Zombiekill

by Russ Watts

  She rifled a hand through her cropped hair. Maybe she could do something with it. She picked up a hair clip and tried to pin a length of hair back from her fringe, but the short hair wouldn’t hold.

  “I need to accessorize.” Charlie went to the laundry and perused her father’s fishing gear. Several rods were leant up against the wall, a cobweb stretching between them. He hadn’t been out for months now, and Charlie wondered how big the fish would be. She could just imagine a nice fat trout, its juicy white meat filling her belly. As her stomach groaned, she began to rummage through the drawers along the wall. There were old jackets and scarves that rarely saw the light of day. Her hand touched a soft felt cap, and she pulled it out, recognizing her father’s old fishing cap. It had blue and green checks on it and smelt a little musty from being in the drawer for so long, but as soon as she dropped it onto her head she felt better. She turned back to the mirror and looked at it. It was at least two sizes too big for her, and she couldn’t help but smile. She hadn’t seen that hat for years. The last time she could recall seeing her father wear it was on her fifteenth birthday when he had returned home late from taking some tourists out on Edward MacDowell Lake. He had come home stinking of fish and oil, and she had been so happy to see him that she had hugged him and got the smell all over her party dress. The memory of her party brought back other memories, too, of her friends, of laughter, of the dreams of a bright future, and of her mother. Charlie’s smile faded.

  “Dinner’s ready.” Kyler called out from the kitchen.

  “Coming.” Charlie rubbed her hands on her thighs and walked through to the kitchen where she found Kyler sat at the table and two plates of cold spaghetti waiting.

  Kyler frowned as she took her seat. With her jeans and UCLA sweater, Charlie was beginning to look more like the son he’d never had than his daughter.

  “Take that hat off while we’re at the table,” he said gruffly. “You know the rules.”

  “Of course.” Charlie slipped it off and put it beside her plate. She had hoped it might draw a comment from him; maybe elicit an old memory like it had in her.

  “Elbows?”

  Charlie forced a smile upon her face. “Sorry, Dad, forgot,” she said removing her elbows and arms from the table. Couldn’t he just let it slip this once? Charlie very much doubted that God was watching, and if he was then elbows on the table were the least of his problems.

  She waited for Kyler to say grace and then picked up a fork. She spun it around on the plate, reeling in a strand of spaghetti. It wasn’t much of a meal, but she knew they hadn’t much choice. They had to make what they had last as long as possible. She held up the fork and sucked the spaghetti in, savoring the cold tomato flavor before returning her fork to the plate and twisting another piece around it.

  “What should we do tonight?” Charlie sucked another piece of food from her fork. “Monopoly? You haven’t won in a while now.” The truth was they hadn’t played in a while. Not since the day her mother had died, in fact. They hadn’t played anything since then, and the tedium of watching her father drink until he fell asleep wasn’t riveting entertainment. She had read every magazine from cover to cover three times over and wanted to try and entice her father out of his shell. She watched him chew his food and then place his fork down on the table. He said nothing, and she wondered if he was even going to answer her at all or just sit in silence.

  Kyler swallowed heavily and then rested his hands on the table either side of the plate. He stared at his food, at the cold spaghetti that he had so carefully emptied from the can and poured out onto the two plates.

  “You want to play games?” he asked, quietly.

  Instantly Charlie knew she had said the wrong thing. Of course he wouldn’t want to play a game. Of course he wouldn’t want to do anything with her. She was so bored of it all, of everything, of knowing exactly what he was going to do or say before he’d even thought it.

  “Okay, maybe not then. How about a run? The park’s lovely at this time of year.” She couldn’t resist it. Her mother had always encouraged her to speak up, and now there was no stopping it. Charlie knew she would piss Kyler off for being so flippant, but she seemed to piss him off anyway, so she might as well enjoy herself.

  Kyler looked at Charlie. “No, I don’t think—”

  “The cinema then?” asked Charlie, keeping her tone light and irritating. “You know, popcorn, big fat sugary drinks, and lots of—”

  “NO!” Kyler banged his fists on the table causing the plates to jump, and his fork fell to the floor.

  Charlie bit her lip. Too far. Oh well. So, he was angry with her—what else was new?

  “This isn’t a game, Charlie. This isn’t what you think.” Kyler looked at her, his face red from anger. “Those games you used to play with your friends are over. You have to grow up. You can’t act like a little kid anymore.”

  “I think I got that, Dad,” Charlie said as she slipped another fork loaded with spaghetti into her mouth. She looked outside at the fading sunlight. Another hour and it would be dark. “The only games I could play with my friends now would have to involve a Ouija board, right?”

  Kyler leant back in his chair and a shadow fell across his face as the sun dipped behind the horizon. “You want to talk about that?” he asked Charlie.

  “Talk about what?”

  “Your friends. Them.” Kyler’s eyes were hidden in the shadow, but he was looking at his daughter carefully, watching how she ate slowly. He brought his chair forward again so that she could see him, that there was no misunderstanding that he meant it seriously. This was no game to him. “The dead.”

  “Oh, Dad, don’t be so melodramatic. No, I don’t want to talk about my dead friends. That’s hardly going to solve anything.”

  “Very true. I’m glad you understand that. In the old world you would’ve been booked in to see a shrink if one of your friends died. In this new world we’ve dispensed with useless things like psychiatrists and—”

  “Shaving?” Charlie muttered as she finished her food.

  Kyler looked at his daughter as she pushed her empty plate away. “So, this is just a joke to you?”

  “Do you see me laughing?” Charlie reached for the bottle of water on the table, but Kyler snatched it away before she could reach it.

  “Really? What’s that for?” Charlie went to tuck her long blonde hair behind her ears and then remembered there was nothing there anymore. She brushed the side of her head with her fingers and pretended to scratch her ear. “I’m not allowed a glass of water now?”

  “You can have a glass in a moment. I just want to make sure that you comprehend what is happening here. You seem to still think you can get back to the way things were; that one day this will all be over.”

  “It will, Dad. Sooner or later, it will.”

  “Oh, yes, Charlie, but you seem to think that things will go back to the way they were.”

  “Well, I think—”

  “You have to see that they won’t ever be the same again. Those things out there won’t allow it. We let them take control. The time for change has gone. We let them grow, let them spread, and now they have complete control. We can never get back to what we were, not with them out there. How do you think you’d cope if you were on your own?”

  The question shocked Charlie. She had been prepared for a lecture, even considering trying to answer back, but this was a question she hadn’t been expecting.

  “I’m not on my own, Dad. I’m not going to be. You’re here.”

  “Your mother was here too. You can’t rely on others for the rest of your life. Our situation is far too perilous for that kind of naïve attitude.”

  “Yeah, but what happened to Mom was an accident.” Charlie felt her cheeks flush at the memory. Why should he make her feel guilty about it? “It was just an accident, Dad.”

  “An accident? Perhaps. But that implies an event that occurred without warning, an unforeseen turn of events that was outside the real
ms of control. I don’t buy that. Do you? Do you think what happened was a random act of nature or God or something that we couldn’t have controlled had we been more prepared?”

  Charlie looked at the blue and green cap on the table. Her father hadn’t always been like this. The tourists used to love him, they all did. He was fun to be around, and she refused to believe that man had gone. “I guess not. We didn’t know that woman was going to come.”

  “Yes, but we weren’t prepared, Charlie. We weren’t prepared anywhere near enough. I should’ve thought through what could happen, made you and your mother understand—”

  “Yeah, well, I understand now, Dad. It’s going to be a long, hot summer. And those poor people outside our gates are going to stay there. I get it.”

  “Do you?” Kyler sighed. “I’m not sure you do. Would you have done what your mother did? Would you have opened that gate to help?”

  “I don’t know. I mean what happened can’t be undone so there’s no point dwelling on it. It’s in the past now.”

  Kyler picked up his plate and carried it to the sink. He shook his head as the dying sun bathed his face in an orange glow. He turned around and leant against the counter looking at Charlie.

  “What?” Charlie felt uneasy with him staring at her like that. It felt like he was judging her; as if sizing her up to enter a pageant. Why did he have to make her feel so uncomfortable in her own home? “Well?”

  Kyler didn’t answer, but continued staring at her. Exasperated, she stood up and carried her plate to the sink. Greeted with nothing but silence Charlie went back to the table, got the bottle of water, and poured herself a small glass. All the time she moved about the room his eyes never left her. Charlie drank the water quickly, deciding she would just go upstairs and read in her room. He was in one of those funny moods again. Sometimes he would challenge her, and sometimes he would argue. This appeared to be one of those times when he was going to ignore her. She could deal with that. It was better than fighting.

  “How was the water?” he finally asked, just as Charlie was about to leave the kitchen.

  Charlie looked at her father who was still at the sink and shrugged. “Watery.”

  Kyler nodded. “You realize that it’s not going to last forever, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Dad.” Charlie headed for the exit and then stopped. She hadn’t talked about it for a while, but now felt as good a time as any. “You know where we can find plenty of water?”

  Kyler opened a cupboard beneath the sink and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, the contents sloshing about as he unscrewed the cap. “No, tell me,” he said as he took a dirty mug from the sink. The mug was still encrusted with dried coffee at the bottom.

  “Attwood’s. Up on the hill. You know they have fresh water running through the property. What about Attwood’s, Dad? I still think we could go there. He’ll help us. You’ve seen the light at night. We should—”

  “No. Absolutely not.” Kyler filled the dirty mug with whiskey and swished it around. He carried it and the bottle back to the table and sat down. “No, Attwood is an eccentric old man. I’ve already told you that, and we’ve already had this discussion. So save your breath.”

  “But he’s still alive. You’ve seen the lights at night, I know you have. So—”

  “So what? So what if he’s still alive? We’re better off on our own. We don’t know anything about the place. It’s far too dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? More dangerous than staying here and running out of water? More dangerous than waiting until the zombies figure out a way in, and kill us while we’re sleeping? More dangerous than what, Dad?” Charlie heard the frustration and anger rising in her voice, but was powerless to stop it. Why couldn’t he see it? Why did he insist on staying in this place? “I’m sick of it, Dad, sick of it all. I can’t just go on living here, with you, like this.”

  “Good. I’m pleased to hear it. So what are you going to do about it?”

  “What am I... ?” Charlie rolled her eyes and then looked at her father as he took another sip of whiskey. “What the fuck do you mean? I just told you what we should do about it. Christ, Dad, how many times do I have to tell you? Attwood’s. It’s our best chance of—”

  “And you really think that’s our best option? You think if we make it to Attwood’s everything will be fine?”

  Charlie knew he was being sarcastic. “No, everything isn’t going to be fine. I’m not an idiot. But I know that living here with you isn’t fine either. One day we’ll run out of water and you’ll run out of whiskey, and then what will we do?”

  “You’re missing the point, Charlie.”

  “I give up.” Charlie grabbed the fishing cap from the table and shoved it down on her head. “I’m going to pack. Seven days and I’m leaving. I’ll go on my own. I’ll go to Attwood’s.”

  Kyler began to chuckle, and his hollow laughter echoed around the kitchen. Charlie watched him until the laughter faded away. The tears were coming again, and she hated herself for it. This is what he did to her. He made her hate herself even more than she hated him.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. But you have to admit that you going out there alone is a little. . . unrealistic.”

  “Right, because I’m pathetic. Just a child, right Dad? I couldn’t possibly do it on my own because I’m such a disappointment. That about right?”

  “Charlie, you can’t even break a defenseless bird’s neck. How are you going to kill those zombies? What are you going to do when one is on top of you and you have to thrust a knife through its skull? What are you going to do when it’s about to take a bite out of your arm? Fight back? Cry? Run to your room?”

  Charlie loathed her father. When he began drinking he became spiteful. He talked to her as if she were still a little girl holding his hand. He couldn’t see her for what she was now. The death of her mother had changed her, changed everything; now it was ripping them apart, and she couldn’t find a way to make him see. “Let’s be honest, Dad, the truth is you’re coming with me. I don’t want to go out there on my own. So the question is, what will you do when a zombie is about to bite me? ‘Cause right now, I’m not so sure. I’m not sure that you wouldn’t just let it take me, and you can be done with me. That’ll be a weight off your mind, huh? Finally, Charlie will be out of the picture, and you can just drink yourself to death in peace. Happy days.”

  Kyler stood up and angrily flung his mug against the wall behind Charlie. It narrowly missed her head but showered her in drops of whiskey. “Happy? You actually believe I could be happy without you? First your mother, and then. . . ”

  Charlie began crying, unable to stop herself. Her hands were trembling though she didn’t know if it was fear or shock. She looked down at the floor, at the black and white pattern on the vinyl, and waited for the next explosion. Was he going to throw the bottle next? Was he going to hit her? When nothing happened, she looked up and found him sat down again, his head in his hands. He had done it again. She felt guilty for pushing him like that, for making him react the way he did.

  Kyler mumbled something through his hands, but Charlie couldn’t hear it and stepped closer to the table wearily. Part of her told her this was a trick, a ploy to get her closer so he could grab her before she could run. Maybe he wanted to snap her neck and put her out of her misery too.

  “Fight or die, Charlie. That’s all that’s left now,” Kyler said quietly.

  “What do you mean?” Charlie heard the words echo around her head. “Fight or die?”

  “You have to have more ambition than that,” replied Kyler. “They will do anything they can to stop you. There are thousands of them out there. I’m not sure that any wall is going to be big enough to keep those fuckers out. You have to see that Attwood’s isn’t going to work. Peterborough will kill us if we stay here. They’ll come for you, and eventually me too. They’ll just walk right on in and take this place from us; take everything I worked so hard for. You have to realize how much potential you
have Charlie, if you could just see past the end of your damn nose. There’s so much more for you out there, Charlotte.”

  Charlie wiped her eyes and sniffed. The room was eerily quiet and dark, and her father hadn’t called her Charlotte since she was a little girl. He wasn’t as strong as he made out to be. He was scared, too, and she could see that now. She didn’t know it was possible to love and hate someone so much at the same time, but she found as she looked at him sat at the table with his head in his hands, that there was no way she could leave him. Going to Attwood’s on her own was a pipe dream. She needed him as much as he needed her. After everything that happened, they still needed each other.

  “This can’t go on,” Kyler said as he finally looked up at his daughter.

  “Why do we have to fight all the time? We should be working together, Dad.” Charlie took the cap off and held it in her hands, twisting around nervously. “Why are you doing so much to drive us apart? I feel like sometimes you wish I were dead.”

  “Never, Charlie, never. I know I’m hard on you, but that’s because I have to be. I see you and I see Jemma. I see where it all went wrong and how I let her down. I need to do better with you. I’m doing what I do precisely because I do love you, because it’s my job to bring you up and teach you how you’re going to live your life. That’s what a parent does, and God willing, I hope you get the chance to do the same one day.”

  Charlie had to admit she hadn’t thought about her future like that for a long time. She had wondered about when she would have children, and she had thought that Jackson would be the man she spent the rest of her life with. But he had left her and was probably just another corpse now. The thought didn’t cause her any concern. What worried her was what was running through her father’s head. Did he think about that kind of stuff; about the future? She thought all he thought about was fighting and drinking. Maybe she had misunderstood him.