In the Lone and Level Sands

by David Lovato

  “That’s a cold thing to say,” Angela said, shooting Phil a dirty look.

  “What do you want me to say? Life isn’t fair!”

  “You could show some compassion. Whether God had any part in in it or not, Alan had to kill his own mother.” She looked from Phil to Alan. “I couldn’t begin to imagine how hard that was for you. I am so sorry.”

  “Thanks, Angela, but you don’t need to apologize,” Alan said. Angela glared at Phil and he gave her a hurt, confused expression.

  “Honestly, I think God’s abandoned us anyway,” Angela said. “We’re on our own now. And honestly, if I were God, I’d have given up on us, too.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Phil said.

  “Is there a fucking problem over here?” said a voice said from behind Martha and the others. Most of them turned around to see one of the gunmen.

  “N-no,” Emily said. “There isn’t.” She shrank away from him as much as she could, trying not to make eye contact.

  “Really?” he said. Emily cringed, and looked at Martha. Her hands rested on the edge of the cot, gripping it tightly as if bracing herself for a careless turn in a car with a drunk driver. Her head was down. Alan eyed his notebook. “I’m very sure that I heard you idiots yelling over which motherfucking God you believe in. You know what I think?”

  “Well—” Alan said.

  “It was fucking rhetorical, asshole. I think that there isn’t any God any of us can pray to. We’re all alone on this pathetic little rock. We may meet people along the way, but they’ll just be taken away from us. The quicker you fuckers get to comprehending these facts, the better off you’ll fucking be!” He sized up the group and noticed Jesse playing his PSP. The gunman lurched forward, took it, and held it up.

  Without realizing who had snatched his game, Jesse shouted.

  “Hey! What gives?” He looked up at the gunman. His face moved quickly from anger to fear, and he leaned back in submission.

  “I think I’ll be taking this off your hands. Next time I talk, you fucking listen.” He turned to leave.

  “Fucking bastard,” Jesse mumbled. The gunman’s head snapped back toward Jesse, the animosity in his eyes singed his thick lashes.

  “The fuck did you just say, you little punk?”

  Phil leaned forward and put his arm in front of Jesse. “Nothing. He said nothing.”

  “Young man, we’ve done nothing to you,” Martha said. “Just leave us be, please.”

  The gunman stared at Martha for a few seconds, then sighed. “You win, Granny. Just let the kid know who’s got the fucking gun, okay?”

  Martha looked over at Jesse, who met her gaze momentarily, and then turned away.

  The gunman looked the group over one more time and smirked. “You all have yourselves a wonderful day now! Glad we can have you here at Lynnwood Stadium.” He laughed to himself as he walked away into the mass of people and cots.

  What the hell do I win here? Martha thought. What is there to gain? I’m going to die here. Not that that would be such a horrible thing, I guess. Martha sighed and picked up the picture frame again. Oh Charlie, I miss you. I need you here. I know things were hard, but I loved you anyway, and I love you more than ever, now. I’m being eaten up inside. No different than what those creatures would do to me.

  Phil looked at his son, who was sitting by himself on his cot. “That guy was way out of line,” he said.

  “I’ll be okay,” Jesse replied.

  “Are you sure? Do you want to talk? I know you’re scared, bud. You really don’t need to—”

  “Dad, I’m fine. Really!” Jesse sighed heavily and looked at the ground.

  “Fine then.” Phil turned to Angela. “Are you doing all right, honey?”

  “Huh? Yeah,” she said. “I’m all right. Just waiting for the moment when I wake up and realize this was all just a bad dream. Otherwise, I’m just hotsy-totsy.” She flashed a thumbs-up and an exaggerated grin.

  “A simple yes or no would have sufficed, you know,” Phil said.

  “I think we’re all pretty scared here,” Billy said. “But I think we’d all be a hell of a lot less scared if we had the weapons we came into this hell with.” Emily looked at him.

  “Honey, please.” Billy met her gaze. “Will you just forget about the damn guns?”

  “No, I won’t, Emily. If they hadn’t taken my gun, or Alan’s, we could have killed a couple of these fuckers.”

  “And then the others would have killed you for it,” Emily said. “Is that what you want? Would that be worth it?”

  Billy sighed.

  Martha noticed Alan was scribbling away in his notebook. Since they had arrived at the stadium, she thought, he’d most likely written at least twenty pages. If he was even writing words; he could have been doodling.

  “Alan?” Martha said. The pen halted, and he looked up with a smile on his face.

  “Yes?” He closed the notebook and set it down with the pen lying on the cover. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, I’m doing just fine, dear. I was just curious to see if you were all right.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m doing great, Mo-Martha.”

  “That’s wonderful to hear,” she said. Alan went back to his notebook.

  “Yes. Very wonderful,” Alan said to himself. His pen glided over the crisp pages; the script was sporadic, but the soft lines flowed like liquid. He filled up a page in about ten minutes, then looked over at Martha. She was staring at her picture again.

  Alan’s gaze fell back over his paper. He looked at what he had written for a moment, and then turned the page. A fresh, blank one awaited him.

  “It’s been so quiet in here since those men murdered those officers and took this place over,” Emily said. She glanced around the stadium. Afterward, she leaned back on her cot and fanned her face with a book from her purse. She had discarded her black dress jacket long before, and was now wearing just her white undershirt.

  “It’s not quiet at all, unless you use these,” Billy said. He held up his ear plugs, then threw them down carelessly and pointed to the wall. “It’s those damn zombies out there, they make so much noise. They want in.”

  “I kinda wonder what the new ringmasters will do when one of those barricades bursts,” Francine said. “Will they try to cover it back up, or just protect their own asses?”

  “They’d likely do their very best to get out before any of us,” Martha said. “I don’t have a hint of a doubt that those rat-bastards would do everything they could to make sure those creatures get to us before they get to them.”

  “We ought to make a plan for when the stadium goes under,” Alan said, still scratching the last bits of his thoughts down on paper. He set the book beside him, the pen on top. “Because it won’t last like this much longer, guys.” His head turned from face to face, falling over Martha’s last. “No, these walls will collapse, and judging by the barricade on each exit, quickly. They won’t last long at all.”

  “Good thinking!” Francine said. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, the barricaded walkway nearest us should be our escape point, without a doubt.”

  “Great,” Emily said. “That’s your grand escape plan? ‘Head for the nearest exit’? Were you up all night writing that one in your notebook?”

  Alan ignored Emily. “We’ll just have to work for our freedom once we get there. That barricade is made of plywood, and there are tables and things against it as well. We’ll need to be fast about it.”

  “Quite true,” Martha said before a wide-mouthed yawn.

  “You sure seem tired,” Alan said.

  “Dear, I have not gotten a moment of good sleep since we got here. I’m too old for this bullshit, you know.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alan said. He looked nervously around the place. Most people were trying to find ways to keep cool. “It’s hard to breathe in here.”

  “It’s stuffy for sure,” Francine said. Her fair complexion had taken on a littl
e shine from the sweat.

  “Wish those assholes would just get eaten by the cannibals so we could go home,” Billy said.

  One of the aforementioned assholes casually passed them by. He hadn’t heard Billy’s remark, but he still sneered at Martha and the others as he went, a sort of reminder of who was in charge and how much they loved it. He continued in the direction he was going and eventually faded into the blur of summer heat and hundreds of people.

  Martha turned away, bringing her attention to the spot beside her on the cot. She picked up the picture frame and looked at it for a few minutes. She felt her eyes begin to moisten again. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked at the late Charlie James, and at her younger self, standing in front of the Bel-Air.

  ****

  When Martha woke up, she was disoriented. She thought it was morning, but wasn’t sure. She heard someone screaming.

  “Let me go!”

  It was Emily. The others were up, tense with a mixture of fear and anger.

  “When I tell you to do something, you don’t give me any fucking attitude!” a gunman said. Another gunman held Emily’s arms, kept her steady. Billy lay on the ground, bleeding from his nose and mouth. The gunman that shouted slapped Emily as hard as he could. She screeched in pain, and then coughed. Blood dripped down her lip. People all around gawked, but did nothing.

  “Leave her alone, you son of a bitch!” Billy said.

  “A mouth like that is going to get you and your wife in trouble!” the gunman holding Emily said. Angela rocked back and forth.

  “Please let me go, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt my family!” Emily said.

  “Shut up!” The gunman slapped Emily again. Angela jumped up and headed for him.

  “Angela, no!” Emily said. The gunman lifted his assault rifle and pulled the trigger, shooting a small spray into Angela’s chest. She fell to the ground and was dead within seconds. The other gunman threw Emily down, and she scrambled over to Angela’s body. The two gunmen surveyed the group, exchanged glances, and then walked away.

  “Angela!” Emily said. Huge sobs were escaping her. Phil turned to jump the gunmen, but Billy grabbed his arm. He had to hold Phil back, and finally Phil fell to his knees and cried. Jesse embraced his father, as it was all he could do to keep from charging the men himself.

  Martha just sat on her cot, tears rushing down her face. Alan and Francine tried to comfort her.

  “Angela! No, please!” Emily said. She turned to the gunman. “You fucking bastards! Burn in hell!” They didn’t make an effort to respond. Emily looked over Angela’s bloody body and then hugged it tightly, tears dripping down her cheeks.

  ****

  It was midday. Martha was still tired, but she dared not sleep after Angela’s murder. She was afraid she’d wake up to losing another member of her family.

  Emily sat near Angela’s body, eyes wet. She stroked her sister’s cheek now and again. Beverly was on her cot, just staring. Then came the screams from the front of the stadium.

  A barricade broke down, and zombies poured into the stadium like a pack of hungry wolves. The nearest gunman was tackled by two zombies. They bit into him, and he cried out in pain. More zombies pushed into the stadium. Another gunman was overcome. He fell to the ground, and several zombies covered him up, pulling, biting, devouring. Within a minute he had been torn to shreds.

  Wave after wave of zombies squeezed through the broken barricade, making the opening bigger as they came. The first few rows of people at their cots scrambled to their feet and began pushing toward rows farther back. The people whose space they invaded quickly figured out what was happening. The panic spread like wildfire as some of the closest people were picked off. Survivors tripped over cots and other people, all trying to get away from the zombies.

  Martha watched the mass of people heading for her, trying to flee the zombies. A grown man pushed a child no older than twelve to the ground in attempt to get away. A few zombies began tearing into the child. Martha gulped, and stepped back. Alan, who was just behind her, helped break everyone out of their horrified trance.

  “Come on! This way!”

  Emily looked at her sister’s body one last time. “I’m sorry Angela, we’ve gotta go.” She made to her feet and joined the others.

  The small group headed for the nearest barricade. The crowds of panicked people were being quickly swallowed, and it was hard to tell the zombies from the rest of the crowd.

  Martha realized she hadn’t grabbed her picture frame. She ran back. Emily turned to her.

  “Mom! What are you doing?”

  “I have to get my picture! I have to!”

  “Grandma! Hurry! Please!” Francine said. She took an unsteady step toward Martha.

  “I’ve got it!” Martha said, inhaling deeply, and then she rushed to the others, following them to the barricade. They arrived shortly.

  “All right, everyone, help me rip this shit down!” Billy said.

  Everyone worked at the barricade, even Martha. It came apart easily enough, but it was a time-consuming process, and they had very little time to spare.

  The air was filled with screams and gunshots. The survivors were able to get the barricade torn down to about four feet high, and they could already see the mass of tables and chairs on the other side, which were meant to keep the zombies from reaching the plywood to begin with. Now, it would only serve to slow the survivors, but the walkway beyond the jumbled mess was clear.

  “Mom, can you get over this all right?” Emily asked.

  “I think so,” Martha said. “I’ll need help, I think.”

  Alan helped Martha over the plywood and onto the other side. The others followed, and stopped to catch their breath on the other side of the tables and chairs.

  Phil grimaced as streams of tears fell down his cheeks.

  “Thank God,” Alan said. “I can’t believe we made it out.”

  “God?” Phil said. “Your bloodthirsty God took my Angela!”

  Alan looked Phil in the eye, sighed, and said, “Life isn’t always fair. Someone once told me that.” Phil pursed his lips together and tried to repress the tears. Everyone was silent for a while, and then Alan spoke again. “We should go.” Everyone gathered themselves, moved down the walkway, and emerged under an overcast sky.

  40

  Outside the Community College

  “All right, first thing’s first!” Lou said, almost right into Max’s ear. “Let’s clear these motherfuckers out of here!”

  Lou seemed excited. Max hoped he was excited to help people and not just to kill zombies. Max couldn’t tell if the two were synonymous yet, but the thought that Lou just wanted a kill count made him uncomfortable. He tried to push it aside and have some faith in the soldiers.

  “So, what? We split up?” Johns said.

  “Yeah,” Ortiz replied. “There had to be people on campus when it went down. We clear them all out of here, and then we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

  “I recommend we do this as quietly as possible,” Lou said. “Otherwise we’ll just be attracting more of them.”

  “Okay,” Johns said. “Who’s taking the kid?”

  The soldiers exchanged glances. Max felt more like a burden than ever.

  “I’ll take him with me,” Ortiz said.

  “Okay. There’s a campus map in the center of the courtyard. We’ll clear out the courtyard together, then split up and take separate buildings.”

  “I don’t think I know exactly how this works,” Max said, rotating the assault rifle in his hands, looking it over, and making sure not to touch anywhere near the trigger.

  “It’s not that complicated, kid,” Lou said, raising his gun and firing. The sound made Max flinch and left his ears ringing, and he wondered how they considered this quiet. “You just point it at the zombies and pull the fucking trigger.”

  A zombie came jogging toward them from across the courtyard. Lou raised his gun and fired, and the zombie fell to
the ground, rolled forward, and then stopped moving. It looked as simple as Lou had made it sound.

  “Is that how they explained it to you in boot camp?” Max asked.

  “In boot camp, we were learning how to fight terrorists,” Lou said. The soldiers started walking carefully and slowly forward, and Max followed. “We were learning how to get on the ground, get our job done, and get out.” Lou raised his gun. A small group of zombies stood in the parking lot on the other side of the courtyard. They had stopped moving, and stared at Max and the soldiers. To the left, Johns raised his gun and took out a zombie that had come rushing out from the shadows below an awning. The noise startled the zombies across the way, who ran toward the group. The soldiers raised their guns, but Max left his down, both of his arms extended as though he could barely hold the thing. Ortiz noticed this.

  “Lift your gun, kid. Be ready to fire, always be ready to fire.”

  Max raised his gun. The zombies were getting closer.

  “Wait for it—” Ortiz said, but Max had already pulled the trigger.

  The recoil was greater than he thought it would be. The gun immediately pulled up, though Max was pretty sure he wouldn’t have hit a thing even if it hadn’t. He almost couldn’t let go, but he forced himself to, just as the recoil got so bad that he lost his balance and fell down.

  The soldiers were shouting, apparently thrown off guard. Johns started firing, and only one zombie fell. Lou and Ortiz joined in, and in a few seconds, the zombies were all dead. None had made it within ten yards of the group, but it somehow felt too close.

  Lou walked over to Max and grabbed his shirt. He lifted Max up roughly but not cruelly.

  “Nobody ever taught us how to shoot at people,” he said. “Not like this. We were told to be on guard for people who seemed civilian but could be enemies in disguise… But never this. Never what used to be normal, good human beings.” Lou’s voice cracked. When he continued, it remained wavery. “We were taught how to fire at people running toward us with bombs strapped to their chests, not college students with backpacks still strapped to their backs. Not children still holding teddy bears.” Lou looked up into the sky. “Nobody ever taught us how to do that. Nobody ever could.”