“Doesn’t mean you’ve earned the right to know mine.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s none of your damn business, that’s why.” Logan pushed to his feet and with the whiskey bottle and glass in hand, staggered towards the front door. “Just leave me the fuck alone. All of you!”
He staggered outside and slammed the door. Nadia bit back the hot tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.
“Asshole,” she muttered, gathering up her things to go to her bedroom. It was only after she lay down to sleep that Logan’s words came back to her, cryptic in their meaning. What did he mean by ‘all of you?’
The next morning Nadia woke up early, performed her morning routine and got dressed for travel. Her boots went on over a pair of jeans with a long-sleeved shirt and a hoodie. She slung her cross around her neck and a belt around her hips. The gun and knife that Logan had given her went onto each hip, nestled inside their holsters. She added a screwdriver for good measure.
She put on a few rings, a pair of studs in each ear and one in her nose before packing up her things. The rest of her jewelry she left on the dresser next to her bag of makeup and the leopard print underwear. With a sigh of regret, she walked out, leaving the familiar behind.
Time for a new me, she thought. But will it be enough?
Chapter 17 - Logan
Logan woke up with the mother of all hangovers. He stumbled out of bed and collapsed onto the toilet, heaving. The contents of his stomach poured into the bowl, a mixture of sour whiskey, bile, and blood.
His blurred vision fixated on the red liquid swirling in front of his face, and he groaned. “Shit, I must have an ulcer.”
His stomach cramped. He heaved again, convulsing until nothing but air came out. He staggered to his feet and walked to the wash basin, splashing water from the jug onto his face before brushing his teeth.
For a long time, he stood, slumped over with his hands gripping the porcelain sides. Water dripped from his nose, plopping into the basin before trickling down the drain.
It’s time.
Her voice swirled around his head. It echoed softly in his ears as if she spoke from a distant place. “Morgan.”
It’s time to let me go.
“I can’t.”
You must.
“No.”
Let me go.
More water spattered into the basin, fat drops that fell with an audible plop.
Tears.
Logan cried for the first time since the day Morgan died. With it came release. Release from the terrible pain that held him in its grip, squeezing his heart with an iron fist.
He gasped for breath while the silent sobs wracked his body. When at last his grief abated, he straightened up and stared into the mirror. His eyes searched, looking for an indication that he was still there beneath the purple shadows and grayish pallor. The Logan that she had brought out in him.
He found strength in his steely gaze and humor in the quirk at the corner of his mouth. There was pain too, and sorrow. But I’m still here.
Logan stepped away from the mirror and walked to his room with fresh determination. An hour later he emerged and surprised Nadia who already waited in the sitting room with her bags.
She jumped to her feet, eyes widening as she took in his freshly bathed, shaved, and dressed appearance. “Logan?”
“Nadia.” He acknowledged her with a nod, dumping his duffel bag onto the floor. “Ready to go?”
“Um. Sure. I’ve packed the food and whiskey. I also left out a beer for you. And beans if you want,” she replied uncertainly, knowing that he often skipped breakfast and preferred a beer instead.
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Logan walked over to the kitchen counter and wolfed down the cold beans. His stomach protested, still reeling after the bottle of raw whiskey he’d consumed the night before. He persisted. After a while, the nausea subsided.
Next, Logan unzipped the bag carrying the food and removed the four bottles of whiskey and two six-packs of beer he still had left. In front of Nadia’s wondering eyes, he dumped them into the dustbin followed by the cigarettes.
Ignoring her stunned look, he slung the bags over his shoulder and checked that the patio was clear. He opened the door and stepped out. The air was crisp and fresh. More than a hint of winter blew in on the breeze. Logan breathed deeply, inhaling the freshness into his lungs.
He strode to the Landrover and loaded their bags into the back, still ignoring the silent Nadia who tagged along behind him. They climbed into the front, and he leaned across her lap to remove the last of his cigarettes from the cubby hole.
Logan tossed the packet out the window before turning the key in the ignition. In a cloud of dust, they left behind their temporary home.
Silence hung in the air until Nadia cleared her throat. “I guess I’m supposed to stop smoking now?”
“That’s right. No more pills or cutting either.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Nothing?” Nadia’s jaw dropped.
“Nope.”
“But that’s unfair!”
“Too bad.”
“Just because you had an epiphany doesn’t mean I have to go cold turkey too,” she protested. An angry blush stained her cheeks.
“Epiphany? That’s a big word for such a little girl.”
“Screw you, asshole.” She smacked him on the arm, and he laughed.
“Relax, I’m just joking.” He grinned at her. “As for the cold turkey thing, you can’t expect me to do this on my own, can you? Not if you want me to stay at the camp with you.”
Nadia’s mouth hung open. “You mean…you’ll stay? You’re not just gonna drop me off and leave?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. But then we both have to start fresh. No more bullshit.” He stared at her, driving his point home with a steely gaze.
Nadia sat back in her seat and stared at the road ahead before replying. “Okay. Deal.”
“Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you,” he said. “Trouble follows you like a shadow.”
Nadia flinched at the reference to her being a danger to others, but Logan reached over to grip her hand. “Hey. No more guilt, and no more feeling sorry for yourself. The past is the past.”
Her eyes dropped down to their clasped hands, and she nodded. “Okay. If you can let it go, then so can I.”
Logan smiled and patted her arm before focusing once more on the road ahead. “Good. Now let’s go home.”
“Home. That has a nice ring to it.”
Silence fell, the only sound being the whirr of the tires on the tar, and the occasional bump when they hit one of the numerous potholes.
After a while, Nadia cleared her throat and said, “Thank you for doing this.”
“Don’t sweat it, kid. You’re like the annoying little sister I always wished I never had.
Nadia smiled at that and leaned her head back. She soon dozed off. Logan headed south, hoping they’d have enough petrol to reach the nearest town. Forty minutes later with the needle hovering on empty, he spotted the first buildings in the distance. He reached over and shook Nadia awake.
“Mmm?” she mumbled.
“Time to look alive. We’ve got company.” He nodded towards a shambling figure.
Nadia sat upright, checking that her window was closed. “Why are we stopping?”
“Fuel.”
“Shit.”
“That about sums it up.”
Logan drove through the main street at a slow pace. He passed one zombie after the other. Their stumbling gait halted then sped up as they spotted the Land Rover. A red and yellow sign that announced a garage beckoned, and he slowed. “Ready for this?”
“I’m ready. How are you going to get the fuel out?”
“I’ve got a pump in the back. I’ll need you to keep them off me while I fill the cans.”
“Roger,” Nadia replied. She shifted from side to side, removing the
screwdriver from her belt before reaching inside her hoodie for the cross, letting it hang free.
Logan parked next to the metal lid sealing off the underground tanks and jumped out, slinging his rifle across his back. Wasting no time, he marched to the back of his truck and pulled out a pump with a hose and two jerry cans.
After dumping the stuff next to the lid, he went back for a crowbar and bent down to pry the metal disk loose. He strained, muscles bulging. Sweat broke out on his forehead. A growl caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise, but he ignored it and trusted in Nadia.
From the corner of his eye, Logan spotted her step up behind the zombie and stab it through the ear. It collapsed in a heap just as the lid popped loose. With a grunt, Logan tossed it aside and grabbed the pump.
The shambling silhouettes of more infected converged on the station. Nadia’s figure was a blur, flashing from one side of his vision to the other. She moved with the ease of long practice, impressing him with her fluid agility. Each approaching zombie was put down with a swift stab to the eye, ear, or temple.
Logan focused his attention on getting the pump set up and filled the first jerry can. He propped up the second can and unslung his rifle. With a few steady shots, he thinned out the crowd. This won breathing room for Nadia.
“Have we got time for more?” he shouted.
“Maybe,” she answered with a grunt. “If you hurry.”
He jogged to the Landie, sidestepping an infected and tripping it with a swift kick. When it fell, Nadia dropped to one knee and stabbed it through the back of the neck. It rasped out a final protest.
Logan loaded the full cans into the back and grabbed two more. “Coming through.”
Nadie jammed her cross into a zombie eyeball as he ran past, and he was almost tempted to stop and admire her work. She was a lot tougher than he’d thought she’d be. Fearless, too.
While filling the last cans, he paused twice to shoot at the encroaching crowd. During a lull, he reloaded and thumbed in more cartridges. The shots had alerted every zombie in the vicinity, and they were running out of time.
The infected streamed towards the station in droves, some faster than others. He dropped and ripped out the hose, wrapping it up. Petrol sloshed on the ground, and the acrid smell burned his nostrils. He capped the jerry cans, prepared to run.
“Logan,” Nadia cried. Her voice was strained.
His head jerked around. She grappled with a zombie, holding it by the neck with one hand. Her other hand was in the clutches of an infected woman. The woman screeched and pulled on Nadia’s arm, going in for a bite.
Logan whipped out his knife and swung at the woman. The tip of the blade cut across the bridge of her nose and lodged in the cheekbone. He thrust hard, and she lost her balance. The woman toppled over and lost her grip on Nadia. He slammed the knife into her forehead, driving the point home.
Nadia headbutted the zombie she fought with. Blood sprayed from its nose. With a growl, she jammed the screwdriver into its ear. Panting for breath, she grinned at Logan. “Good fight.”
Crimson fluid and zombie gunk coated her arms and face, but she looked triumphant. He couldn’t help but smile back.
“Let’s go,” Logan said, scooping the pump and cans up and dumping them into the back of the Landrover.
“Last one in the truck is cooking dinner tonight!” Nadia sprinted toward the passenger door.
“You’re on.” Logan took up the challenge but lost when she jumped in one second ahead of him.
“I won!” She uttered an evil cackle.
“You cheated.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
The argument carried on as Logan roared up the street, leaving the town and its inhabitants behind. They stopped briefly by the side of the road to fill up the tank with the jerry cans and clean up.
“So how far is it?” Nadia asked. “This camp of yours.”
“Too far to make it in one day. I don’t want to drive at night, and we’ll have to stop again for more fuel.”
“Oh, man. I don’t think I’m up for that again so soon,” she replied, jerking a thumb back in the direction they came.
“Don’t worry. I know a place where we can stop for the night. I stashed a barrel of fuel there too.”
“Clever boy.”
“I have my moments.”
Logan drove for several more hours until the sun began its descent towards the horizon. A familiar road sign flashed past. He craned his neck, looking for the red coca cola can he’d wedged between two rocks.
When he spotted it, he turned off onto a dirt track scarred and pitted by the rain. It was a bumpy ride that wound through thick trees and brush. A troop of monkeys screeched in alarm when they spotted the truck, scampering out of the way.
Nadia mumbled in her sleep. She’d nodded off and now sat up with a yawn. “Where are we?”
“That is our luxury accommodation for the night,” Logan replied, pointing at a long, thatched-roof house with whitewashed walls. The yard was overgrown, ivy climbed up the walls, and the roof sagged.
“Great. It looks fabulous.”
“Just give it a chance.”
The place wasn’t so bad after all, just as Logan remembered. It had a stone wall, steel gates, and bars on the windows. A drum of fuel was stashed in the garage, and a fireplace warded off the cold. In the pantry, Nadia found canned food. “Seems we’re eating like kings tonight.”
Logan narrowed his eyes, waiting for the kicker he felt sure would come. “Yes, and?”
“Don’t give me that look. You lost, I won, so get out those pots and pans, loser.”
Logan threw down their bags with a sigh. “Whatever, Madam, but you’re doing the dishes.”
Later that night, they sat around the fire in comfortable silence. Nadia read a book while Logan fiddled with the radio. He knew they weren’t close enough to the camp to contact them, but for the first time in ages, he wished he could speak to Max again.
His decision to let go of his grief had reawakened some of his interest in life and the living. Now he wondered how his friend was doing. The others too. Julianne, little Meghan, even Ben whom he’d hated for a long time for bringing Angie into their camp.
His hands trembled, an annoying side-effect of going cold-turkey. He longed for a drink with an ache that burned. But once he set his mind to something, he wasn’t easily deterred.
He’d noticed the way Nadia fidgeted and surmised she was experiencing the same symptoms. Not that he would ask. Some things were better left alone.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you? And what brought on this sudden change?” Nadia broke the silence. “You don’t have to, and it’s none of my business, but I’m here for you if you’d like to talk.”
Logan didn’t answer right away, a mental picture of Morgan forming at Nadia’s words. A brief flash of pain stabbed him in the chest then it passed, leaving behind a sense of sorrow and regret.
Nadia had tensed up in readiness for his anger, knuckles whitening around the spine of her book. Logan realized what a dick he’d been, always letting his temper get the best of him. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Nadia asked.
“For being such an asshole.”
“Oh.” Her eyes grew wide with surprise. “It’s okay. I understand.”
“I’ve never been much of a people person.”
“That much is obvious,” she replied with a dry note in her voice.
“As for what happened, I don’t want to talk about it.” He hesitated as remembered grief flowed through him before continuing. “But thanks for caring.”
Nadia bit her lip, chewing on it for a moment. “I won’t ask again. Deal?”
“Deal.”
An awkward silence neither knew how to fill descended on the room, and he turned back to the radio. He turned the knob, searching for a channel. Static filled the room.
“Too bad you can’t pick up 5FM,” Nadia joked. “A li
ttle music would be nice.”
“Ha ha,” Logan replied, the tension between them easing.
The radio crackled and scratched until suddenly, it stopped. A man’s voice filled the sitting room, jolting both of them upright.
“This is Martin Ashwood. If you can hear me, we have food, water, and a secure location. I repeat. We have food, water, and a safe place. If you are in need of assistance, travel to these coordinates.”
The voice rambled off a set of numbers followed by more conventional directions. The message played on a loop, over and over again until Logan switched it off.
He frowned at the radio in his hand while Nadia stared in blank surprise. A distant memory stirred in his mind, an old conversation coming back to him by slow degrees. “I know that name: Martin Ashwood. I’ve heard it before.”
“Really? Where?”
“He used to be in the army with Max. They went AWOL together. They split up on the road, each going to his own family. By all accounts, he was a good man, and trustworthy.
“So…?” Nadia trailed off, waiting for Logan to answer.
“We have to go there.” Logan looked at her, face sober. “We have to meet him.”
“Where is that?”
“St. Francis,” Logan replied. “We’re going to St. Francis bay.”
Chapter 18 - Ronnie
Silence fell in the cab as each considered the implications of Ronnie’s words. The thought that a hostile group of survivors was targeting them was a somber one.
Ronnie was gazing into the distance when a figure stepped out onto the road, directly into the path of the Casspir. He jerked the steering wheel to the right, careening towards a large tree. A brief glimpse of the man’s face flashed past the window before it all went to hell.
The face was thin, the bones jutting out from beneath ebony skin stretched over sharp cheekbones. The lips were drawn into a sneer, and a jagged scar bisected one eye.
The Casspir swerved across the tar, and Ronnie yanked the wheel again. The edge of the front bumper clipped the tree, sending a spray of bark into the air. He fought with the steering, zig-zagging across the road. More trees and brush flashed past the windows in a blur.
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