly let Donny go.
Donny fell to the floor, grabbing his neck, rubbing a red mark with his hand.
“You’ve never killed one before.”
“No!”
“Then that was the time to start!”
“I know, I’m so sorry.”
“I do not care if you are sorry! I could have been killed!”
“I am sorry!”
“You can’t fight, you can’t run, you can’t do anything. What is the use of you? What is the point? How do you expect to survive in this world?”
Donny remained silent.
Gus willed his panting to calm, but it didn’t. He remained just as enraged, just as ready to beat the hell out of the kid and rip him to shreds.
“Get in the car; more infected will be coming,” Gus commanded, shaking his head. “Or don’t. Stay here. Like I give a shit.”
Gus threw the bag of weapons back into the boot, opened the door and got in, slamming it shut and turning on the ignition, wishing that the other two remained outside so he could finish the mission alone.
Alone.
Just as he liked it.
Why was he dragging them along with him anyway?
But they got back in.
Sadie stared out the window, her arms folded, a scowl imprinted on her face.
Donny watched the corpse of the father and son disappear out the window as they pulled away, gently soothing the bruise on his throat.
Gus watched the road.
No one said anything, or looked at each other, for the next few hours.
It didn’t take long until Gus noticed that he was the only one still awake, an observation that he couldn’t help but find irritating.
It was so easy for them.
They got tired, they fell asleep.
If he closed his eyes, he saw faces. Screaming faces. Faces he wished he didn’t have to watch die every night.
He resented their innocence.
He wished he could have it.
Minus Fourteen Hours
27
Trusting Sadie and Donny to keep watch was a difficult decision, but Gus couldn’t have kept driving. His tiredness was causing him to veer across the road, and for their safety’s sake, he needed to rest.
Sadie was a talented fighter, and Donny… well, he had eyes. Perhaps between the two of them they could make a half-competent pair.
Either way, if he kept driving, he was more likely to die from falling asleep at the wheel than he was being eaten by a zombie the two of them didn’t notice – probably.
And he wasn’t about to let Donny drive.
In the end, it was a welcome rest. He feared that the anxiety of relinquishing a small piece of control to the other two would keep him awake – or, failing that, the desperate cold of the outdoors would. As it turned out, as soon as his head hit the mound of leaves he had pushed together, his eyes closed and his mind drifted to a dreamless sleep. Nestling in dirt wasn’t ideal, and he missed having a bed, but he’d endured worse.
His eyes opened hours later, revealing a peaceful early morning sun that cast a mild light upon him. The clouds were sparse, and it allowed him to feel a moment of resolution. A moment of relaxing his mind into submission, until all that he felt was a light head and an empty belly.
Then the aching in his calf returned. The bullet lodged securely inside his muscle that had since repaired itself around it.
I’m still alive.
They hadn’t let some stray undead into his makeshift nature-bed.
Wanting to retain another few moments of peace, he didn’t lift his head or twitch his body, hoping that the other two wouldn’t realise he was awake. He strained his eyes to see where they were, and spotted them a few yards away, in front of the car.
Donny had a knife in his hand.
Gus filled with alarm. He lifted himself up.
Sadie stood before Donny. She demonstrated a lunge with an imaginary knife, twisting her body to help put strength behind it.
Donny imitated her, thrusting the knife into the air before him.
She’s teaching him to fight.
Gus smiled.
He couldn’t help it.
Sadie took her imaginary knife and swept it backwards, then returned it to a guarding stance.
Donny copied, though less robustly. Sadie shook her head, making a disgruntled noise, and demonstrated the move once more.
Donny tried again, this time performing the move well enough to get Sadie’s approval.
With a satisfied grin, Donny placed the knife on the bonnet of the car.
“Now punches?” Donny asked. Gus hadn’t noticed before, but Donny’s brow was wet with perspiration. His t-shirt was sticking to him and he was red in the face. It wasn’t cold, but it was far from hot – he must have built up this sweat from his exertion.
The kid was trying.
Gus leant up fully, watching with intrigue.
Sadie demonstrated a striking move, taking her hand to her side, then stepping her foot forward as she lunged her fist with it.
Donny took the stance and pathetically threw his hand forward.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Gus blurted out, before he knew what he was doing.
Donny jumpe and gasped, standing suddenly stiff and still.
Gus pushed himself to his feet, groaning at a wince of pain in his leg. He hobbled forward, limping to Donny’s side.
“You’ve got to put your body behind it,” Gus told him.
He took the stance, and lunged his fist forward, twisting it as he pushed his foot forward at the same time.
“See that?” he asked. “I put my foot forward with the punch so that I can put my body behind it. Makes the impact bigger.”
Gus demonstrated again.
Donny took the stance and forced his fist forward, putting his body behind it as he took a step at the same time.
“Better,” Gus decided. “Remember, strength doesn’t come from surprise, it comes from what you’re packing behind it. I was once a scrawny lad like you, and it never stopped me.”
“Cheers, Gus,” Donny thanked, a face full of gratitude.
“You’re welcome,” Gus said and, against his better judgement, found himself placing a hand on Donny’s shoulder.
“I appreciate it,” Donny continued.
“All right.”
“You’d be a good teacher, if you can teach me, that is. I’m useless. I mean, your daughter would prob–”
Donny froze.
Sadie stared at him, wide-eyed.
Gus looked to the ground. Stationary. No movement in his body. Nothing but the pain of his nails digging into his palm.
“Gus, I am so sorry,” Donny pleaded.
“Let’s go,” Gus muttered.
“Seriously, I didn’t mean to–”
“I said let’s go!”
Donny bowed his head in frustration, annoyed at himself for his lapse in thought, whilst also slightly grateful that Gus hadn’t fed him to a zombie. He got into the car, as did Sadie.
Gus went to the boot, opening it and taking some water. He wasn’t thirsty, but he allowed himself a large gulp, taking his time to calm himself. He poured some water on his face, allowing it to sink through his hair.
They were nearly there.
Not long to have to put up with them.
28
Watching that group of misfits try to coexist was like watching a classic comedy show. Like a Carry-On film. James used to love Carry-On films. Or something with Chevy Chase in.
That guy knew how to act, and how to act funny.
But those three…
One minute the big man was asleep, whilst some little rat-girl was teaching the thin, scrawny pipsqueak how to throw a ha
lf-hearted punch. Then the big man hobbled over, throwing a hearty attempt at a punch – then shouted at the scrawny fellow, threw a paddy, and stormed into the car.
Honestly, James thought he’d never get another comedy show, not since the zombie apocalypse hit.
But this.
Oh, man.
From the place he had perched upon the hilltop, he could not help but bawl with laughter.
“Why, whatever are you laughing at, my darling?” came the cheery voice of Trisha, his wife.
“Oh, you must come and see this utter buffoon. It is rather humorous.”
With a happy smile that a doting wife would give to her loving husband, she joyfully strode to his side, hooking her arm in his.
“That large fellow, you see him?” James pointed at the large man.
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, he just woke up from a most aggravated sleep. I am to assume the other two were supposed to be keeping watch.”
Trisha chuckled. “Keeping watch? They look incompetent!”
“I know!”
They both lifted their heads backwards and guffawed with laughter in perfect synchronisation.
“Well,” James continued, “he just showed the thinner, nerdy-looking fellow how to throw a punch. And boy, did he look silly. It was terrible!”
“Oh gosh, I’m sad I missed it.” Still, she hollered at the thought.
They chuckled heartily, then leant in, placing their foreheads against each other’s. Their doting eyes met, and their lips pushed together for a loving kiss.
“Oh,” James suddenly thought, “we must tell Stacey!”
“Oh yes, we must.”
“Stacey!”
From around the corner, their young daughter appeared. She skipped heartily toward them, her perfectly symmetrical pig tails flapping in the wind. She stopped and neatly patted down her frilly, flowery skirt, smiling a sweet smile between her perfectly unblemished, rosy cheeks.
“Take a look at this group of fools,” James instructed, pointing at the trio huffing their way into their car. The bigger man was pouring water over his grimace.
“What about them, Daddy?”
“Oh, my child, you missed it. They were a most delightfully hilarious bunch.”
“Whatever did they do?”
“The thin, messy one tried throwing a punch, then the big one got annoyed.” He saw that Stacey didn’t understand the hilarity. “Pah! You had to be there.”
“What do you have there?” Trisha asked, pointing at her daughter’s hands.
“Flowers, Mummy. I picked them for you.”
“Oh, my dearest, you are too kind!”
Stacey held out a bunch of daisies, and Trisha took them with a face full of glee. She took a huge sniff, relishing the beautiful scent.
“You are too kind, sweetie. Too kind.”
“I can’t ever be too kind to you, Mummy.”
“Oh, child.”
James stood up in a sudden moment of decision.
“Rightyo then! Let’s get in the car, and let’s follow them.”
Stacey gasped excitedly. “Are we going to make friends with them, Father?”
James and Trisha laughed hysterically, completely taken aback by their child’s silly question.
“Why, of course not!” James answered, bending over and pinching his daughter’s cheek. “We never make friends with them.”
“How silly of me,” Stacey answered, playfully smacking her forehead as she realised her error. Of course we aren’t going to make friends with them – we are going to eat them!”
James stroked his daughter’s hair back, proudly beaming down upon her. His wife stepped forward to join them, and they shared a heartfelt family hug.
They held hands as they glided their way back to the car, their stomachs rumbling at the inevitable arrival of their next dinner.
29
“You know, I’m not completely useless.”
Donny’s vehement voice broke Gus out of whatever absentminded daydream he was entertaining his thoughts with. He readjusted his position, re-secured his hands on the steering wheel, and hoped that Donny wasn’t planning on talking as much as he normally did.
“I mean, I know I can’t shoot, but I do have some uses.”
Without intending to, Gus blurted out a large, mocking, “Hah!”
“Seriously.”
“I’d say,” Gus said, deciding to entertain Donny’s deranged spiel, “that with the world gone to shit, not being able to shoot is pretty ridiculous.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Nah. It’s not even like it was a person. It was a zombie. It weren’t even alive.”
“Yes, but–”
“Ah, give it a rest, I don’t want to hear your bloody voice going on.”
Gus felt that he’d been harsh, but decided he didn’t care all that much. What’s more, his words had forced an initial silence from Donny that lasted about a half a minute. And that was another half a minute of peace.
Besides, what did it matter who he offended? Within a day he planned to be dead anyway.
“See this?” Donny announced, forcing Gus to roll his eyes. “You have to look – you see it?”
Reluctantly, Gus veered his eye line to his left, and look upon a chip that Donny held firmly in the air between his forefinger and his thumb that he had retracted from his trouser pocket. It was a small, insignificant square that looked identical to most memory cards.
“See it?” Donny repeated.
“Yes, I bloody see it,” Gus huffed, turning his gaze back to the road.
“Well, it may not look like much, but do you know what it can do?”
“Don’t care.”
“Look at this.”
Donny lifted a broken radio he’d found somewhere around his feet. He turned the knob and a gentle burst of static crackled through the speaker.
“Just a broken radio, even at its best not much better than a walkie-talkie. Doesn’t do much. Just communicates with the other radios of its batch. The dial barely even turns.”
Donny held the radio toward Gus, waiting for confirmation. He did not receive any, but persevered anyway.
“Well, see this.”
Donny took the back off the radio and placed the chip inside of it. He turned the radio around and turned the volume up. The static ran through various channels, some with religious mumbling, some with more or lesser white noise.
“I put it in, it scans every channel nearby. A pretty useful resource to have, I’d bet.” Donny took the back off the radio and retrieved the chip, holding it out in the air in front of Gus, irritably close to the ex-soldier’s face. “Cool, huh?”
Gus snatched the chip from Donny and shoved it into his pocket.
“Hey!” Donny protested, but daren’t try to physically retrieve it.
“I’ll give it back when you learn to shut the hell up.”
“That’s mine!”
“Nothing’s anyone’s anymore.”
Donny folded his arms and turned his offended annoyance toward the window.
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. And, as Donny sat there pouting, Gus couldn’t help but hide a smirk to himself.
“Don’t know why you think you’re so tough,” Donny blurted out. “You couldn’t even do that car manoeuvre.”
“What?” Gus said, in disbelief that Donny was daring to speak so boldly toward him.
“That car manoeuvre you tried doing to avoid crashing into that line of cars. It failed. You can’t do all these things you claim you can.”
“I’ll have you know, I used that manoeuvre a shit load of times in Afghanistan. I could do it in my sleep.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
Gus flexed his fingers over the wheel. He’d show Donny. He could still do it.
He placed a hand on the handbrake. Got ready to lift it up just slightly, preparing the quick turn. His leg came off the accelerator slightly, and–
The bulle
t lodged in his leg dug a sudden jolt of pain into the centre of his calf. Moving his leg in such a way was causing him too much pain.
He aborted the idea.
He relaxed his leg, waiting for the harsh tinge of agony to soften.
“See–”
Before Donny could say another word, Gus had grabbed his collar, gathering pieces of his t-shirt into his fist. His nose lifted into a sneer and his eyes narrowed.
Donny decided against gloating.
Gus relieved the pressure off Donny and focussed his vision on driving.
Why was he even bothering with this guy?
Because he needs to take the girl back to Eugene once I’m done. Because I don’t plan to live any longer than the next few hours.
His anger rose so high he felt like he may erupt. Just as he was starting to be able to tolerate the kid, the buffoon went and increased his fury further.
His mind stayed on the thought of suicide. The thought of ending his life.
It was the only thing that kept him going.
30
Kristine watched deploringly as Bill devoured a tin of raw beef. He shovelled it into his gob, trickling cold gravy down his chin and onto his shirt, along with the other stains he had accumulated since they had been there. Then he licked each and every finger, purposefully looking Kristine in the eyes as he did.
Kristine sat against the wall on the opposite side of the basement. Laney leant against her, eyes shut, fast asleep. She kept her arm around Laney, keeping her warm and keeping her close. Keeping her safe from whatever predator may get her.
She hated him. There was no two ways about it. She hated him.
She’d hated him when he was the school caretaker. Any time he’d been called to fix a lock or mend some furniture, he had leered over her like a bulldog over its bitch. It was never enough to comment on, or for others to notice, but he had relished his subtle chauvinistic nuances.
In truth, he probably relished being shut in the basement with Kristine.
But she had to keep Laney safe.
Allowing her to be his puppet was the only way to stop him from potentially advancing onto the child. The man was sick.