The Undying Apathy Of Imogen Shroud

by White, Ben

Those are stars. I'm outside.

  Imogen looked up at Jen's face as Jen looked down at her. She looks worse, Imogen thought, quite clearly. Worse than before. She's really sick.

  But still strong enough to save me. Strong enough to save Zack. Strong enough to save all of us.

  Imogen found herself on her feet, she'd thought that she'd collapsed but apparently not, and she blinked and looked to the left and saw zombies, so many of them but they weren't coming towards her, they were agitated, they were focused on something, and then she was being encouraged forward, Jen's arm was around her, Zack was gone—no, Zed had him, when did he pick up Zack?

  Eventually everything stopped.

  They were in a side street, narrow between tall buildings, no zombies in sight. Imogen had no idea how much time had passed since they'd left the station behind. Zed was putting Zack down, patting him on the back, and he was saying something—

  "—all right, son? You feel the need to throw up you just go on and do it." Imogen saw Zed glance back at Chris, his eyes hard. "Might even join you in a moment."

  "I—"

  Zed said nothing as he walked up to Chris, but the look on his face was worse than any words could have been. For the first time Imogen saw that Zed was shorter than Chris, almost half a foot shorter, but it didn't matter, it didn't make any difference at all.

  "It, it was him or me. Truly, it was. You would have done the same." Chris's eyes flicked to Imogen and then to Jen. "You would've done the same!"

  Zed said nothing, but his breathing was hard and his back was tense. Imogen couldn't see his face; she was glad of this. Slowly, he raised his hand, pointing away past Chris.

  "I ... you can't ..."

  Zed didn't move. Not at all. Chris looked pleadingly at the others—Zack was noisily throwing up off to the side. Jen was shaking her head, her face pale in the moonlight.

  Imogen looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes.

  There was the sound of a sharply indrawn breath, and Imogen glanced back to see Chris drawing himself up, fear in his eyes but grace in his posture. He stepped back, his eyes on Zed's, and he bowed, a long, sweeping bow that was utterly controlled.

  And then he turned away.

  The black of his suit faded into the darkness of night.

  And then he was gone.

  Zed took two short, controlled breaths, then he went to check on Zack, patting the boy on the back with muttered masculine support.

  "Imogen." Imogen turned to look at the chestplate of Jen's armour, not quite able to look up further. "Are you ... are you okay?"

  Imogen went to say 'yes' but then she was falling forward, against the hard plastic of Jen's armour, and the girl's arms were around her, the solidity of her so comforting, so necessary, and Imogen was hugging her back, HopeKiller and Jen's crowbar both lying forgotten on the street beside them, the two of them embracing in the light of a fallen flashlight, and for that single moment it was okay; for that single moment Imogen Shroud was happy.

  It was Imogen who broke the hug, tensing and then pushing away from Jen. She drew the back of her hand over her eyes before saying:

  "We have to keep moving."

  "Hell yes we do." Zed was by Zack, his hand still on the boy's back as both of them drank grape soda from plastic bottles. Imogen wondered what Zed had said to her brother—he looked far from okay, but also far from the quivering mess he'd been just moments earlier. "Figure my truck ain't but a few blocks away—"

  Zed stopped. He was looking at Jen, and Jen was smiling sadly at him.

  And then Imogen knew.

  "Jen."

  It was such a small word, just barely a syllable, and yet it contained all of the sadness in the world; all of the sadness a seventeen year-old girl's heart could hold. Jen was smiling at Imogen now, a helpless, weak little smile.

  "It's so unfair," she said, her voice soft. "I didn't even get scratched."

  Imogen could see the tears streaking Jen's cheeks.

  They were yellow.

  "There was a television upstairs, in the office. I ... I broke the door down, eventually, it wasn't strong. And the TV was working. And I watched ... they said, about the virus, or parasite, they weren't sure, but we've all got it, even if you haven't been scratched or bitten, they think it came with the wind. It's inside all of us."

  Imogen was staring at Jen, not wanting to hear but unable to block out her voice.

  "But it needs ... it needs dead tissue, to ... to get stronger. That's what happens when they bite you or scratch you, it kills—"

  "Jen, honey ... you don't gotta—"

  "I want to explain." Jen's voice was no less soft than before, but its strength was unmistakeable. "I want you all to understand. Knowing might help you."

  Zed said nothing further. Jen took a breath then continued, her bright eyes on Imogen:

  "Their blood, or it's not blood, it's ... it's a carrier, for the virus. When they scratch you, or bite you—"

  "But you weren't scratched, you weren't bitten—"

  "My cold," Jen said. "Only ... only it's not a cold ... it doesn't matter what it is. They s-said that anyone with a weakened immune system—"

  Imogen cut Jen off by hugging her, tight, as tight as she could, her cheek against the chestplate of Jen's armour. Jen hugged her back, then gently pushed her away.

  "They don't ... they didn't know about communicability," she said, in explanation. "I don't w-want to put you at risk—"

  "I don't care," Imogen said. "I don't care if I—"

  "Of course you do. Of course you care."

  "I d-don't, I never cared—"

  "Sue ... honey." Zed cleared his throat. "I ain't known you long. Can't say I'm the best judge of character in the world neither. But there's one thing as clear to me as the stars in the sky, you sure as hell do care."

  Imogen wiped away tears with her right hand then her left, and she looked up to see Zack looking at her, Zed beside him, and Jen was still smiling—

  "It's not fair," Imogen said. "This isn't fair."

  "No, it's not." Jen's voice was harder now. "But that's nothing new."

  "Jen, darlin' ... are you absolutely sure—"

  Jen was nodding. "They said, about the symptoms. Sweating. Fever. And, um, your tears and saliva turn yellow, and then brown. And your, y-your organs start to die, the kidneys and—"

  "Don't." Imogen reached for Jen's hand. "Don't."

  Jen squeezed Imogen's hand, then let it go. "I have to."

  "I'm real sorry, darlin'," Zed said. His voice was low. "I'm so real sorry. Wish it could be different."

  "So do I." Jen managed a small, sad laugh. "I really do."

  "You're going to die?" Zack was staring at Jen, horrified comprehension on his exhausted face. "No! That's not fair, that's so not fair, that's ... you didn't even get scratched, you were strong! You ... you're supposed to ... you can't die just because—no! NO!"

  "Zack." Imogen's voice was low and dangerous.

  "But—"

  "It's all right, Zack," Jen said. "Really, it's ... no, it's not fair. None of this is." She looked back at Imogen. "And ... and maybe it's easier for me, because ... because ..."

  She trailed off again. She'd seen the understanding in Imogen's eyes.

  "I guess it doesn't matter now." Jen wiped her eyes. "None of it matters. I shouldn't stay here with you. I should ... I s-should go and try to kill some zombies. Or I could ... maybe follow behind you, and if you need a distraction, or a sacrifice—"

  "Hell, darlin'—"

  "No, I want to. I want to help you, Imogen, Zack, you two are trying to get home, right?" Jen's mouth went tight, and though she brought herself under control with a deep, calming breath, when she next spoke her voice shook with loss: "I can't believe you're the only ones left. But I'm ... I'm happy you're both okay. Brother and sister, still together. You'll keep each other safe, right? Zack, you'll keep your sister safe, won't you?"

  Zack nodded seriously, tears streaming down his cheeks. />
  "You're both so strong," Jen said. "I know you'll ... you'll both be okay. Zed, please take care of them."

  Zed nodded. "I surely will." He hesitated before speaking again. "Listen, Jen ... I got some stuff in my truck ... you wouldn't feel a thing, I promise you that."

  Jen shook her head slowly, her mouth a grim line. "All my life I've had to take meds. On the hour, every hour. I don't want the last thing I ever do to be swallowing another pill. I want ... I want it to be fighting, fighting to save someone I care about. I want it to mean something. It never did before. It was never going to, before. I never did anything important. Only in my fantasies." Jen looked down at the plastic armour she wore, then up at Zed. "Tonight, I can be a hero."

  "Reckon you always were, darlin'. Reckon you always were."

  Jen smiled at Zed, then calmly bent to pick up HopeKiller and her crowbar. She gave HopeKiller to Imogen, then took her arm, silently supporting her. As they started walking, up the street, Zed and Zack beside them, one of the streetlights nearby flickered into life.

  "Well now, look at that," Zed said, quietly. "What's that about, you reckon?"

  Other streetlights had lit up, too—just streetlights, not the buildings. Their way forward was lit. It didn't take long for the lights to shine on something else.

  "Looks like you get your wish, darlin'." Zed pointed with his bat. "That there's the way to my garage, down that little street there."

  Jen nodded, standing tall and straight, her eyes fixed on the pack of zombies blocking the street.

  "W-we could ... lead them away," Imogen said. "Or go around, find another way—you don't HAVE to—"

  "Of course I do." Jen turned to smile at Imogen, one final time, and then she gently slid her arm free. "This is me saving you."

  "You already did that, you don't—"

  "Imogen." Jen's voice was near to breaking. "Please."

  Zed patted Jen on the shoulder. "Get us home, darlin'. You just get us home."

  Jen nodded. She was shivering. "I ... I want to say something. I want to say something but I don't know ..."

  "It's okay." Zack smiled up at Jen, so strong and tall in her bright orange armour. "She doesn't talk, right?"

  Jen smiled back, far more bravely than she could have possibly felt.

  "And ... and you're cooler than her, even." Zack nodded to himself. "Way cooler."

  Jen took a breath as she raised her head, and she gripped her crowbar firmly as she strode forward, streetlights shining against her armour and her pale blonde hair. She only glanced back once, to look at Imogen, who was weeping openly, HopeKiller loose in her hand.

  Don't go, Imogen wanted to yell. Don't go. Please. Please don't go without me ...

  She said nothing.

  She did nothing.

  That was enough.

  Jen's expression softened and then hardened, and she mouthed something, three words, and they struck Imogen like arrows, every one of them:

  Don't.

  Forget.

  Me.

  And as the first of the zombies began lurching towards Jen, Zed put his hand on Imogen's shoulder and guided her away.

  "Come on, darlin'," he murmured. "She don't need no audience for this."

  "But—"

  "Come on. Let's not waste this chance she's giving us."

  And nothing could be done.

  There were narrow streets. Some were light. Some were dark. Jen made no noise. None at all. There were further streets. All dark. There was a ramp leading down. There was a shutter, dented badly. It opened. Inside it was dark. Zed's truck was there. He made a joke about not having his keys. They all got in. Zack sat between Imogen and Zed. 5th Generation Toyota Hilux. Best truck ever made. Impossible to kill. You see that thing? And it was STILL going! Hey, I know that dude. Owns this garage. Or owned it, anyway. I want my two dollars! Heh heh heh. Zed was out of the truck. Know much about guns, little man? This here's an M1 Garand, same kind they used in Dubya Dubya Two. Chambered for thirty-aught-six Springfield, best god-damn ammunition anyone ever made.

  "—now there's some'll tell you that thirty-aught-six is too much bullet for the kinds of things I hunt—deer and pigs mostly. They'll say it causes too much of what's called 'meat damage'."

  Imogen sat slumped inside the truck, her cheek pressed hard against the cool glass of the window, staring unseeing at the dashboard. The sharp clack-CLACK of a chambered round echoed in the dark garage.

  Zed raised his rifle.

  The zombie shambling towards him seemed to hesitate.

  Zed breathed in, then out.

  The zombie's shoulder exploded in a shower of brown gore. Its arm slapped wetly against the concrete floor.

  "But then I ain't never been one for 'finesse'." Zed grinned down at the wide-eyed Zack. "Iron sights, never did like scopes. Just that one step too far removed, know what I'm saying?"

  Zed casually blew the zombie's other arm off, shooting from the hip this time.

  "Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here. Reckon your sister there needs the drive."

  The truck rocked gently as Zack and Zed got in. It took Imogen a few seconds to realise Zed was looking at her pointedly. When she spoke her voice came from the depths of an ocean trench, dark and pitiless:

  "What?"

  "Seatbelt, goddamnit! Safety first, girl!"

  In the end Zack had to help Imogen get herself buckled in. Her hands were shaking too badly to do much of anything.

  "Got that bat of yours in the back, good and secure. Don't want that there blade on the end getting loose."

  Imogen stared at nothing as Zed drove them out of the garage.

  Outside, past the ramp that led up and out, there was an empty space; a vacant lot. The truck's powerful headlights easily picked out the single zombie standing in it. Zed ran it over with a loud 'thump' and an even louder 'YEEEE-HAW!'. He looked down at Zack, who was grinning nervously.

  "You like that, son? Yeah, reckon we all needed that. All right now, where's your poison? Where do you live?"

  "Spring Heights," Zack said. "In the apartments."

  Zed chuckled softly as he pulled the truck around. "Spring Heights," he murmured. "Now how about that. Ain't exactly the fanciest part of town, is it? Nah, nah, just playing with you." He glanced at Imogen. "Maybe one little detour first."

  It took several minutes for Zed to find what he was looking for, and another minute after that to get the truck lined up. The headlights shone bright against ragged dead flesh and bulging red-brown eyes.

  After he'd gotten the truck where he wanted it Zed just sat there, his hands on the wheel, staring forward, until Imogen spoke:

  "Those aren't the ones."

  "Nah. Nah, they ain't." Zed gunned the engine. "She's in there, though. They're all in there." He gunned the engine again. "This is for all of 'em, you stinking dead bastards."

  Zed wrenched the gearstick and slammed the pedal down. The big truck charged forward, engine growling, accelerating hard and fast. Zed had left a long run-up and the needle was over a hundred before they slammed into the horde.

  The jolt was tremendous, the shock absurd. Zombies thudded against the front and disappeared beneath. Brown goo splattered the windscreen. Tires skidded through thick filth and crushed limbs. Through all of it Zed roared, louder than his truck's engine, louder than the hideous cracking and squelching that tore through Imogen's head:

  "FOR JEN, YOU BASTARDS! FOR JEN AND ALLECCHINA AND KEENAN AND ALL OF 'EM!"

  Eventually, it was over. Jen's body wasn't among the twitching corpses left behind. This was not the horde she'd fought.

  But that wasn't the point.

  Imogen stared at Zed, at his wild eyes, at his bared teeth, at his white knuckles, at his strong arms, at his ridiculous cowboy hat, at his face, covered in dried brown splatter.

  "Cheena?"

  Zed let out a breath, low and long, before answering Zack. His voice was calmer than it had any right to be:

  "Allecchina went th
e same way Jen did. Died fighting like a god-damn hero girl. You remember, son," he said, his eyes serious as he looked down at Zack. "You remember all of 'em. Don't you never forget."

  And Zack nodded, and Zed nodded back, and then he backed the truck around, and they drove off in the direction they'd come from, heading towards the river; heading towards home.

  And Imogen stared out the window, her cheek pressed against it, her eyes bright with unshed tears, and she mouthed three words:

  I.

  Never.

  Will.

  The truck slowed to a stop, and Zed leant forward on the steering wheel, looking out and up.

  "Yep," he said, leaning back. "That's another bridge gone. Hell, way things are going we're gonna haveta head on down to Rabid Gorge to get you across this damn river. You know there didn't use to be nothing here? Whole damn thing's fake. Never think it, would you? Big ol' river like this, nah, used to just have this little ol' wussy thing. Used to be hills all, hell, all over that way, too. I ain't talking no little puny things neither, I mean hills."

  He glanced at Imogen. She hadn't moved in an hour.

  "Yep, them hills were something, all right," he said, before suddenly leaning forward again, then looking around and back. "Hell," he said, recognition in his voice, "I know this place. Used to come here all the time—hey, you two wanna see something cool?"

  Driving wasn't easy with all the wrecks on the road, but Zed treated it like an obstacle course, tearing through and around and over the occasional zombie.

  "Wham! That's another fifty points, what're we up to there, little man?"

  "Um ... one thousand, two hundred and seventy?"

  "Damn. Didn't think this place was so far—well hold on now, wait a minute here, things are starting to look awful familiar, the ol' Zed Killer memory's beginning to wind up—heh, yep, that's the place. God damn, it's still here. Ain't that something."

  The first two floors of the building were parking; Zed stopped the truck on the second floor, near the entrance to a stairway.

  "Gonna be tough getting up," he said, as he helped Imogen out of the truck. "But I promise you this, every damn step'll be worth it."

  "Going up high must be safe," Zack said. "Because zombies aren't good at climbing."