The Dead Saga (Novella Part 1): Odium Origins

by Claire C. Riley

  I’m nearly out of all the supplies I’ve managed to pick up along the way, so I decide to go inside and check for food once the car is filled. I’m not sure how many weeks it’s been now, but pickings are getting slimmer as the days go by. Maybe things are still stocked up in the major supermarkets, but I’m not risking going into one of them. I know I’m going to have to go house-to-house soon enough, but that means going near civilization—something I don’t want to do. It hasn’t worked out well for me any other time.

  I reach into the Buick, grab my kukris, and head to the doors. They’re open, which isn’t just a relief but also surprising. Every time I’ve had to stop somewhere like this, I’ve found the doors locked. I look around me again, pull the door open, and go inside. I can’t smell the distinctive scent of the dead, and for that I’m grateful, too. This is one of the easiest stops I’ve had.

  I check the store carefully, and when I know it’s clear of zombies I check the shelves for things I can take. There’s not much left, but it’s not completely cleared out, and I fill my backpack with cans of fruit and packages of cookies, shoving one in my mouth as I go around.

  I check behind the counter to see if there are any weapons left there, and find none, but I snag a couple of lighters and some cigarettes—even a small bottle of scotch is under the counter. I unscrew the lid and take a swig. It’s been . . . weeks? Months? Fucked if I know how long it’s been since I had a drink or any weed, and though the cravings have passed, I’m still a little angsty over it from time to time. If there was ever a time for a stiff drink, this is it. The scotch burns as it goes down and I wince and screw the lid back on, feeling happier than a pig in shit for a change.

  I look out to the front lot as a guy comes pounding across it. He’s really sweaty like he’s been running for miles, and I move from behind the counter with my kukris in hand, checking behind him in case there are zombies following.

  I go outside and watch as he stops by my car and begins to inspect it. I’ve tried to avoid other people, but I’m not about to sit idly by and let someone steal my ride.

  “That’s mine.”

  The guy turns to look at me—a little surprised, from the look on his handsome face. Sweat drips down his forehead, and there’s a damp patch in the middle of his T-shirt, but he has a clean-shaven head, so no sweaty hair. He looks at my weapons and then back to me.

  “Just looking is all.” He backs away as I come forward, a grin on his face even though he looks exhausted.

  “Well, don’t. It’s not yours to look at.” I narrow my eyes at him.

  He glances behind him and back to me, worry finally crossing his features. “Look, I’m being chased by some people who you really don’t want to mess with, so either let’s both get the hell out of here in your car, or let me get on my way—but whatever you do, you need to decide like right fucking now.”

  I look behind him, down the dusty road I had driven up, but I can’t see anything. Regardless, I believe him. He’s too serious looking for me not to.

  “Run along then,” I say, going closer with caution. I’ve seen people kill others for less than a car, and am not about to take any risks on some complete stranger being chased by lunatics.

  He looks surprised. “Really? You’re just going to leave me out here?”

  I nod.

  “Can I have one of those knives, then?”

  “No.” I laugh nastily.

  “So you don’t care that I could be eaten alive or gutted like a pig by the people chasing me?” he asks, incredulous.

  “No.” I look down the road the way he had come, finally seeing a trace of something in the distance. “Why would I?”

  “Because . . . because we’re human beings, and that’s what we do. We give a shit,” he splutters.

  I shrug. “Not me.”

  “Really?” He scratches his head and then looks back and sees what I see. “Shit.” He looks back to me. “Better fucking go then, huh?”

  “Yep.” I move closer to my car. “Mind moving out of my way?” I gesture with one of my kukris to the left.

  “Can’t I just hitch a lift? I mean these guys—”

  “No. Now move,” I interrupt.

  He moves out of the way. “Fuck you.” He spits—literally spits at the ground in front of me—and takes off behind the garage and into the trees. I watch for a minute, feeling torn, but I can’t take any chances. I don’t know him, and I don’t want to get mixed up in whatever he’s involved in.

  I climb into my car and pull out with a wheel spin, heading off as quickly as I can away from whatever trouble he’s bringing with him.

  *

  I dine on cookies and canned fruit, thankful that I stole a can opener from an earlier scavenging trip. I feel full, maybe even sated. As much as this life is scary, it also brings with it something that I’ve never had before, something that I’ve been yearning for my whole life: freedom. I don’t blame my parents for fucking up their lives, but I do blame them for contributing to fucking up mine. I’m a hard-faced people-hater by nature now, never trusting or caring, and only thinking of me—and that’s down to them, what they brought into my home as a child. Maybe the end of the world could mean a new life for me. I’m lonely. Perhaps I’ve always been lonely, just wanting to be loved by anyone. Of course finding someone in this shithole world will be hard enough, but maybe I can build a new me to go with my new life?

  I decide to piss in the bushes and settle down for the night. It all seems like too much deep thinking for my liking right now. I’m used to thinking on my feet, but thinking about the future is something strange to me—hell, I never thought I would have one. It’s probably only six o’clock, but I’ve been up since before five—you never know what the night will bring, and my body is tired and aching.

  I pack everything away and stash it all in my car before heading into the bushes and pulling down my pants. When I come back out, I flinch. The dude from earlier is leaning on my car with a cocky grin. My eyes flit to my knives in his hands.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I ask in my best tough girl voice. So much for trying to change who I am.

  He laughs. “Well I did want to hitch a ride. Now I’m thinking I might just have your ride.” He stares me down, his dark brown eyes boring into mine, his jaw clenching and unclenching in that menacing way that only men seem to be able to pull off. I swear guys must have been taken aside in gym class and taught that shit.

  I could charge at him and hope he doesn’t know how to handle himself, but chances are if he’s survived this long, he does.

  I back away. “Fine. Take it all.” I sound like a defeatist, but I don’t want to die today. I keep backing away, never turning my back to him, lest he stab me with my own knife.

  “Thanks, little lady,” he sniggers.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Do I look like a little fucking lady to you?”

  He tuts. “Not with a smart mouth like that, you don’t.”

  I stop walking away. “At least give me a weapon.”

  “Like you did for me?” He raises an eyebrow.

  I look away. “I guess I deserved that.”

  “I could have fucking died out there, you know.” He looks pissed off now, like I should give a shit about him.

  “Why’s that my problem?” I snort. “I’m not your mama.”

  “What is wrong with people? We need to help each other if we’re going to survive,” he snaps, his voice raising. “Everyone out for themselves.” He huffs and pushes away from the Buick. “We need to help each other if we’re going to survive whatever this is.”

  I hold my hands up. “All right, I hear ya. Let’s all sit around and sing Kumbaya and get along, whatever, man, just don’t take my stuff.” It’s my turn to huff now. “Please,” I mumble.

  I look up at him when he doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at me again, his eyes looking softer than before. “I’m not going to steal your stuff, but the next time you think about leaving someone for dead, remember t
his. Remember that I didn’t screw you over, okay?”

  “Okay, okay, sorry, Grandma!” I laugh, and then think of Damien, my thoughts turning somber.

  “It’s Mikey, by the way.”

  I watch him walk away, and then follow after him. “Hey, dude—Mikey, don’t go.” God, I’ve enjoyed talking to someone. “You hungry?”

  He turns to look at me, already grinning that handsome smile of his. “I’m a man, I’m always hungry.”

  *

  I feed him the rest of my stash and we make small talk about mundane bullshit, neither of us bothering to trade stories. It’s the same old shit anyway, and it doesn’t really matter what happened or how it happened—the fact is, it did happen. Anyway, I’m trying to look at the glass as half full—at least Andre didn’t put a bullet in me.

  It’s getting late and I’m ready to get some sleep. I’m not sure what we’re going to do about sleeping arrangements; I don’t really know him well enough to let him sleep in the car, but then again, I can’t let him just sleep out here. Anything could stumble upon him in the night, and the last thing I want to do is wake up in the morning to a dead body, or worse—a hot-looking zombie looking to eat me out, and for all the wrong fucking reasons.

  “So, I’m going to get some sleep.” I decide to just put it all out there. “Um, do you wanna sleep in the car, or do you have somewhere you can go?”

  “Is that an invite . . . Crank?” He smirks.

  “It’s Crunch. Like, I’ll crunch your nuts up with my knee if you come anywhere near me.” I smirk back.

  “A little harsh, I feel, but hint taken.”

  “That wasn’t a hint, that was a real-time big fucking answer for you,” I laugh, poking the fire with a stick. “Look, you’re more than welcome if you want to; if not, then whatever. I lock the doors when I sleep, so you have until I pack everything up to decide.” And with that I start putting everything back away for the second time tonight, my stomach doing flips for some annoying reason. Is it because I want him to stay or because I’m worried what might happen if he does? Fuck knows.

  I climb into my Buick and Mikey gets in the passenger’s side. I turn to look at him, still feeling uncertain, but my gut tells me he isn’t an asshole. I’ve known my fair share of assholes, and he doesn’t fit the bill at all. Sure he’s a badass, that much is obvious—but there’s a softer side to him too. Hell, I bet I could kick his ass if I needed to.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks.

  Damn, I hadn’t even realized I was smiling.

  “You better not fucking snore or I’m kicking you to the curb.” I lock the doors and pin some old blankets up against the closest windows to block any from looking in at me, and then I shuffle down in my seat, pulling the blanket up to my chin.

  I lie in silence, waiting for sleep to come and claim me. My body is exhausted, but my mind is racing. It’s been too long since I’ve spent this much time with someone—even longer since I slept next to someone, especially while not stoned or drunk. I listen intently for his breathing to go shallow so I’ll know he’s asleep, but after what feels like an hour—although in reality it’s probably only five minutes—I turn to look at him.

  His eyes are closed, but I know he’s awake. That stupid fucking grin gives it away. I look away and close my eyes again, but after ten minutes more I’m still not sleepy. I fidget this way and that, trying to find a comfy spot. I don’t normally have this problem. Usually I’m down for the count. I huff.

  “Whassup?”

  “Can’t sleep,” I mumble.

  “Me neither,” he replies.

  Silence fills the vehicle again, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I think about what he said earlier, about next time someone needs help to help them. The concept seems foreign to me; in my world, it’s everybody out for themselves.

  “I’m not used to being around people like you,” I say.

  “Like me?” he asks, and I turn to look at him.

  “Like, nice people, who give a shit.”

  He frowns and looks away. “Who says I’m a nice person?”

  “I do,” I say without skipping a beat. “You could have fucked me over, but you didn’t. Even after I left you for dead.” I look out of my window, watching the sun set. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I was an asshole to you and I could have got you killed. I’m just not used to nice people.”

  After a couple of minutes of silence I look back at him. The car has gotten darker in the minutes that I’ve been looking outside, and his face is covered in shadows.

  “I’m not a nice person. I’ve done bad things—things I regret, things I’m ashamed of,” he says darkly.

  I ponder that for a minute. “It doesn’t matter, you’re still a nice person. You could have left me out here to die. Most people would have, but you didn’t.”

  “Like I said, I’ve done bad things before. I’m trying to atone for them, or something like that.”

  We stare at each other for a long time in silence, and I feel a strange stirring inside me. Mikey brings something out in me that I didn’t think I’d get back, and maybe I wouldn’t if he’d chosen to leave me for dead. But he didn’t, he chose me.

  “You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” I say.

  He laughs dryly. “Trust me, you don’t want to hear about it.”

  “I do, actually, so feel free to unload on me whenever you want.” I smile.

  Mikey’s serious face cracks and he laughs, starting with a low rumble and breaking into a full-grown belly laugh.

  “What?” I ask, pissed off and thinking he’s making fun of me.

  “I can unload on you any time, huh?” He laughs again as the realization of what I said hits me.

  “I didn’t mean like that, you pervert!” I shout and punch him in the arm.

  “Well, let me know if you change your mind, sweet thing.”

  My eyes go wide. “Did you just call me sweet thing?” It’s my turn to laugh now.

  “If that’s what it takes,” he says, all serious now. He stares at me for a long minute before I look away.

  “Sweet thing,” I mutter, closing my eyes.

  The car falls into silence again, and I finally fall asleep looking into his eyes.

  Five.

  “You got it?” Mikey shouts over to me.

  I nod a yes, and stab the zombie in the head again, just to be sure. Always best to be sure. I learned the hard way on that one. If I was ever squeamish about this shit, that ship has long since sailed. If anything, I find it a little fascinating these days—the way the blood has blackened and congealed, yet the brain is still idling. I guess that’s the wannabe doctor in me. Not for the first time in the last six months, I think of my parents—well, I think of my pops, more precisely. My mom can go rot for all I care. Even though he left me for dead, I hope he’s alive somewhere. I guess in a way I hope Mom is alive too; if she isn’t, then Pops will probably have given up and be rotting away somewhere. That or he’ll be one of these things.

  “Crunch, it’s fucking dead—again,” he adds. “What are you staring at?”

  I look up at Mikey. “Just wondering what makes them, I don’t know, tick?”

  “Who cares?” He shrugs.

  “I do, I guess.” I shrug too and stand up. “I mean, is it a disease or what?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It matters because . . .” My words trail off when I see his bored expression. Dude has no time for any of the technical stuff. Like a true macho man, he sees it, he kills it, he moves on. No discussion, no thought process. Like a fucking caveman.

  “Look, we’re alive, they’re dead. We need to kill them before they kill us. It’s simple. Don’t overthink it.” He looks serious for a change. “I can’t figure you out. One minute you’re tough and the next you’re soft. I can’t figure out who’s protecting who.”

  I pause, letting his words sink in. Normally I’d come back with some smart-ass remark, but my heart isn’t in it today. �
��Let’s get going.” I walk away with a huff.

  “I’m sorry if that offends you,” he calls after me.

  I turn back around and see another zombie coming out from behind some trees. “Move out of the way,” I shout—unnecessarily, since the zombie isn’t close enough to actually hurt him. Mikey steps out of my way regardless and I charge at the zombie, remembering all the times Pops had gotten me to train and use these weapons. I’m not just a street rat, I’m a motherfucking warrior child. I jump up into the air and bring down both my kukris on either side of the zombie’s neck, landing with a soft thud in a crouching position. The head falls from the zombie’s shoulders and rolls over to Mikey’s feet, the eyes still blinking up at him.

  “Does that answer your question?” I snap and walk away again.

  “Fuck me!” he mumbles.

  We keep going through the woods, checking the traps we’ve previously set, until we finally get to one with a rabbit caught in it. Mikey grips its little neck and twists, making sure the thing is dead, and then unhooks its foot and picks up its lifeless body.

  “Dinnertime!” he laughs, all previous conversation forgotten.

  I laugh too. I’m fucking starving, and it’s been too long since we caught and ate something other than berries and fucking dried out crackers. Most times when we catch an animal, a zombie gets to it before us. We keep walking deeper into the forest, and I know that today we’ve ventured further inland than we normally do. I’ve been trying to convince him to go into a town so we can go house to house for food, but in true Mikey style, he doesn’t listen to me. He says it’s not worth it, but my brain tells me he’s still hiding from whoever is chasing him. Regardless, I do trust him—when it comes to shit like this anyway. Or maybe I just don’t want to be on my own in this. I have to admit it’s easier with a partner. It always was in my old life of stealing and dealing, and nothing has changed in this new life.