by White, Ben
"It could be these wide streets with these tall buildings," said Trevor. "Even normally ... before, that is ... you could get some real gusts in this part of town."
"Yeah, true," said HK, before shaking his head. "But there must have been SOME people who survived. Right? In buildings, or ... or ... there must have been SOME."
"Perhaps," said Chris. "But remember that the wind came several hours before we escaped the convention centre. Any survivors would have left the area."
"To where?" HK asked.
"To their homes, of course," Cheena said. "Where else would you go in this kind of crisis? To be with those you care about, to make sure they are fine. But if you ask me, I doubt there were more than a handful of 'survivors'. We have seen many large groups, and unmoving bodies also."
"That's another thing," HK said. "Why don't they all come back? It's like ... the body has to be ... like, 'whole'. I mean, it doesn't HAVE to be whole, but ... it's JUST the body that comes back. You don't see any hands or arms crawling around on their own."
"Thank goodness," Jen said, before sniffing. "Things are bad enough as it is."
"Yeah, true that," Keenan said. "Man, you wanna even imagine?"
"The limbs 'die' when they're removed," Null said. "But the body remains mobile. Even decapitation does not 'kill' them."
"Now that does not make sense," Trevor said. "Without a brain to guide the body they should not be moving—even animals need that."
"Yeah, but some bugs don't," said HK. "Right? I read where cockroaches only die after their heads get cut off because they can't eat. They just starve to death."
"No," said Null. "They die of thirst. Water is more important than food."
"You get what I mean. They don't need their head to live, just to eat—and drink or whatever."
"This is a point," Cheena said. "Some lower lifeforms do not need a brain."
"Ah," said Chris. "You mean like HK."
HK laughed. "Nice."
"That's not quite accurate," said Null. "Cockroaches do need a brain. But it's spread throughout their body."
"Cockroaches may but other things do not," Cheena said. "Viruses and bacteria have no brain. Some parasites—"
"But these aren't simple organisms we're talking about here," Trevor argued. "They're humans—or human bodies, at least—"
"Hey now, who's hungry? I know I am!" Zed's voice cut through the conversation. "There's a convenience store up ahead, and I reckon we could all use some convenience, am I right? Gotta be a bathroom in there too—don't worry, I'm gonna be courteous and go last, because believe you me, the bathroom is the only place you do NOT want to come a-following ol' Zed."
The convenience store wasn't far away, just a few minutes even at the limping pace Imogen set. The windows had all been blown in and the shelves knocked over, but it looked safe enough.
"Hold up there, Kemosabe," Zed said, holding out a firm arm to stop Keenan from heading in. "Reckon I'd best check it out first, make sure there ain't no nasty surprises. Clown chick, you're handy with that stick of yours, wanna come with?"
"I am Allecchina," said Cheena. "Not 'clown chick'."
"That's not even your real name though, is it?" said HK. "So—"
"Whatever you wanna be called, you in or not?"
Cheena drew herself up, her back straight, her carved staff held in an elegant reverse-grip. "I will help. But it is not for you, 'Zed'."
As it turned out, all of that was unnecessary. There were no 'nasty surprises' in the little shop, and a minute later Zed called 'Clear!' from inside and the others went in, Imogen and Zack at the back.
"Take my advice, don't go eating anything that's already open," Zed said—he was sitting on a counter, chewing his way through a packet of beef jerky. "Time like this, you don't wanna risk nothing."
Most of the others relaxed and joked and even laughed as they helped themselves to snacks. Imogen limped to the back of the store and slumped down against a wall.
"Well?" she said, as Zack hovered near her. "Go and take whatever."
Zack scurried off. Imogen let her eyes close.
"You should at least drink something."
Imogen sighed, eyes still closed. She felt Jen sitting beside her.
"Do you like fruit juice? What's your favourite—there are cans here, apple and orange?"
Imogen held up her hand, and a moment later a cool can was pushed into it. She opened it and took a sip without opening her eyes, then put it down and pulled out her cigarettes.
"Ahem."
"Trevor." Jen's voice. "It's not going to kill you."
"She can go outside to smoke. It won't kill her."
Imogen was already pushing herself up—she shook Jen's hand away as she tried to help her.
"I can do it," she muttered. Imogen limped through the store, rolling her eyes at HK, Keenan and Zack having a play-fight with cans of whipped cream. Outside she found a spot clear of glass and sat heavily, wincing at a stab of pain from her leg. For a moment she just stayed like that, then she raised her lighter in front of her face, concentrated, and tried for a flame.
Nothing.
She clucked her tongue, then tried again. It took four clicks to get it to light, but after that she was soon blowing wobbly smoke rings into the night—the convenience store was the only shop around, the corner of a huge commercial building, a single pool of light in the darkness.
"I brought your drink, some bread and things too. It's kind of like a picnic."
Imogen didn't look at Jen.
"Can I, um, do you have any spare?"
"You don't smoke."
"I know, I mean it's true, I don't, but I always kind of wanted to. I love the smell of cigarettes, I don't understand people who say they smell bad."
Imogen glanced at Jen. The girl's face was earnest.
"Probably not the best time to be starting," she said, before exhaling and taking the cigarette from her mouth. She looked at it, then passed it to Jen.
"Oh, it's hot!" Jen's mouth went tight and she looked down, embarrassed at her naivety. "I just ... didn't expect that."
Hesitantly she brought it towards her mouth, then put it between her lips. Imogen watched, halfway fascinated. Jen looked good with a cigarette in her mouth. But then again, Imogen couldn't help thinking, Jen would look good with her face covered in mud, or splattered with zombie goo, or let's face it, even with a monkey on her head and spiders crawling down her cheeks she'd look good—
"Um, maybe that's enough for me," Jen said, holding the cigarette out for Imogen to take back.
"You didn't inhale," Imogen said, before doing so herself. Jen smiled.
"Perhaps I'm not as brave as you."
Imogen said nothing. After breathing a long plume of smoke up and out, she sent the cigarette flicking away. When she looked at Jen again, the girl was holding up a packaged chocolate muffin, slightly squashed but otherwise intact.
"Do you like muffins?" she asked. "Or do you prefer—"
"That's fine," Imogen said, almost snatching it. She opened the packet as Jen did the same with another. "Thanks."
"You're so welcome."
Imogen didn't really taste the muffin, or the fruit juice she washed it down with, or the large loaf of squashed cheese bread she followed that with, or the cream and strawberry sandwich she split with Jen for dessert, or even the chocolate bars she ate after that. Halfway through their shared meal Jen opened a compartment in her leg armour and brought out a tiny music player and earbuds, which she shyly offered to share with Imogen. The song wasn't one Imogen recognised and it wasn't really her sort of thing, light and high and bright, but she found herself humming along as she finished her third chocolate bar.
"Well now, look at this! I was wondering where you two girly-girls got off to, having a nice little picnic out in the open, are ya?"
Imogen rolled her eyes as she pulled out the earbud and pushed it into Jen's hand, then took out her cigarettes. After a moment of hesitation she offered the
pack to Zed, who recoiled in mock-horror.
"Hell, girl, don't you point those damn things at me! Might as well aim a god-damned gun at my head, been free of those devil sticks for, man, gotta be ten years since I kicked 'em in the teeth—and if you were anywhere near smart you'd do the same."
Imogen smirked as she tried to get her lighter to catch. "Now?"
"Hell yes 'now', seems like the perfect time to me. End of the world, baby!" Zed picked at his teeth with a long wooden splinter as he watched Imogen's continued attempts to get a flame. "Having trouble? Hell, that's one of them ol' Zippos, ain't it? Used to use one of them, switched to this here Firestorm a couple of years back." Zed fetched it from a pocket and held it up for Imogen to see; it resembled a small black grenade more than a lighter. "This little beauty's what they call 'stormproof', it'll light anywhere, anytime, first click, no questions asked and no problems given."
Imogen had finally coaxed a high flame from her own lighter, and was touching it to the end of her cigarette. "So let's see it."
"Hell, it's right here—"
"Let's see you light it."
Zed looked down at Imogen as she looked calmly up.
"Well, sure," he said. "Check this out."
As Zed had claimed, the lighter caught on the first click. The blue flame, however, was so small that Imogen could barely see it. She looked away, concentrating on her cigarette.
"Mm-hm," she murmured. She could feel Jen smiling beside her.
"Come on now," Zed said, "it ain't the size of the flame—"
"Why do you even have a lighter, if you don't smoke?"
"There's more uses for fire than just lighting god-damn cancer sticks—"
"Mm-hm. I read that those types run out of fuel fast."
"Oh, you did, did you? Where'd you read that?"
"In a book."
"Ha ha ha, excuse me while I bust a gut at the dryness of you, god-DAMN if you ain't the most irritating girl I ever done met." Despite Zed's words, he was grinning. "Talking down a man's choice of lighter—"
"Zed!" came Keenan's voice from inside. "Chris found a radio!"
"Well, damn," Zed said, as he headed inside. Imogen took another puff of her cigarette.
"Do you—"
Imogen had already flicked the smoke away. She started pushing herself to her feet, and when Jen offered her hand she didn't refuse the help.
Inside, everyone was excessively excited.
"It ain't working!" Keenan was almost yelling. "Damn, man, this is some unfair—"
"It is working," Null said. She was, as usual, leaning against a wall, gun-sword beside her, arms crossed. She wasn't even looking at the radio. "It's just the speaker that's broken."
"Well what use is that?" HK exploded, surprising Imogen. "We finally find—"
"Wait," Chris said. He unclipped a small black square from his belt—some sort of music player, it blended in so well that Imogen hadn't even noticed it before. From this he pulled out an almost invisibly thin wire; earbuds. Everyone watched as Chris put in the earbuds, then plugged the jack into the radio. Instantly his expression changed.
"Oh my god."
"What?" HK said. "What are they saying?"
"They're playing Laurie Anderson. I almost can't believe it, this never happens—this is the hand, the hand that takes, oh, I just adore this song, it's such a beautiful freak, how did this ever get to be any kind of hit—hey!"
HK was retuning the radio. Half a minute later saw Chris listening seriously, reporting along with what he was hearing:
"It's not just here," he said. "It's the whole country. Both the wind and the reanimating corpses. Other countries ... they don't think other countries have been affected. Just us." Chris paused, listening, his eyes serious behind his white and gold mask. "It's worse up north. The capital ... the capital's gone."
"What do you mean, 'gone'?" HK demanded. "What the HELL?"
"That's what they—that's the word they used," said Chris, and HK sank back against a ruined shelf, lost. Chris listened for a moment to catch up, then continued speaking: "It's not so bad down south, the winds lost strength as they ... they're saying about some kind of weather experiment, but they don't know, they still ... they don't know what caused the zombies, they don't ... 'any contact potentially fatal', well, we certainly know that—"
There was a quiet 'click' as the radio was switched off. Chris looked up at Zed, confused.
"Story time's over," said Zed. He shook his head at the looks he was getting. "What's that helping? Here and now, what is listening to that crap helping? You tell me, any of you, is listening to that helping us survive? Nuh, it ain't. We gotta focus on clear and present goals, not on 'why's and 'how's."
"But we could learn something—something important," Trevor protested. Zed shook his head again.
"They don't know nothing we don't—matter of fact, I'd bet cash money that we know a hell of a lot more than any of them government folk. We're here, all of us, right in the middle of this—'scuse my language, ladies—god-damned shit."
"Don't excuse yourself on my account," Cheena said. "This situation is shit."
Imogen couldn't help but agree. Zed was continuing:
"Look, we ain't gotta think about nothing except getting to my truck. That's our goal right now, not figuring out how these damned zombies work or why any of this is happening, just getting across town to a decent damned vehicle."
"Let's go then." It was HK who spoke, a new seriousness to his voice. "Take whatever we can carry from here and just go."
"Reckon that's a good idea," Zed said. "You heard the boy, let's load up and head out."
Imogen found Zack at the rear of the store, stuffing candy bars into the bag. He scowled up at her.
"I hate carrying these things, they're so BIG and POINTY."
It took Imogen a second to realise that he was talking about the cartons of cigarettes.
"Don't complain," she muttered. "And don't just take chocolate—"
"I have jerky as well! And drinks, but I can't fit MUCH in with these STUPID cigarettes—"
"Whatever," Imogen muttered, already turning away. Jen was outside, adjusting her helmet.
"I'm still not sure if I should wear this or not," she said, her voice muffled. "It really makes it hard to hear."
Imogen barely noticed Jen; she was thinking about having another cigarette.
"Is your foot okay?"
"Stop asking that," Imogen muttered. "Every time anyone mentions it, it starts hurting."
"Sorry." Jen hesitated, then unlatched her helmet and took it off. Her face was flushed and shiny. "Maybe part of it is sentimentality. I worked so hard on this costume. I don't want to leave any part of it behind ..."
"So don't then, just keep it, what does it matter? Leave it or take it, it's not going to change anything." Imogen looked at Jen, suddenly annoyed. "You take it and wear it and you don't hear the zombie behind you, or the crawler under a car or something. You leave it here and a zombie manages to scratch your face or grab you by the hair. Either way you're dead."
To Imogen's surprise, Jen smiled. "You're right," she said, and she put the helmet back on with a firm 'clack'. "I should do what feels right to me."
Imogen breathed out, irritated, and was about to reach for her cigarettes when Zed came out of the store, leading the others.
"All right then—you two waiting on us? We're all packed up and ready to move on out, Sue darlin', why don't you go on ahead and set the pace for us, good girl."
Imogen glanced at Zack as he walked to her side, taking up his usual position as her support.
"I can take that bag," Jen said. "I'm not carrying anything except this sword, I don't mind."
"No," Imogen said. "He can carry it."
"But—"
"Or are you a wussy little weakling?"
"I'm NOT. I can do it."
"Of course you can," Jen said, smiling down at Zack. "I just thought it seemed unfair that I'm not carrying anything."
/>
"You're sick, you don't need to burden yourself," said Keenan. "Hell, just keeping up's good enough for me. You're doing good, Jen."
"Reckon so," said Zed. He patted Jen on her plastic-armoured shoulder as he passed. "The kid's fine, he's tough. Ain't ya."
Zack nodded seriously. "Come on, Imogen, everyone's waiting for you."
Imogen's face was blank as she started limping forward. Jen stayed close, Zed walked a little way ahead, and the others trailed along behind.
Somehow, around ten minutes after leaving the convenience store, Imogen found herself limping along beside Zed, only Zack at her side—Jen was over near Trevor, quietly talking to him.
"So," Zed said, without quite looking at Imogen. "You're one o' them lesbian girls, huh?"
Imogen didn't reply. She could feel that Zack was listening intently, and squeezed his shoulder hard to stop him from saying anything.
"I ain't judging or nothin', don't you worry about that, think it's kind of sweet if you want the truth."
Imogen concentrated on walking. Zed chuckled quietly.
"I can tell you ain't one to talk much about yourself. Just got this curiosity in me, feel the need to indulge it at times. Figure this is kind of an opportunity for me to, what would you call it, 'expand my world view'. So I gotta ask, there ain't no way you'd ever look at a boy?"
"Would you?"
"Would I what?"
"Ever 'look' at a boy."
"Hell no I wouldn't!"
"Then there's your answer," Imogen said, somewhat wearily. Zed laughed.
"Okay, well, guess I asked for that. Heh, you're a real, I dunno, what would you call your kind of girl?"
"Gay?"
"Nah, nah, no, that ain't what I'm talking about ... well, guess I don't know WHAT to call you. But I like you, Sue. You're a tough little matchstick."
With that Zed walked forward, back to the front of the group. Zack went to say something, but Imogen shot him a look and he shut his mouth.
"Don't," she muttered, her voice weary. "Just ... don't."
"God-damn hundreds of 'em!"
This after putting a finger to his lips, pointing ahead, then looking back and putting his hand up, fingers spread wide. And then the hoarsely whispered: