by A. Rosaria
He expected outrage from her, but instead she got silence. He didn't know which he preferred; the silence cut as deeply as a lashing would have, maybe even deeper. Finally, she said something.
“You had your reasons.”
Not what he expected to hear either.
“I just want to get home,” Sarah said.
“Me too,” he said, knowing there was no real home to return to.
“My mother and baby brother are probably dead by now, walking around the house aimlessly. At least I can take care of them and bury them.”
He heard the emotions in what she said, felt the same pain, but her face stayed plain, showing nothing, and that scared him.
“Lauryn, the girl I escaped with, she was ill when I left her. I went back for her, but she was gone. I didn’t see her corpse; maybe some people get better from this flu.”
She looked at him for a long time before she said, “I don't know, maybe.”
“I need get home and make sure that they are well. If I am immune or resistant to whatever this is, maybe it's hereditary and my mom and Ginny are okay.”
She was thinking, battling with hopelessness and hope. He was not sure which won. Her face was blank. She must be in shock over what had happened for her to stop being her bubbly self. Or it was never the real her. She gave him a cold vibe he didn't like. He preferred her being the sunny person who ignored him. She didn't ignore him anymore. Her eyes were fast on him. She stuck her hand out.
“Let us escape this deathtrap together and find our way home. It's not like we live that far apart; we would be going in the same direction anyway.”
He shook her hand. A firm grip.
“Shall we go?”
He followed her to the roof access—a square brick thing with a door.
“You've been here before?” he said, entering the access.
“Yes, and it’s a long story.”
He went down after her, the stairs being too narrow to walk down next to each other. At ground level, she paused at the door.
“If there are only a few of them, we can run and dodge them and go for the main doors,” Sarah said.
“That's no good. It’s blocked by a small crowd of zombies. We need to take the back door.”
“You've seen the amount of dead walkers in the yard.”
“Okay then, we go in one of the rooms in front of the building and get out through the window. As long as the majority of the dead are banging the front door, we will have it easier running out the gates.”
She smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “It may work.”
“Of course it will.”
She pushed the door open to a near-empty hallway. They needed the door opposite to where they stood. Only one zombie stood in their way.
“I got this one,” she said.
A shudder went down his back. It was time to exorcise the demons from the past. He ran up to Mrs. Evergreen, pushed the barrel in her mouth, breaking her teeth as he did. He pulled the trigger to a shot that exploded the old witch’s head in a red fountain. He shoved the body aside. He entered the room and slammed the door shut once Sarah got through.
“We could have easily avoided it.”
She was right, but he had to do it. He did not stop to answer her. It was their luck the room was empty, making things easier for them. He aimed at the window and shot, shattering the glass to pieces. He grabbed her hand and jumped out. They were standing in the yard and as he expected, the zombies were massed at the main entrance. From here, it was easy, a short run, and they were out the gates. Now, they were going home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The farther they got from the high school, the fewer walking dead they saw. They were rather easy to spot and avoid since they lingered in groups. Most people had adhered to the quarantine and stayed inside their homes. Others had been evacuated to their death with only yellow paint left on their doors as a hint of that. It was possible more people were alive, though they must be staying inside, because no one alive despite them was walking outside. Only the occasional group of zombies. They had to walk five miles to get home. It would have taken about ten minutes by car, but walking, it took about an hour and a half at a steady pace and they were not going at a steady space. It wasn't possible; they had to be alert so as not to accidentally walk into a group of zombies.
Ralph stopped near a car and looked inside. “It would go faster if we had a car.”
Sarah leaned against the car, resting her back. “Yeah, it sure would be faster and make a lot of noise.”
“How long have we been walking? An hour maybe? And only a mile or two closer to home. We are stopping too often, having to take detours around pockets of the zombies we encounter. It will take too long walking like this.”
“So how are we going to get a car? Knock on doors and ask for the keys?”
He didn't know how to jack a car. Sure, he had seen it done in movies and it all seemed so easy to do, but he had no idea if that would work in real life. Although, what Sarah said could be an option. Lots of cars were parked here. The owners could still be inside.
“Yeah you're right. We'll knock on doors.”
“Excuse me?”
He walked along the cars, looking for a newer model. He stopped at a hatchback Ford Fiesta, a late model 2008. It was small, nimble, and fast, well at least faster than a zombie would walk. He would not be able to run one over with it. He looked up and down the street. A couple parking spaces farther down the street stood a Toyota 4Runner. He tried the doors. Locked. This one was a bigger, sturdier, and fast enough. They could run a zombie over and only feel a bump. He would rather have a Dodge Ram, but beggars can't be choosers.
“What are you doing?”
He turned around to a quizzically looking Sarah.
“I'm picking out a car for us, honey.”
She didn't return his smile. She had no sense of humor today, and who could blame her? Actually, he didn't now why he tried to lighten the mood. He didn't feel happy at all, and what he was about to do wouldn’t improve that. The streets were empty because people had stayed inside, making most of these houses tombs, only a small percentage occupied by the still living. The chance was small that they would happen on the later. No, he most likely would be entering a tomb, with a very lively corpse inside that was rather hungry. Nothing to lighten the mood there.
He looked up at the townhouse that the truck was parked in front of. Number thirty-three. He went up the stairs and knocked. He waited while Sarah looked at him as if he had gone insane.
“They most likely are dead, or are you planning to ask a zombie for its car keys?”
No one answered. He pushed the bell and held it pressed. Still, no one answered the door. He pressed his ear to the door. He did hear sounds coming from the inside. A long moan very close to the door. Whoever was inside was dead all right.
“They are dead; we'll have to break in to ask the zombie for its key.”
It dawned on her and he could see a hint of a smile on her. “Duh, I should have known.”
Why should she have? A normal thought would not have been stealing the truck. He was glad there was still normalcy in her. After what both of them had been through, it wasn't surprising that they would end up screwed up after the initial shock had passed. He feared he was already at that point. This was eerily becoming his new normal. Guess survival was preprogrammed into the human species after all. The cockroaches were difficult to weed out.
“After all, it's not really stealing if they are dead. They sure won't be using it anytime soon.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sugarcoating things? You plan to go in, kill the zombie, take his keys, and drive off with his car. Murder and theft in one.”
He play punched her shoulder. “And you are going to be my accomplice.”
He walked over to the living room window. He lucked out that these houses had no garage and the living room was in the front. Like every other house, the curtains were drawn. Ralph offered Sarah the shot
gun. “You know how to shoot?”
She shook her head.
“It's a semi-automatic; you don't have to pump it. Just point and pull the trigger.”
She took it, holding it awkwardly. Her eyes were unsure.
“Just cover me, okay?”
He loosened a brick from the pavement, took a few steps back, swung his arm way back, and slung the stone against the window. It bounced back, leaving a crack. He picked the stone up and tried again. On the fourth throw, the glass shattered. Carefully, he plucked the glass shards from the window frame. He took his jacket off and put it on the frame so as not to cut his hands when he hoisted himself up. Enough time had gone by for the zombie to move from the front door to the living area. It could appear any moment now from under the curtains and attack him.
“I'm going in.”
“I got you covered.”
He hoped she did. He pushed himself up, got one foot on the windowsill, and pushed himself over and into the room. He exhaled. It was empty of life and death. The living room had a door separating it and the kitchen from the rest of the house. The zombie was thumping against the door, barring its entry. A meal denied. Ralph chuckled. He pulled the curtain aside and helped Sarah in.
Ralph took the shotgun from Sarah. “Go search for any keys. We might get lucky and not need to off this zombie and who knows how many more in this house.”
They looked in all the places a key could be left: on the dining table, on the TV furniture, on the salon table, on the kitchen counter, in the pockets of a jacket they found draped over a chair, on the windowsills. They found no keys.
“Sarah, at my nod, open the door.”
She grabbed the doorknob. Ralph aimed high and nodded. She pulled it open. A tall, dead man in khakis and a flannel shirt stood in the door opening. Ralph shot the zombie. Missing half of its head, it fell in the hallway. Ralph waited for a minute, just in case another one came through the door. He slowly walked in the hall, the barrel of his shotgun leading the way. He scanned up the stairs. No one or thing was near, nor did he hear any sound.
“Check his pockets.”
He kept guard while Sarah went through the pockets. She tried to turn the zombie on its belly but the zombie was too heavy for her. He gave her the shotgun and told her to take guard. He rolled the zombie over. His right back pocket bulged out a little. He fished out the keys.
“We need to go.”
He heard the clicking of the pull of the trigger but there was no shot. He looked up. Sarah was backing away from the stairs. At the top appeared another zombie. It was naked and his crotch was bitten off—a picture Ralph desperately wanted to erase from his mind. He had to get the heck out. He scrambled up and followed Sarah to the front door. Behind him, he heard the bumbling sound of the corpse falling down the stairs. She tried the door.
“It's locked.”
The keychain held six different keys. He tried the first one. It didn't budge. A loud moan rose from behind. He glanced back. They should have gone for the window; now that way was blocked. He put a second key in. Not the right one.
“Hurry up,” Sarah screamed franticly in his ear.
The third would be the charm. He held his breath as he turned the key; it didn't move a bit. He fumbled for the next one. The chain slipped from his fingers and fell.
“Fuck this,” Sarah said. She grabbed the shotgun by the barrel and swung down hard, breaking the stock on the zombies head. It staggered back and fell to on the ground.
Ralph scooped up the keys and put a random one in, not knowing if it was one he already tried.
“He's still moving,” Sarah screamed.
He unlocked the door and rushed outside, closely followed by Sarah. She threw the shotgun at the zombie's feet, making it trip and roll down the front steps. It smack hard on the pavement. Ralph pressed the button to open the car doors. He got behind the steering wheel. Sarah ran to the other side and got in. He started the engine and drove off. In the rearview mirror, he saw the zombie get back up. He was a tough one, despite having no balls.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ralph stopped the truck at the intersection. Sarah lived a few blocks away. He had to turn left to go to her home, right to his.
“You can drop me off here. I'll walk home; it's only a short distance.”
He turned left. It was silly really not to drop her off; the distance was negligible. Only, he was not sure if he should leave the truck with her.
“Really, you shouldn't.”
He parked the truck in front of her home. He glanced sideways. She was staring ahead, not showing any sign of wanting to get out.
“You want me to come with you?”
“No, no need to.” She put her hand on his leg, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek, taking him by surprise. She smiled at his reaction. “You've done enough for me already, thank you.”
She got out and he did after her. “Wait.”
“Here, the keys. I'll walk home; it's only a five-minute walk at most.”
“Won't you need the car?”
“No, but can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure.”
“If...things turn bad, seek me out.”
She winced and a sad smile edged at the corners of her lips. “Yeah...” She looked at her home. “I can do that.”
“And, Sarah, not only if things don't work out. I'll wait at my house for a day and will come for you after.”
“So, I won't kiss you good-bye then.”
“You may kiss me a see-you-later.”
She hugged him and kissed each cheek. “Take care.”
He had never been this close to her. She had never shook his hand before today, and he certainly never kissed her in greeting. Still, he did not feel all that closer to her, but somewhere in there was a friend. He had decided to prefer to have her at his side than to go alone in this world. He glanced back. She still stood in front of her steps, watching him go. She waved to him, and he waved back before turning onto the next street and out of sight.
He saw no one on his walk home, not even a zombie, or cat or dog. The lie of quarantine turned out quite effective, keeping everyone inside, and those who died from the street. Only the small percentage that would not comply would be left outside, dead and walking. It should have been easy to deal with them. Something must have gone wrong. More got out than planned or the soldiers’ vaccine did not work. Whatever happened, it turned out that those supposed to keep things under control were now walking among the dead.
He reached his house. First thing he noticed was that his dad’s car was missing. What kept his dad from home? He was running late; his mom had told him so before she dropped him off at school yesterday. He must have been stranded somewhere on his way back from his business trip or worse. His heart sank at the thought.
In front of the door, with his fist raised to knock, he paused. He felt the fear build in the pit of his belly. He now understood Sarah's hesitance. This was the moment he would know if they were still alive. This was definitive. He swallowed his fears and knocked. The wait was a mass of horrible seconds that went by like hours. He held his breath, scared he would breathe away hope.
“Who is it?” he heard his mother call.
He laughed out loud, hysterical that she was still alive. “It's me, Ralph.”
“Ralph?”
The door swung open and his mother closed him in her arms. “I thought you were dead. I called St. Mark’s. They said you were sent to quarantine. I never heard back from them.”
She dragged him inside and quickly shut the door. She was in tears, hugging him and kissing his face—to the point it made him feel uncomfortable. He still couldn't believe it. She was alive and flu free.
“Mom, you got better.”
“Yes, last night it got real bad. I passed out, but thank God, when I woke up the flu was gone. It was the nastiest and shortest flu I have ever had.”
He felt a pang of guilt at hearing this. He had left Lauryn for dead. She could still be
out there, without shelter. Leaving her was like killing her. She wouldn't survive long out there alone. He touched his lips, remembering her touch.
“Is something wrong?”
“Never mind me, where is Ginny?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “In her room.”
This was great, his mom and Ginny were all right, what were the odds? It must be that whatever countered this flu was hereditary; nothing else could explain how his whole family was okay. He had high hopes for Sarah—that despite her gloom she would find out her family was fine. Maybe both their families could collaborate to survive this. The more people together, the higher the chances of beating this thing were.
“I so want to see her.”
His mother grabbed him by the jacket's sleeve. “No, not right now. She is sleeping.”
Was that panic in her voice?
“Just a quick peek.”
“She had a rough night and is still not feeling well.” She looked at him pleadingly. “Let her rest, maybe later, okay?”
“Okay, Mom, but tell me what's wrong with her.”
His mother went into the kitchen and warmed water in a water heater. “You want some tea?”
Ralph nodded. She placed two cups on the kitchen counter and waited for the water to boil. She did not turn once to face him or say anything more to him. Her shoulders were a little hitched, her muscles tense. He felt fear slowly grip him again. There was more going on than she let on. She didn't answer his question nor did she want him to see Ginny. He braced himself for the worst.
She made tea and filled the cups. With a cup in each hand, she sat down at the dining table. He joined her and got a cup shoved in front of him. It was hot to the touch, way too hot to drink. His mother didn't touch hers either. She stared out the window for a long while before she finally spoke.
“She is still fighting the flu. I have her quarantined in her room; that's why I don't want you to see her, and I don't want her to get too excited seeing you. She has not been herself since...”