by Brown, TW
While Juan skidded to a halt to take a moment to decide how to deal with the situation, the dog plowed into the child-thing, knocking it onto its back. Deciding not to let the thing regain its footing, Juan moved in and brought the bat down on its head until the thing finally stopped squirming.
Looking up, Juan noticed a couple of things right away. One, the dog had simply sat down and was watching with its tongue hanging out making contented doggy panting sounds. Two, the woman had freed her leg, and now held a large, black handgun leveled at him!
“Easy there, lady.” Juan raised his hands, setting his gore-drenched bat on the railing of the porch.
“Real slow, take that belt off and slide that gun over here,” the woman’s voice was still a bit hoarse from screaming.
“If I do, will you stop pointing that gun at me?” Juan slowly brought his hands down and twisted the clasp, releasing the belt. He held it up in one hand.
The distinct sound of a pump-action shotgun sounded behind him. He flinched, but resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.
“Just toss the belt, cowboy,” a young-sounding female voice almost purred.
Juan glanced at the dog. It was still simply taking everything in with a big doggy smile. “You in on this, too?” Juan asked the dog. Its stubby tail wiggled, and it got up and walked over to him, nudging his leg.
“Jade seems to like him,” the unseen shotgun holder said.
“All that means is that he’s not carrying the sickness,” the woman with the pistol snapped.
“C’mon, Mom, this guy took Carson out. He doesn’t seem like he was gonna do anything to you.”
“Maybe that’s because I didn’t give him the chance.”
“It’s been a month since Mister Billings. This is the first person we’ve seen since then. And he didn’t sneak through our window at night and try anything, this guy ran in and saved you,” the voice at his back replied. Juan really wanted to look over his shoulder. That voice sounded so absolutely beautiful.
“Are you willing to risk it, Mackenzie?”
“Are you willing to kill somebody who hasn’t done anything wrong and just saved your life, Mother?” Mackenzie asked.
Juan heard movement behind him, and a moment later Mackenzie came up the steps into view. Juan did his best not to show any reaction. An ugly wound crossed the young woman’s throat where it looked to him like somebody had taken a knife to it. Her left eye was so bloodshot that it looked crimson. There were other bruises visible on her arms, and a black and purple smudge could be seen extending down her thighs past the hem of her shorts. She was wearing cut-off sweats and Juan guessed it was likely that there were more bruises underneath.
“We had an unfortunate experience a few weeks back,” Mackenzie ignored her mom, shouldering the shotgun and extending a hand.
“I’m,” Juan stammered just a bit, “uh, well…”
“Mackenzie!” the woman barked as her daughter clasped hands with the stranger.
“Look,” Juan pulled his hand free, stepped back, and again raised his hands, “I had no idea anybody was here. I have my boat over at the beach.” He waved his arm in the general direction. “I was only taking a look. But when I smelled the fresh fruit. I…well…I—”
“You decided to steal some!” the woman snapped, still keeping the pistol leveled at Juan’s chest, although she was now using both hands. Even then, she was trembling slightly.
“I don’t want any problems.” Juan was getting a little tired of having a gun pointed at him. “I’ll just go back to my boat and—”
“And sneak back some night and either steal from us or worse,” the woman spat; she was really getting worked up. Juan knew fear when he saw it. If the lady was simply angry he could deal with that. But this one was scared, and scared people did things. Bad things.
“Mother, I don’t think this guy is gonna try and hurt us.” Mackenzie turned to the frightened woman, deliberately putting her back to Juan.
“You don’t know that,” the older woman’s voice cracked as she choked back a sob. “Jack Billings was our neighbor for… well…since before you were born.”
“And I always thought he was creepy.” Mackenzie placed her hands on her mothers, lowering the gun. “And when dad died, he never did accept that you weren’t looking for a new husband. Much less that you weren’t interested in him.”
Juan lowered his hands. Suddenly it was as if he weren’t there. Even the dog lying at his feet was intent on the two women who were in the midst of ripping off some sort of serious emotional scab. For a moment, he considered trying to excuse himself. Partially because he didn’t want to be nosy, and also because it was getting dark. He wanted to get back to his boat while he could still see. Juan cursed himself silently for not having thought to bring a flashlight.
“He still shouldn’t have done what he did. Not to me…and certainly not to you.” Now the older woman was sobbing.
“And he’ll never do it again.” Mackenzie took her mom into her arms and hugged her. Juan noticed the wince. She must be pretty beat up, he thought.
“So,” Juan tried to talk quietly, in hopes that Mackenzie’s mom wouldn’t notice, “I’ll just be going.”
“Absolutely not,” Mackenzie said over her mother’s sobs.
“But,” now he was confused, “I just want to get back to my boat before dark. For what it’s worth, I’ll promise not to come back.”
“I don’t think you should go now,” Mackenzie said, looking at Juan over her mom’s head. “It’s almost dark, and I’d feel terrible if in a day or two you come staggering up with a few bites out of you.”
Mackenzie’s mother pushed away from her daughter. “And where do you think he’ll stay?”
“You know what, lady,” Juan was beginning to regret saving the woman, “I said I was just lookin’ for food. I’ve been out on the river for a long time. Folks have either run from me or shot at me. I’ve seen people do terrible things, and when I heard somebody screaming, I came to help. To me, that’s worth a few melons. So, I’m gonna go. On my way, I’m gonna put a few pieces of fresh fruit in my bags that I dropped when I came to save your ass from being eaten. Then,” he scooped up his belt and fastened it with angry, over-exaggerated movements, “I’m getting’ on my boat and leavin’. If you wanna shoot me, don’t miss.”
Juan stormed past the two women, reached the stairs, and froze. He spun suddenly. Both women’s eyes widened as he stomped back towards them. He never even gave them a glance as he reached over and grabbed his bat. Once again, minus a little pride and righteous anger, he made his exit. Just as he reached the bottom step, a voice called out.
“Wait!” it was the mother.
Juan had built up a head of steam. He was angry and continued on, ignoring the repeated calls for him to stop. He heard steps. They were chasing after him! Juan spun, the bat cocked back defensively.
“Please!” the woman held her hands up, slowing. Her daughter—several steps behind—was coming, too, but wincing visibly with every step. “I’m sorry. It’s just been so…” Her voice trailed off and she came to a stop an arm’s breadth away.
“Crazy?” Juan relaxed his arm, dropping the bat to his side. “Like a horror movie?”
“Worse.” Mackenzie caught up and stood beside her mom. “But let’s try this again. My name is Mackenzie Simms. This is my mother, Margaret. The dog’s name is Jade.”
“Juan,” he stepped forward, halving the distance between them, “Juan Hoya.”
“Pleased to meet you, Juan.” Margaret extended a hand. “Thank you for saving me.”
“Welcome,” Juan mumbled. He wasn’t real comfortable with compliments, praise, or thanks.
“Won’t you come back and join us for dinner?” Margaret extended an arm towards the house. “We’re having fresh grilled chicken and biscuits.”
“Tight,” Juan smiled a lop-sided grin. The three walked back to the house, Jade bounding up alongside them.
***
“Jenifer!” a thickly British-accented voice called. “We’ll be needing your hands to help raise the sails.”
“Dammit,” Jenifer sighed and pushed herself to her feet. Like those three men couldn’t raise a sail.
“Need to see if she’ll hold wind, love,” Graham Briarwood said standing on a fallen tree with his hands shielding his eyes.
“And you need me to do what?” Jenifer allowed the sarcasm to drip. “Admire your rippling muscles as you tug on a piece of rope?”
“Actually,” Gidean Ogilvie took a long drink of water from a bottle and passed it to Graham, “we need you to gather up your things. If this holds, we will be ready to go.”
“Yeah,” Eric Chatham piped up in his nauseatingly effeminate AND British-accented voice. “Be a love and start bringing down the rest of the baggage.”
“Whatever. Jenifer trudged through the sand to the cabana that the four of them had been sharing the past couple weeks as they repaired and outfitted a huge sailboat in preparation for their escape from this dead island.
She walked past one of the still burning piles of corpses. They’d bagged most of the things. There’d been fifteen of them after the storm. Fifteen living souls. Now, there were four. That was all that remained.
They’d hunted and killed every zombie they could find. There were still a few stragglers, but most had been taken care of. She’d found Adaire. It had been a hollow victory. He’d shown no sign of recognition—much less fear—as she aimed the pistol at his blank, dead face. In the end, she’d pulled the trigger. Now, the body was burning in one of the handful of piles they’d stacked and set ablaze.
Those zombie pyres served two purposes. Besides the obvious, they were also going to hopefully attract survivors or rescuers. They’d failed.
Up the stairs and into the gloomy cabana Jenifer stomped. She grabbed or shouldered everything she could. Best guess, she could do it in three trips.
It was on her way back to the boat during the second run as she came running down the stairs when one of the undiscovered stragglers grabbed her by the ankle. She tumbled, bags flew, and Jenifer landed face down on the ground. The scream as teeth dug into her calf was muffled by the sand. She struggled and kicked free. Drawing her large knife, she plunged the blade into the thing’s temple.
She sat up, turning her leg to see the bite. A near perfect set of teethmarks stood out, even on her well-tanned skin. Jenifer got up, testing the ankle. There was a slight throbbing pain. She felt a sudden chill which made her shiver.
Damn. Jenifer returned back up the stairs. She knew very well what this meant. She considered the gun she had in the shoulder holster. In that moment, she ceased being the tough, to-hell-with-the-world warrior that stalked the island, killing every zombie with cold callousness. In that moment, she was once again Jenifer Slaten, an eighteen-year-old girl.
Scared.
Alone.
Dying.
She rummaged through one of her bags and found her favorite pair of skinny-jeans. After changing, she resumed carrying the rest of their stuff down to the dock where their sail boat rocked gently.
Nobody commented on her change of clothes. Not even that raging queen, Eric. By the time the gear was loaded, and Graham double- and triple-checked everything, Jenifer began tasting something foul in the back of her throat. She couldn’t have described the taste, other than to say it was like infection …disease…sickness…death.
By noon they were underway. The sailboat glided from the bay and out into the open water of the Carribean Sea. They had a radio which Gideon sat at calling out to anybody, but receiving no reply.
Jenifer stood at the foremost point for a while. She tried to enjoy the sea breeze, but all she could smell was death. That stench filled her nostrils and refused to let her enjoy one final breath of clean, fresh air. With a sigh, she slumped her shoulders, dropped her head, and made her way below. She went into her cabin, closed the door, and began to cry. She looked into the mirror and gasped. Her eyes were…different. Bloodshot with blackness.
She walked over to her bunk and sat down. Again she considered her gun, now hanging from a hook on her door. Maybe later, she thought and laid down. Just now, she didn’t feel so good. Pulling her blanket up to her chin, Jenifer closed her eyes. Sweat trickled down her face and, for a while, she shivered. Her breathing became short panting gasps. Then …finally…nothing.
***
Jenifer’s eyes opened.
18
Geeks Plus One
“I’m begging you,” the girl cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please let me go before he comes back.”
Mike knelt beside the girl, producing a long knife. The girl struggled against her bonds, her eyes grew wide at the sight of the blade.
“I’m going to cut you loose,” Mike’s voice was soft and quiet, “that’s all. But I need you to promise that you won’t run or do anything crazy.
“I have to get out of here,” the girl continued to cry.
“He won’t be coming back down.” Kevin turned away from the girl and Mike. Partially to keep an eye on the dozen schoolgirl-aged zombies secured around the room. But also, to partially keep Mike from seeing the look of dread in his eyes. What had he done?
“We’ve got him tied up real good upstairs,” Mike said as he leaned forward and cut away the first belt that held her legs secure. He would free her hands last in hopes that, as he freed her, she would settle down and not run.
“You got Mister Abernathy?” The girl’s voice was still hoarse, but there was no missing the sound of cautious hope it held.
“Tied to a chair in an office upstairs,” Mike repeated, continuing to work on the bonds. The girl settled down.
“How long have you been here?” Kevin asked after a couple of deep breaths and a moment to ensure he had his composure.
“Forever.” The girl’s voice grew far away sounding. “Since about two weeks after this started.”
Kevin did the math. She’d been here about seven weeks. Give or take a couple. He’d lost track somewhere along the way.
“Sara and I had run out of food and were searching when we ran into Mister Abernathy. We were so relieved.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “He told us that he’d secured the school and that a bunch of our friends were already there.”
“When we got here, he told us that the only way in was through the principal’s office window. He climbed up and in, then had Sara tie a rope around her waist so he could help her. I came second. As I reached the windowsill, I noticed Sara out cold on the floor. Before I could say or do anything, he jabbed a needle in my arm. I woke up in this room. He’d taken all my clothes, and he had Sara on the table…” Her voice faded, tears filled her eyes.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Mike said. He glanced over his shoulder at Kevin who had his back turned to them. Something in the slouched over way Kevin was standing made him pause. He took in the other girls in the room. It was so NOT gonna be okay.
“Take her upstairs.” Kevin suddenly spun around. There was a peculiar look in his eyes.
“To the office?” Mike stepped back from the girl after cutting the last of her bonds.
“No. Take…” Kevin’s eyes drifted to the girl’s. “What’s your name?”
“Heather.” She rubbed her wrists, trying to see only the two men before her and not the girls—her friends—around the room.
“Heather, I’m Kevin, and the tall beanpole of a man with the big knife is Mike. We’re looking to supply up, and then we have an errand to run. You’re welcome to tag along, or you can go do whatever…your choice.”
“Errand?” Mike looked surprised.
“With what you’ve just seen Heather put
through, can you even consider not trying to help Angela and the girls?”
“I told ya I’m all for checkin’ things out, but not so much on the suicide run.” Mike wondered if he was sounding like a panzy in front of the new addition to their group.
“I’m not talking about pullin’ a Rambo,” Kevin said. “But we have to exhaust any possibility of rescuing them.”
“I’m staying with you two,” Heather’s voice trembled, and it almost sounded like more of a request than a statement.
“Then you’ll have to listen carefully, do what we say when we say it, and, at least for a while until we’re back on the road, not argue.” Kevin placed both hands on Heather’s shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. “I know you’ve been through some bad sh—, errr…stuff. And I won’t promise things are gonna be great. But you’re safe from me and Mike.”
Mike listened as Kevin spoke. He heard that natural sound of calm authority in it. Sure, he thought, Kevin made some gaffs, but which of them hadn’t? Nobody had objected to making a run at Pittsburg. They’d all thought it would be a “poetic” part of the adventure. It had been Darrin’s insistence that he knew where The Mall was located that had led them off the freeway and into the swarms of zombies. And Cary, well, other than teasing everybody and acting the clown, he’d not really done much at all in any aspect of the planning or actual supply. Hell, the U-Haul was the first vehicle Cary had ever “owned” such as it was.
Sure, Kevin’s bitch-fit at the fill-up had been stupid, but it wasn’t his fault Cary’d been bitten. Why hadn’t he been wearing his leather gloves with the mesh inserts that Kevin made for everyone, and insisted that they all wear during any excursions. Then, when it came to the tough choice, it had been Kevin who put Cary down—
Mike glanced down at the bite on the girl’s leg. He looked up at Kevin. He saw that look again on Kevin’s face that he hadn’t been able to identify until now. Mike’s and Kevin’s eyes met.