by Tracey Ward
I crook my finger at him as I turn to walk down the hall. He checks the bolts on the door one more time and then falls in step behind me to my bedroom. Light from the setting sun is pouring into the room, bathing it in an amber glow. He looks around, this time not with the hawk eyes he was using in the kitchen, but with genuine interest. There’s not much to see. I have a few framed pictures of my Uncle Syd and I on the desk next to my laptop and books. Other than that, it’s just clothes in the closet and sheets on the bed. I’ve seen the other girls’ rooms and they have photos of friends and boyfriends everywhere, ticket stubs from concerts, trinkets from vacations—all of it strewn across every surface of the room telling stories of the life they live. I’m more of a minimalist in that I don’t do or have any of those things.
“What’s your name?” I ask quietly, drawing his attention away from my lack of a life.
“Jordan. Yours?”
“Alissa. Thanks again for saving my life, Jordan.”
“Anytime.” He glances around the room again, this time more critically. “All of your roommates are…”
“Dead? Looks like it.”
“So you’re alone?”
“Ha.” I chuckle without joy. I am always alone. “Yeah, I’m alone.”
He rubs his hand briskly up and down the back of his neck, and he’s either agitated or uncomfortable, I’m not sure which. I could understand both.
“Are you alone?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he responds quickly. “I don’t think there are any other survivors in the building. Most people ran.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He looks around the room again and I’m beginning to wonder if he’s committed it to memory yet. There really is nothing of interest in here, but then I realize it might be more about not looking at me.
“We need to find you a weapon,” he says, ignoring my question. “Something lightweight but with a reach. Like this bat. You don’t play softball, do you?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “But if I need a weapon, I think I’m covered.”
I go into my tiny closet and take out my baby. It was a Christmas present three years ago from Uncle Syd. He asked if I wanted this or a car, and I chose this. Hands down. When I pull the lightweight compound bow from its hiding place, I see Jordan’s eyes widen. It’s about three feet long from tip to tip and only weighs three pounds, making it ultra-light and easy to carry with you hunting all day.
“Whoa,” Jordan says, eyeing the bow and quiver full of arrows I pull out next. “Are you a good shot?”
“Do you want to see the trophy?”
“You don’t actually have one, do you?”
“Yeah. It’s in a box in the closet.”
“Why don’t you have it out where you can see it?”
I lower my head to adjust my bow. “I don’t put myself on display.”
Speaking of, I can feel Jordan watching me as I adjust the bow. I haven’t touched it in months but she remembers me perfectly, and as I feel the tension of the string under my fingertips, I smile and breathe a little easier. I should have been going to the range at least, even if I couldn’t get away to go hunting with Uncle Syd. I was raised by a redneck for the majority of my adolescence so it should come as no surprise that I can hunt with a bow, a knife and a gun. I don’t have a gun here, but I suddenly remember I do have my hunting knife and I pull that out of the closet too.
Jordan gives a low whistle as I strap the knife to my thigh.
“You are a zombie survivalist’s dream come true,” he mumbles.
I stand abruptly and stare at him. “What is it with guys and zombies? Do you have a survival plan too?”
“Of course I do,” he says with absolutely no shame. “You don’t?”
“No,” I mutter, grudgingly remembering Zombie Boys warning. “But I’m sorry now.”
“Well, first thing is, you’ve gotta get out of the city.”
“Why? Shouldn’t I just barricade the door and wait for help?”
“Ha,” he barks a laugh and then his face falls. “Oh wow, you’re serious. No. We cannot do that. How much food do you think is in this apartment? Most importantly, how much non-perishable food is there? Enough to last us a week? A month? You want to hang out with those dead bodies that long? Help isn’t coming, that’s something you have to remember, so waiting it out is a bad plan.”
“What’s all this we talk?” I ask sharply, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of teaming up with a stranger. Or with anyone, really. “And what do you mean help isn’t coming. Of course there will be some kind of help. Quarantines will be set up—“
“Of which you will be on the wrong side. I’m getting out before that happens. If they decide to quarantine the entire city, whoever is left will be nothing but hens locked in with the wolves. You can’t outlast the undead. They won’t die off naturally and eventually you’ll run out of resources and they’ll either kill you or you’ll starve. Also, the government might just decide the ends justify the means and firebomb the city to contain this thing. It’ll be a loss of life, but it will disputably be an acceptable one for the sake of the rest of the planet.”
“It’s been a matter of hours. You’re getting ahead of yourself, don’t you think?”
“You also have to stay off the freeways when you leave,” he continues, ignoring me. “Too many people going that way, we’ll never make it. Sorry, I’ll never make it. You can do what you want. Why are you looking at me like that?”
I didn’t realize my head was cocked to the side and I had my eyes narrowed at him but he’s right, I’m looking at him quizzically.
“I was just trying to figure out how much time you must’ve spent thinking about this.”
He smirks at me. “A lot and it’s saving your life. Again.” He heads for the door. “I need to pack up and leave. Good luck to you.”
“Wait, you’re leaving? Just like that?” I ask, surprised by the suddenness of his departure.
He pauses at the door and looks over his shoulder at me. “Two seconds ago you didn’t want to be lumped in with me. Now you’re sad to see me go?”
My phone starts ringing loudly in my pocket, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. My adrenaline spikes and my heart is racing as I fumble to pull the phone free and silence it, holding up a finger to Jordan in a wait one second gesture and hoping he heeds it.
When I see my caller ID, I smile reflexively.
“Hey, Uncle Syd.”
“Are you hurt?” he asks gruffly, but calmly. He’s all business.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You need to get somewhere safe. Where are you?”
“I’m in my apartment and the doors are locked. I’m safe.”
“Are you alone? Where are the other girls?”
I don’t answer. I don’t exactly know how to. I can tell him that they’re dead, but then I have to explain how and neither of them has a pretty story. Luckily, my silence speaks for itself and he understands.
“Keep the doors locked and stay put. I’m going to come and get you.”
“No!” I cry, horrified by the idea of him coming here and getting hurt. He’s all I have left. I look at Jordan, who is standing by the window now, gazing out and pretending he can’t hear my conversation. “I’m leaving the city. I’ve got a… friend who has offered to help me get out. I’ll come to you.”
Jordan shakes his head but doesn’t look away from the window. There’s silence on the other end of the line and I know Uncle Syd is debating so many things. The Fever, the city, the distance between us, my… friend. Yeah, that’s not gonna sit well with him.
“Can you trust this person?” he finally asks, sounding annoyed.
“He’s already saved my life once,” I say, my voice quiet and reluctant.
“Tell him I was an Eagle Scout too,” Jordan whispers with a grin, giving me some kind of salute that I’m guessing is native to eagles.
“Were you?”
He shrugs, his blue
eyes sparkling.
“Were you what?” Uncle Syd asks, pulling my attention back.
“Nothing, sorry. He’s very trustworthy, I promise,” I tell him, knowing no such thing. “We’re leaving soon, though, and I’ll call you with updates on where we are.”
“I don’t like this. It’s going to be dangerous. I’m watching the news and people are already going crazy. They’re looting and people are jamming the freeways. Nutjobs are already throwing out conspiracy theories on this all being a military biochemical weapons test and when they’re not saying that they’re spouting other insanity.”
“Like what?”
Uncle Syd groans and I can picture him rubbing at his forehead the way he does when he’s annoyed.
“Oh, horror movie words like ‘zombie’ and ‘ghoul’. ‘Undead’.”
At least I’m not the only one saying it, I guess. Even though it lumps me in with the “nutjobs”, it makes me feel less insane.
“You’ve seen it, haven’t you?” he asks, his voice going uncharacteristically soft. “You’ve seen what it does to a person.”
I swallow hard and try not to think about it, but I answer him honestly. “Yeah, I have.”
“How ya doing?”
“Um, I’ve been better, but I’m okay.”
“Are you taking care of yourself?”
This is what he asks when what he’s really asking is whether or not I’m taking my pills. I’ve taken them every day for the last four years without fail, so the question is always a little insulting. I answer him kindly, though, because just as he’s all I have left, I’m all he’s got too.
“Yes. Always.”
“Good. That’s good. You be careful, Al. Don’t stop to help anybody, you just take care of you. And if this friend takes sick, you run from him. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“You got your knife?”
I smile affectionately. “I do.”
“Alright. See you soon.”
I hang up my phone and look at Jordan who is now sitting on my bed. It’s the first time a guy has been in my room since I’ve been here, and even though there’s no way he could know that, I’m embarrassed by the fact.
“Looks like I’m going with you after all,” I say curtly. He frowns and I soften my tone. “If that’s okay?”
Jordan nods slightly. “Yeah, it’s actually good. I won’t make it alone, neither of us will. Where do you need to go?”
“My uncle’s house in Corvallis. What about you?”
Jordan stands and looks out the window again. “Anywhere but here. I want out of this city and away from so many people. We’re like tinder to a fire. The more of us around, the faster it will spread.”
“So we leave immediately?”
“No,” he says, turning to face me. “It’ll get dark in a few hours. I don’t want to try moving out there in the dark, do you?”
I shiver at the thought of meeting another Dee in the dark and say firmly, “Hell no.”
“I’m gonna go back to my room and pack. Will you watch my back while I cross the hall and unlock the door?”
I nod in agreement and follow him out of my room.
“Pack one bag with the essentials to survive. Any bottled water you have, first aid supplies, non-perishable food. Here,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Let me get your number. I’ll text you when I’m ready to come back over and you can have the door open and ready. Make sure you lock it behind me when I leave.”
We exchange numbers and I hold my bow loaded and ready, scanning the hallway as he hurries to his door and unlocks it. He waits until my door is closed before he closes his own. He’s just across the hall and a couple of doors down, probably has been the entire time I’ve lived here, and yet I’ve never seen him. I probably never would have met him if it hadn’t been for my roommate trying to eat my face.
END PREVIEW
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About the Author
I was born in Eugene, Oregon and studied English Literature at the University of Oregon (Go Ducks!) It was there that I discovered why Latin is a dead language and that being an English teacher was not actually what I wanted to do with my life.
My husband, my son and my 80lbs pitbull who thinks he's a lapdog are my world.
Visit my website for more information on upcoming releases, Tracey Ward