by White, Ben
"We tried to convince him to stay with us," Jen said. "But ... well ..."
"I think it is we who are better off without him," Cheena said. She was sitting beside the shop counter, her back against it, and the black of the shop wall had made her almost invisible until she'd moved to talk. "He did nothing to help us fight our way out. Besides, he talked too much."
"Whoa, I better watch out then!" said HK. "Hey, uh, Imogen, sorry about the whole, y'know, voting you off the island thing. It wasn't personal, I mean, I think you're cool, I like having you around, you'd brighten up any room!"
Imogen said nothing.
"Anyways," Zed said, "as you can see we've set up camp here, cozy little spot, out of the elements—you two need some new duds?"
"Yeah, end of the world special," HK said—over his red silk shirt he had on a new black overcoat. "Everything must go!"
Zed was grinning at Imogen. "Dunno," he said, this directed at HK. "Looks like Sue here's got something going on, can't say I know what's happening from the waist on down but that'd be a damn fine jacket if it weren't covered in crap—and I ain't talking about no zombie goo, what I'm referring to is that blue and purple threaded nonsense."
Imogen gazed coldly at Zed, then limped over to the piles of clothes.
"Zack."
Zack was with her in an instant.
"Find yourself some jeans, then put them on over those overalls."
"... okay."
After rummaging through the clothes for a few minutes, Imogen looked back over her shoulder.
"Are there scissors in here?"
It was Jen who handed her a pair. Imogen accepted them without comment, then took them and her new clothes into a dressing room. She felt a little trepidation about taking off her right boot, but it came easily—no swelling, she thought, after removing her left boot and torn stockings. It looks fine. So what's wrong with it?
After a minute's further exploration, Imogen came to the conclusion that she had no idea why her foot hurt so much. And it doesn't matter why, anyway, she thought, as she pulled off her skirt and tossed it aside. Just that it hurts. Just that I can't walk on it. Those are the facts, everything else is just pointless speculation.
As she reached for the socks she'd chosen, Imogen caught sight of herself in the dressing room's mirror. For long seconds she stared at her reflection, then she brushed her hair from her face and leant forward. Exhaustion, she thought, as she studied herself. This is what exhaustion looks like.
After another few moments Imogen shook herself and pulled on the socks, wincing at a sudden stab of pain from her right foot. Black jeans were next, slits up the sides so that her boots would fit underneath, a wide black belt holding them tight around her waist.
Over the top of her thin grey top Imogen put on a black shirt, far too long for her, with the sleeves cut off. She tucked the loose tail into her jeans, shoving it well down, then tightened the belt further. It was stuffy and uncomfortable, but it wouldn't come out in a hurry.
Finally, Imogen put her jacket on over the shirt. With the new bulkiness of her clothes it was even more tight across the shoulders than usual, but she barely noticed this.
"Woo, looking good!" HK said, as Imogen limped out of the dressing room. She didn't reply, just found an empty bit of wall and slumped down next to it. She could see that Chris was helping Zack with his new jeans, tugging them up over his overalls.
"This is awful! I look STUPID!"
Imogen pulled out her cigarettes. "You always look stupid. At least this way you're stupid-looking and alive."
"It's too HOT!"
"Hot and alive."
"And it itches!"
"Itchy and alive."
Zack fell into sullen silence, and Chris patted him on the shoulder.
"There, there," he said. "We all make sacrifices for the greater good."
"I don't even get what that means."
"Join the club," Trevor said. He looked at Imogen pointedly as she tried to get her lighter to catch. "Young lady, I do hope you're not intending to light that cigarette."
Imogen snorted. "What other intention could I possibly have?"
"If you light that cigarette," Cheena said, leaning out to look coolly at Imogen, "I will knock it from your mouth. I hate those disgusting things."
Imogen huffed out an irritated breath and flicked the unlit cigarette away.
"Good girl," said Trevor, which almost made Imogen light the whole pack. She didn't, though, just sank further back against the wall and let her eyes close.
Her lighter still held in her hand, Imogen fell asleep.
It was still dark outside when Imogen became aware that she was no longer asleep. From somewhere near she could hear Zack's long, low snores, and the subtle creaking of Jen's armour, coming nearer, followed shortly by her soft voice:
"Hey."
Imogen didn't open her eyes, nor did she say anything.
"I just wanted to say sorry—"
"You didn't 'vote me off'."
"I know, but I ... I didn't do anything to convince the others. I felt terrible about that. I still do, even though you're okay. Um, would you like me to put your brace on properly?"
Imogen didn't respond. After a moment, she felt Jen moving down to take hold of her boot, repositioning the brace and making it more comfortable.
"There." Imogen felt Jen move back up to sit beside her. "I like the clothes you picked. You've got good taste."
"I didn't pick them to look good."
"Oh. No, of course not, but ... but they do, anyway."
Imogen let her eyes open, just to slits, and turned her head to look at Jen. She was sitting with her hands crossed on her lap—she wasn't wearing her 'blaster' or her helmet—and her thin, pale blonde hair hung over her face as she stared down. Around her waist she now wore a red leather belt, with a metal ring attached to hold her sword in place. Jen reached up to brush her hair behind her ear, then glanced at Imogen with a sad smile. Imogen couldn't help but notice that her smooth skin looked glossy, and that her nose was a little red.
"Oh, no," Jen said, with a small laugh. "I didn't get bitten. I have a ... a cold—honestly, I do, I'm not lying, you can ask the others."
"It's true," said Keenan, who was sitting nearby. "With that good armour, there wasn't nothing the zombies could do to her."
"I was lucky," Jen said. "Lucky to be wearing this, and lucky I wasn't ... well, dragged down. I didn't do much to help."
"You did as much as any of us," came Null's level voice. Imogen looked over at her—she hadn't changed any of her clothes, still wore the same boyish costume, still had the same odd gun-sword. "More than some."
"Hey, I'm not apologising," HK said. "All I had was a flimsy little metal stick, no way was I wading into the thick of things! Besides, OC Zed had it covered."
"What is 'OC'?" Cheena asked. HK grinned.
"Original Cowboy."
Cheena clucked her tongue sharply and turned away.
"Imogen."
There was silence for a few seconds before Imogen responded:
"What?"
"It's a nice name. I like how it sounds. Not short and curt like 'Jen'. Imogen. What does it mean?"
"Nothing."
"You mean you don't—"
"It means nothing. It's from Cymbeline, a misprint of 'Innogen', which just meant 'maiden' anyway." Imogen looked straight at Jen, her eyes cold. "So the meaning of my name is 'nothing'. Just a mistake."
Jen stared at Imogen, an odd look on her face—not disappointment, not anger, not reproach. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Zed's loud voice:
"All right now! Reckon we're about good to go, let's head on out!"
Imogen looked away from Jen, her mouth tight. Around the little shop the others were arguing:
"What?" said HK. "I thought we were staying here! It's dark outside!"
"I agree," said Trevor. "Shouldn't we stay here until the morning?"
"Yeah, that so
unds like a good plan," said Zed, his voice going high with sarcasm. "Just all stay 'round here, maybe make a little campfire, sing us some songs, and wait for every goddamn deadhead around to swarm in on us. I just been out scouting and you better believe we ain't alone here. We gotta keep moving, people. Ain't no advantage in staying put if you can keep on going, that's just common sense."
"And where would we be going?" Trevor asked. "Who's to say that those things aren't everywhere—"
"Maybe you need to clean out your ears, Mr Muncaster. I been telling you this whole time, I got my truck parked—"
"This again!" Cheena threw up her hands. "This ridiculous 'truck', how is that going to help?"
"Well now," said Zed, his voice calm as he gazed levelly at Cheena, "for a start I reckon being in a vehicle has gotta be better than being on foot."
"Hey," Keenan put in, looking at Imogen, "you went down to the parking garage, right? You got out that way, and Aaron said—"
"That car's a wreck," Imogen said. "And there are about a hundred zombies down there."
"Maybe we could fight through?" said HK. "And even if that one car's a wreck, there have gotta be others down there, one of us could hotwire 'em—"
"Do you know how to 'hotwire' a car?" Null asked. "Do any of you?"
There was a general shaking of heads. Null leant back against the counter, her arms crossed.
"I don't either," she said. "It's funny how those skills that seem so prevalent in movies are so rare in real life."
"Yeah, well, I ain't laughing," said Zed. "Look, maybe we could fight down into that garage and maybe we couldn't. This ain't the movies, like little Null there said, and these zombies sure as hell ain't no Romero ghouls. These are some tough goddamned sumbitches we're dealing with here, I tell you what."
"Yeah, he's right," said Keenan. "It takes a hell of a lot more than a tap on the head to kill these dudes."
"I don't think going back to the convention centre would help anything," Trevor said. "And I certainly don't support any plan that would deliberately bring us into contact with those things, even if it might potentially gain us transportation."
"Yeah, so," said Zed, "all we gotta do is head on over to Grove Station and we'll have us my truck."
"And why would you think Grove Station to be in any better condition than this place?" asked Cheena. "It will be just as bad, I guarantee it."
"Hell, it'll be worse, you seen all that shiny-ass mirror glass they got over there? But that don't matter, because my truck's all safe and sound in a nice little lock-up. Parked it there myself, just this morning."
"Wait," said HK. "So you drove your truck to this 'lock-up', parked it there, then took a train to here to go to the convention?"
"Yep."
"Maybe I'm missing something, but why didn't you just drive to the convention centre?"
"Because parking at the Phoenix Convention Centre," Zed said, every word deliberate, "is ten god-damn dollars a god-damn hour."
"Actually it's twelve dollars an hour now," Chris put in. "If you want to be precise."
"You see?" Zed said, pointing at Chris. "Now that's just what I'm talking about. You know how much it cost me to park my truck over by Grove Station? Two dollars. Two little dollars—and they don't do all this 'by the hour' non-sense, you pay your two dollars and if you wanted you could leave your vehicle there until the end of creation itself."
"Which might not be too far away," Chris added, with a sly smile. "If today's events are any indication."
"Damn straight. Of course, I ain't one to force no one to do nothing they don't wanna do, I'm open to suggestions if y'all got any. Come on then, anyone got some place they wanna go? Got some real good idea about where we should be headed? You gonna walk home, or you gonna ride in my beautiful truck? Any of y'all are free to wander off on your lonesome anytime, remember that."
Zed looked around, his expression calmly smug.
"All right then, let's mosey on out. Yes son, you got a question? Speak up now, don't be shy."
Imogen looked over to see Zack sitting up—apparently he'd woken sometime during Zed's speech.
"Um," he said. "Just ... um, why do you talk like that?"
Zed chuckled. "Grew up watching too many old cowboy movies, I guess."
"So you're ... huh?" Zack was frowning. "You're from away?"
"You could say that," said Zed. "Matter of fact I just came into town to see what was up with that there convention, I tell you I was not disappointed." He chuckled. "Then all this happened. But you ain't interested in my life story, you just wanna get through all this without getting eaten or turned into a big ol' ugly zombie, ain't that right little man? Yeah, 'course it is. So you just follow ol' Uncle Zed, he'll see you through this. All right, everyone get what you're getting and let's head on out, time's a-wasting."
Less than ten minutes later Imogen was limping along, Zack at her right, Zed walking on her left, the others ahead. They were heading along the street away from the station—because of the way the monorail track wound through the city it was impossible to follow it directly, but it wasn't difficult to keep it in sight.
"Like that bat you've got there."
Imogen glanced down at HopeKiller, then over at Zed. His eyes were fixed ahead, bright and alert, but it was clear that he was talking to her.
"Nice touch with the cutting edge on it, what is that, just a hunk of metal? That work good?"
Imogen was looking ahead too. "Good enough."
"Wish I could've found me a wooden one like that, I'd ask to trade you if I had something better to give. Even this shiny thing ain't bad, though. Can't beat a baseball bat for that, uhn! That good heft, ain't nothing like it. You play baseball?"
"No."
"You got the arms for it, I tell you, reckon you put even me to shame. What do you do, then? Swimming?"
"She did Kendo ages ago," Zack piped up. "She was really good at it."
"Kendo! That's that there Japanese stick-fighting, ain't it?"
Imogen shrugged.
"Why'd you give it up?"
"There was this girl—"
"Zack!"
Zed was chuckling. "No, no, I get it. Oldest story in the world, right? Don't blame you. Reckon you're damn glad you got some practice in before the real thing, though, ain't ya? That reminds me—everyone listen up! Got some ground rules to go over with y'all!"
Zed had stopped as he'd called out, and he waited for the others to look back before he continued:
"Now from what I've seen, it don't take much for these stinking creatures to infect you. I seen a guy get a teeny little scratch on his hand, an hour later he's starting to sweat, hour after that he's lying down dead, hour after that, well, I can't rightly tell you because I was long gone by then, but I reckon he stood up again and started going after tasty little morsels like you two there, armour girl and clown chick."
Cheena rolled her eyes. Jen did nothing.
"Same goes for bites," Zed continued. "You get bit, you're as good as dead—worse, 'cos you're gonna come back and start biting on the rest of us. So here's the deal. Any of us gets scratched. Any of us gets bit. We do the right thing, and we tell the others, and then we head on off by ourselves to make peace in whatever damned way feels right to us. All right? That okay with you folks? I ain't going through no damned drama about this, you get bit, you get scratched, you get yourself gone. Any objections to that?"
Imogen saw HK and Keenan exchange glances, and Cheena looked pensive, but nobody said anything.
"Okay. Second rule, as long as you ain't bit, as long as you ain't scratched, and as long as you ain't done nothing overly foolish, the rest of us'll do what we can to get you through all this. You get what I mean by that? We ain't gonna be heroes, hell, I seen a dozen 'heroes' die in the first hour of this thing, but we ain't leaving no one behind that don't deserve to be left behind. Get me? Maybe the world's ending, but I ain't gonna live with no regrets."
Zed waited for this to sink in, then onc
e more he continued:
"Third rule, we stick together. No one's running ahead and no one's dragging behind. Sue honey, looks like you're gonna be our pace setter. Now I don't want no one begrudging her that, because I reckon we don't wanna be going too fast anyhow. You seen these mangy little crawling ones? Half the time they don't even move until you're right on top of 'em, reckon they're smart enough to set traps like that. So we move slow, we keep our eyes and ears open, and maybe we'll see 'em before we step on 'em."
Zed looked around at the others, then nodded firmly.
"All right then. Let's keep moving. Got a lot of ground to cover, I reckon. Ain't doing us no good just standing around jawing."
Everyone started walking again. Zed glanced at Imogen.
"Sure you're all right with that foot? Maybe you—"
"Maybe you should be at the front," Imogen said. "Looking out for crawlers."
"Yeah, maybe. Sing out if you're getting tired."
Zed walked ahead, and Imogen watched him go.
*
It was an hour later. They'd spotted more than a few zombies, and had taken a couple of detours to avoid bigger groups, but hadn't had any problems. Now they were stopping for a rest, in the middle of an intersection.
"Clear ground," Zed had said. "We can see in every direction, ain't no way nothing's sneaking up on us."
Then he'd headed off by himself to 'scout'—cleanly breaking one of his own rules, Imogen had thought, but it didn't seem to worry any of the others and she couldn't be bothered saying anything. Now she was sitting on the road, her back against Zack's. Some of the others were talking, but that wasn't anything special—some of the others were always talking. This time it was HK who started things off:
"Why aren't there any others out here? Any other survivors, I mean."
"You've seen what that wind's done," Trevor replied. "And that was indoors, with some protection. Out here, in the open ... I don't even want to think about it."
"That's kind of weird though, right?" HK said. "I mean, back in the centre, it was only the higher floors that got hit real bad. Down on the ground floor some of the windows were even still there. But out here the wind was strong enough to throw cars around!"