First Time Dead 1

by Chantal Boudreau

  “Lori…that’s a very pretty name, it suits you,” he said smiling. Lori didn’t know whether she should smile, giggle, or blush…so she did all three.

  Steven stood up, “Why don’t you and Zack join me for dinner? I have a spare bedroom you can use, it’s a lot better than this old barn.” Steven held his hand out to help Lori up, Zack was already by his side.

  “Are you sure?” Lori asked.

  “Absolutely,” he reassured her.

  Lori and Zack gathered their things and placed them quietly in the truck. Steven turned his flashlight on, holding the gun at the side nearest to the barn. Lori and Zack followed Steven closely as he walked towards the house. A loud crash came from the side of the house, followed by a growl. Lori stood paralyzed, squeezing Zack’s hand. Steven held the gun up in the direction the growl came from. Glowing eyes watched the trio as Zack ran for cover and safety in the barn, ignoring the screams of his sister.

  Provoked by Zack’s sprint, the zombie pounced from the fence it had perched itself on like a cat, making its way after the boy. Steven aimed the gun and fired before the zombie could stick its landing, causing him to fly back into the fence, clutching his chest. Lori was screaming, trying to run after Zack, but Steven held her arm with his free hand. The zombie became limp, but was still moaning and whimpering. It struggled to its feet with the assistance of the fence, Steven raised the gun again putting another bullet in the zombie’s chest.

  “What the hell? Die, damn it!” he yelled before finally aiming at its sweet-spot—the head. Lori shut her eyes and turned away as the third shot was fired. A last raspy cry from the zombie could be heard, a sure sign the monster was dead.

  “We have to shoot ‘em in the head I guess…” Steven said, taking Lori in his arms. She felt safe there, like the zombie attack hadn’t happened; she felt happy.

  The interior of the house was quite normal; or at least as normal as a dude ranch could be with steers’ horns, lassos and wagon wheels on the walls. “You don’t look like the cowboy type,” Lori said, running her fingers along the bleached white skull of a longhorn steer.

  “Well, this isn’t my place. Whoever the owners were must’ve really loved hoedowns. So, to honor their memory,” he picked up a half broken picture frame, “I left it that way…you know, in case they ever returned.” Steven grew silent after explaining and set the photo back in its place. “So, where are you from?” he asked.

  Lori sat on an old leather couch, “I’m a New York girl,” she said, crossing her arms on her chest.

  “Hmm…my best friend from California moved to New York, strictly for business, though.” Steven walked to the kitchen, then continued, “Our communication was cut off about six months ago. Are you hungry?”

  Zack appeared from around the corner, “YES!”

  Lori looked away, embarrassed by Zack before giving her answer, “Kinda.”

  Lori and Steven ate dinner while Zack helped himself to Steven’s stash of candy. Once Zack was out of earshot, they discussed the outbreak. Lori wanted to stay in West Virginia, but Steven insisted on making their way to California. “Nobody will be there. The Infected will have resorted to following the crowd east. It’s really the only choice if you ask me,” Steven told Lori.

  “But what’s the point? We are safe here aren’t we?” she asked, confused.

  “Lori, look, I know we just met, so you have every right not to trust my judgment. I was in the military…technically, I still am. I know how they operate. They aren’t gonna do a damn thing to stop this madness. They might try to stop people from getting infected, but they won’t try to stop the outbreak itself. I know the base inside and out; every hall, every room, every corridor. The one where this all started. I think I can stop this. If not, I can at least try.”

  “It seems a bit dangerous.” Lori thought about what Steven was saying. “I have to protect Zack.”

  Steven walked their plates to the sink. “It’s not more dangerous than sitting here waiting to die. We’d at least be doing something beneficial.” Lori looked at her water, lost in thought.

  After dinner, Steven showed Lori and Zack to their room. Zack fell asleep immediately, but Lori lay awake for a while thinking. I have two choices, stay and struggle to survive alone, or accompany Steven to California where we might have more of a chance of survival. Lori asked herself, but which one is the right choice? Zack rolled over into her arms and she looked at him. I have only one choice.

  Chapter 3

  The sun broke over the mountains, struggling to penetrate through the threatening storm clouds. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the booming thunder, awakening Lori. She lifted her head from the pillow, stood up, and walked to the window, watching the clouds. Lori recalled her last thoughts before she lost consciousness. She looked at Zack, who was still sleeping, and decided to leave him be. Anyways, she needed to talk to Steven alone.

  Lori made herself presentable before walking out of the room. Steven had everything necessary to survive packed into an off-road truck sitting in the garage.

  “Wow, someone’s been up for a while,” Lori said. “I’ve decided to join you to California.”

  Steven looked at her, relieved and nervous at the same time, “Good, we need to leave soon then. I’m hoping the rain will clear out the Infected for a while. Perfect time to travel, and the storm is headed the same direction we are, which is even better.” He loaded up a few last things in the bed of the truck before tying down a tarp over it. Lori nodded and returned to her room to retrieve Zack.

  The rain started pouring as Lori opened the door to the room, “Zack, sweetie, we need to go.”

  Zack reluctantly opened his eyes. “Five more minutes…” Lori couldn’t help but smile as she walked over to the bed and removed the blanket covering him. He had fallen back asleep, so she picked him up and carried him to the truck.

  “We’ll eat on the way. Get in,” Steven ordered as he shuffled around bags to fit Zack in the truck. Lori did as she was told and got in the passenger side. She buckled hers and Zack’s seatbelts as Steven opened the garage door revealing a soaking wet driveway. Steven started the truck and backed out of the garage. He turned the windshield wipers on, making his way for the main road.

  Lori looked out her window; it was still somewhat dark due to the clouds. She watched the horizon as the lightning struck once more, lighting up the sky, revealing multiple figures a couple hundred yards away. Another lightning strike showed the figures moving closer, quicker. Lori, paralyzed with fear, couldn’t muster up the words to describe what she was seeing. Just when things started getting better…

  Steven said exactly what she was thinking, “The rain didn’t drive them away…it just brought them closer together…”

  Just Another Day

  By Chantal Boudreau

  Margot cursed as her toast landed peanut-butter side down. This kind of thing always happened to her when she was already running behind, and lately, mornings always seemed to be such a rush. She supposed that that could be said for any working mother with a self-employed husband and two teenage boys. They were totally incapable of doing anything for themselves, leaving her to constantly play the role of Super Mom.

  She tossed what was meant to be her breakfast in the composter and scrubbed the sticky brown mess off of the linoleum, muttering under her breath as she did so. She had enough work to do around the house without adding to her own troubles. She supposed part of the reason that she was such a klutz lately was because she was so tired. Roy remained in his office when she went to bed, and she had difficulty falling asleep without him there. She had always been that way. Add to the fact that his office was below their bedroom, and that she could hear him shuffling about down there well into the night, and she was lucky to nab a couple of hours sleep before the alarm went off in the morning.

  Margot tossed the sponge into the sink, too rushed for time to rinse it clean. The house reeked badly enough already, a bit more mess in the sink wouldn
’t make things any worse. She didn’t have any time during the week to do any serious cleaning, and she couldn’t rely on her family for help. That left the weekends, and she managed what she could, but she had other obligations to attend to that she hadn’t had a few months ago thanks to Roy’s writing career. While cleaning, she did not dare disturb Roy’s office, and Hayden and Wesley had turned the basement into a complete wasteland. She would have to be insane to venture into the depths and try to sort out the mess that they had left there. No...even Super Mom was not that brave.

  Margot realized that things would likely have been different if Roy had found success before they’d bought the house. It was a two bedroom bungalow, with a finished basement, in a questionable neighbourhood—all that they could afford on her miserable salary at the hospital. She would have made a lot more if she had actually finished school, but Hayden had come along and spoiled her plans. She had promised herself that she would go back, but that was not very likely with the way things stood now. She was far too busy to fit studying into her schedule. She was fortunate to be able to squeeze breathing in there.

  After buying the house came the dilemma of which of the boys would get the upstairs bedroom and which one would be banished to one of the rooms in the basement. At the time, neither of the two liked the idea of being holed away in the cellar. After several rounds of rather spirited arguments, Roy had found a completely different method of resolving the issue. He had declared that he would be converting the upstairs room into an office where he could write in peace. That meant that both boys would be forced to dwell in the cellar.

  “Yup,” Margot sighed, pouring coffee into her travel mug, “my cellar dwellers.”

  She could hear Roy moving around in his office, but not the boys downstairs. Roy rarely liked to stay put, but that was not the case with their sons. The two young men had eventually accepted living in the basement, and had stopped complaining, making the best of it once they had grown accustomed to it. Margot rarely heard from them now, but they were fairly lazy for their age, much more sluggish than their father.

  Margot added cream and sugar substitute, and stirred. She supposed that she could use real sugar and her weight would not suffer for it. Watching after her family on a daily basis, and even looking out for herself from time to time, kept her so active lately. She had thought that, by her age, she would have more time to relax—spending weekends on the porch with Roy, a good book, and some iced tea. That, however, was not her reality.

  She tossed the spoon into the sink, along with the sponge, and started searching for the proper cover for the particular travel mug she had chosen. The covers were all jumbled together in the same drawer and Margot had to play hide and seek, experimenting with a couple that looked right before she found one that fit. Roy had always complained about the way she had organized things in the kitchen, but he had never offered to help rectify the perceived problem.

  They had relied on Margot’s income alone to begin with, but then Roy’s writing career had taken off, and suddenly they had had money. It was not enough for her to quit her job, or even revert to part-time, in order to finish school, but it had been enough that they had started living more comfortably. Several months ago, they had taken their first family vacation in years, and some of the burden of paying the bills had been lifted from Margot’s shoulders. It had also meant, however, that Roy spent more and more time locked up in his office chasing for even more success. Rarely coming out, even for meals. Now, Margot never saw him.

  Margot pushed her coffee to one side and started digging through the cupboards for a granola bar. Since her toast had made the sacrificial leap, she would settle for something packaged and instant for breakfast, a concession that she would have to make that morning. When Roy used to do all the grocery shopping, he would always buy the most disgusting, sugar-laden things on the market; chocolate-covered and filled with marshmallows and caramel. They were merely chocolate bars masquerading as something healthy. Now that that duty had been relegated to her, with the myriad of other responsibilities that she had been forced to assume because Roy was no longer able, Margot selected proper food. Her granola bars were high fibre, low fat, and reduced sugar. She had to stay fit. After all, she was always on the run, and sometimes, she had to run faster than others.

  Margot heard a few breathy noises and more shuffling from Roy’s office. He was getting restless. That drew her attention away from the cupboards and she glanced at her watch. Seeing the time, she sucked in a breath sharply. If she wanted to catch her train, she had ten minutes left before she had to leave. That didn’t leave her much time to do everything she had to do.

  “Briefcase,” she grumbled, staring haplessly about the kitchen. It was very disorderly, and would remain that way until Saturday when she would finally be available to tidy it. “Where is my briefcase?”

  There was a crash from down below, somewhere in the basement. Margot rolled her eyes and moaned. It sounded like something had broken, but she would not be able to investigate. No one in their right mind would go down there without a suit of armour and a flamethrower to clear the path. She could just picture herself tripping over something in the dark, left haphazardly on the stairs, and falling to her doom. She didn’t have time for that. She didn’t have time for anything other than getting ready for work.

  Finally, her gaze settled on her briefcase. She drew it out and tossed it on top of the table, along with her travel mug and granola bar. Margot needed one last thing before she left the house, and...

  The unusual smell in the air, beyond the typical odours, reminded her of another task that required completion before she headed for her train. She was so fatigued and rushed that it had almost slipped her mind. Margot spun quickly on her heel and eyed the three brown paper bags on the counter. She always ate lunch at the hospital cafeteria, but she could not let Roy and the boys go hungry, and preparing their meals had become a regular part of her morning ritual—so had distributing those meals.

  She glanced anxiously at her watch. Did she have enough time? She didn’t want to miss her train and have to taxi it to work again. That seemed to be becoming a bad habit, and an expensive one at that. She wanted to consider setting her alarm a few minutes early, but she was already running on empty with the little amount of sleep that she got. She was not sure if she could physically function on anything less.

  With a restrained whine, Margot approached the counter where the bags sat. That was when she noticed that she had left the plastic container open with the remnants of that day’s meal. She glanced in without thinking or pausing to hold her breath and the stench of it gave her the dry heaves, like rancid rotting meat. Trying not to look at the greyish gelatinous mass inside, she hastily popped the cover on top, secured it with an exaggerated push, swept the container off the counter, and hurriedly shoved it onto the middle shelf of the refrigerator, placing it in between two other containers with similar proportions and quivering grey contents. One of the other containers still bore a medical biological waste sticker that Margot had forgotten to remove. She rotated the container clockwise, turning the side with the sticker towards the wall of the fridge and away from view.

  From behind the closed office door, Margot heard Roy groan.

  “Just a minute, honey,” she called. “The boys come first—you know the drill.”

  Margot was tempted to scoop up the bags and make her rounds, but the brown paper would often leak, and the last time she had made the mistake of doing that, she had left a foul-smelling stain on her business attire. If that happened again, she would be forced to go and change, and then she would certainly not make her train. She leaned over and grasped the lunch bags cautiously by their rolled up tops, careful not to allow anything to drip onto her clothing.

  She knew that plastic would be better to avoid spillage. But the fact was, that she would likely never see any containers handed off to Roy or the boys ever again. This would mean constantly buying new ones. Meanwhile, the old ones—rank,
fetid and growing mold—would pile up in some corner or be lost behind a piece of furniture. That much hadn’t changed over time. Brown paper bags would remain the method of choice.

  As Margot had just finished telling Roy, the boys were first in line. It was a mother’s prerogative to put the well-being of her offspring before that of her spouse. She approached the door tentatively with their two bags in her left hand, and Roy’s in her right. She crept closer, trying to quiet her breathing, and pressed her ear against the door. All she could hear was her heart thudding loudly in her chest. That did not necessarily mean that they were not there. They were less mindless than one might expect of a typical teenage boy, as much as that surprised Margot. They could still be clever when they really wanted to be. That, she assumed, was because they were Roy’s children. Her husband had always been smart as a whip, whereas, she had always been forced to muddle her way through things, improvising as necessary.

  Margot realized that she didn’t have the time to stand there and waffle over whether or not they might be lurking behind the door waiting to jump out at her. She steeled herself, unlocking the basement door and making as little noise as possible in the process. Cringing, she swung the door wide and dropped the two paper bags onto the top step. Before she had even released the rolled paper tops, she heard a loud moan coming from below and a scratching, dragging noise that almost made her jump out of her skin. Without hesitating, she slammed the door shut and fumbled with the lock. She managed to finally get it to click back into place just as something thudded against the opposite side of the door.

  Margot took three staggering steps backwards and pressed herself up against the hallway wall for comfort. She was breathing heavily, still startled, and she clutched at her chest. Closing her eyes, she waited a few moments, listening to the sound of grunting and shifting on the other side of the door before her muscles began to relax again and her thoughts began to calm.