Fear of the Dead

by Mortimer Jackson

  She ran in the middle of Hobbs Street, keeping to the center of the road for no other reason than the fact that it was a liberating experience. Knowing that she was alone, and that no cars would show. Her heart, which strained from the run, was rejuvenated by a feeling of immense freedom. And before she knew it, she’d already gone about a mile and a half.

  Sweat was beginning to soak the pores of her skin.

  Vanessa needed a bath, and a fresh pair of clothes. Two blocks down to her right was an outlet mall, which featured among other businesses a Gap, a Burlington Coat Factory, and an Old Navy store.

  By way of a stray brick through the window, Vanessa worked her way inside the first two stores, but disregarded the latter.

  Even in the face of Armageddon, nothing would ever possess her to step foot inside an Old Navy.

  She left the store carrying a shopping cart full of extra clothes, socks, and underwear. Anything that sparked even the slightest interest, she took. By the time her five finger shopping spree was over, she began to feel like every New York female stereotype. After her early morning fit of depression, Vanessa Lowen was calmer now, and apparently shopping had been the cure. Now all she needed was a pedicure and a spa. Maybe get her hair done, and go shopping for make-up. If Jenney were here, they’d make a quick stop at Macys, which was on the opposite end of the street. They’d spend some time testing perfume brands and critiquing amongst themselves which brands they liked, and which they thought would have been better served as insecticides. They’d crack jokes at the first sight of an Escada bottle, and share creative suggestions for what they thought each brand new scent should have been called.

  New car smell was a popular choice among the two, right behind toilet cleaning liquid, and cat lady’s delight.

  Vanessa laughed.

  Good times.

  She wanted to change her clothes and toss the ones she was wearing in the nearest dumpster. She didn’t, for fear of contaminating whatever she wore with the present odor on her body. Vanessa wanted to bath first, and from the smell of her underarms there was no denying that she needed it.

  Without running water around however, there wasn’t much she could do. At the square of the strip mall was a water fountain. It wasn’t running, which meant that the water must have been over four months old. Nonetheless, save for the assorted pennies at the bottom, it seemed clean enough.

  A crazy idea came to mind just then. One that she didn’t honestly consider, but she looked around regardless.

  At this point it was no surprise that the streets were empty. But for what she was thinking of doing, Vanessa had to be extra certain. She carefully scanned every square inch of her field of view, and once again not a sign of life. The idea evolved into possibility, and then into opportunity.

  She sat on the ledge and ran her fingers over the water. It was cold, but clean. If Vanessa was ever going to do what she was thinking of doing, now was the time.

  With her knees quivering excitedly over the prospect, Vanessa grabbed a towel, body soap, a bucket, and some green tea shampoo she found from an abandoned herbal store next to RadioShack. She went back to the staring at the fountain, staring at her own reflection, silently debating with herself whether she was actually going to do what she was genuinely considering doing.

  In time the decision became easier to make once she’d given up thinking it over, and simply removed her clothes.

  Vanessa’s gut tickled until she had to grin. She was standing naked in a strip mall. The only thing funnier than that was actually saying it in her head.

  “Putting the strip back in strip mall,” she quipped out loud, and sent herself over the edge of laughter.

  Vanessa wasted no time getting herself cleaned. She might have warmed up to the idea the longer she went, but it was still cold water she was pouring over her head. And there was still the infected to worry about, even if she couldn’t see them.

  Once finished with her brief bath, Vanessa changed into a dark blue tracksuit and a fresh pair of shoes. She tossed her old clothes in the trash can alongside the styrofoam cups and plates that had once been thrown in the old days of customers and business.

  That reminded her of the hunger in her belly.

  Junk food hadn’t completely worn her out. But for reasons of health Vanessa wanted something with a little less sodium. A sushi bar at the end of the mall caught her eye. But like everything else, it was locked. A mild inconvenience, and one she didn’t enjoy having to deal with everywhere she went.

  The display cases inside held several varieties of sushi, but the mere sight and smell of them was enough to make her swallow down her appetite. She left almost as soon as she went inside, and decided that a little bit of starvation wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  Just as she was about to leave with her stroller of goodies, Vanessa made a quick stop at RadioShack, realizing that what she needed in her life (or what was left of it) was a little bit of music.

  She snatched a few CDs; Avril Lavigne’s Let Go, two or three Shakira albums, The Beatles’ Greatest Hits (for the classicalist inside), a few Elton Johns, and Madonna’s Ray of Light. She took a few others as well, but mostly because the cover grabbed her interest, and she wanted to experiment. Vanessa was going to have a lot of time on her hands. Spending it listening to music wasn’t the worst thing she could think to do

  She picked out two CD walkmans, one to use, and another to keep in case the first didn’t work. Of all the choices in stock, Vanessa picked the labels that bragged of having G-Force Protection. It was so that the discs didn’t scratch when she moved, or so she believed. Hopefully the feature worked as advertised.

  Vanessa swiped a pair of headphones and a dozen packets of AA batteries, each with six. Then she wheeled her stroller back the way she came, back into the motel. On the way she piped in Ray of Light. The first song was Drowned World/Substitute For Love, which stayed with her for long after the five minutes of joy were over, and Perfume Girl came on.

  Vanessa went back, and looped the first song over and over again.

  3:05 PM

  I feel better now. There are so many things I’ve done today and lately that I’ve never done or thought of doing before. Driving like a madwoman, taking a jog in the middle of a city road, shoplifting for the first time since I was sixteen. I even took a bath in a water fountain, like the way they used to in the old days. Or the way they still do in some places around the world. I think.

  It’s strange how isolation can be so liberating. Almost makes me wonder why we’re such social creatures in the first place. Why, in a race that distrusts itself so much as to create rules, we find the need for society.

  Christ I’m starting to sound like Tom. Note to Vanessa Lowen; get your head out of your ass.

  It’s three in the afternoon right now. Soon I’ll start driving again so I can find some food. Actual food. A grocery store somewhere will do. For now, I’m off to pack my new clothes in the trunk.

  I just got a new pair of Millys. Can’t wait to try them on.

  3:22 PM

  The drive wasn’t long. Give or take fifteen minutes. At Grand Avenue, opposite a laundry store and a few houses was an abandoned Safeway. She parked beside the front door, and took the metal poker from the backseat.

  The process was getting to be familiar. Smash glass, get inside, take goods, leave. Vanessa made a tongue-in-cheek joke to herself about knowing what it felt like to be an inner city thief. Not something that she would ever say in jest to her racially-sensitive friends, or for that matter not something she would ever admit to finding humor in. But out here on her own, it was worthy of at least a giggle or two if nothing else.

  One step inside, and Vanessa saw something that gave her pause.

  For the past three days, every store she’d ever broken into had been clean, untouched. Stocks full, floors sparkling clean. As though throughout the entire California outbreak, no one had ever decided to do a bit of last minute breaking and entering of their own.


  Since the moment she left the bunker, she’d been so used to seeing her stores in mint condition that the unexpected sight of a mushed tomato on the floor suddenly seemed strange. And what’s more, there was a broken crate of produce beside it, which she assumed had once contained the cabbages that were now on the floor.

  A first time for everything, Vanessa supposed. And in retrospect she really shouldn’t have been so surprised. A store with no one to watch it. Who’s to say what was unexpected?

  Vanessa grabbed an apple, and without either looking twice or wondering if it was safe to eat, she dared a bite. The apple was good, still hard and fresh, although with all the chocolate in her system, her mood for sugar had all but deteriorated.

  She grabbed a packet of tossed salad and ate it down like one would a bag of chips. Vanessa toured the aisles, and sampled almost every little thing she saw. Bananas, French bread, orange juice, and slices of mozzarella. The store was her buffet, and she didn’t mind taking advantage of the service. Vanessa tasted as much of the store as she possibly could, never filing herself with too much of one thing. It was her way of deciding what she would bring with her, and in part her way of keeping entertained.

  In the old days of civil society, Vanessa would never have allowed something as gluttonous as turning food into revelry. The precepts of Women’s Health Magazine told her not to. But it also told her that as long as she didn’t make a habit out of it, occasional indulgences were acceptable. In some cases even recommended.

  On the verge of opening a jar of pickles, Vanessa stopped when she heard a noise come from behind her. She sharply turned around, but saw nothing. It came again, and this time it became clear that what she was hearing hadn’t come from behind, but from one of the aisles on her left.

  Again. What sounded like low moaning.

  Vanessa tip-toed towards the noise, intent on finding out what it was but not wanting to alert the source. Her search stopped at aisle six, where in between the canned food and the ketchup aisle stood a man in a large grey suit. His skin was sickly pale, and he was stared at a tin container of Spam with eyes both blank and motionless.

  Vanessa knew what he was the second she saw his face. She motioned to sneak her way out of the infected’s periphery, but by then it was too late. His rotting head turned as she backed away, and he saw the fresh, living woman.

  He opened his mouth and gave a ferocious, animal’s roar. Startled by the noise, Vanessa headed for the nearest sign of safety, down the next aisle and up the way she came. She ran as fast as she could, but tripped on her own leg. Vanessa fell, smacked against the hard tile.

  She stumbled to pick herself up, and by then the infected had already blocked her path. Vanessa turned around and ran the other way. Despite his head start, the grey suit failed to catch up.

  He threw his hands at her but missed. Vanessa got up, and sprinted until the broken entryway was just a few steps away.

  Vanessa high-tailed it to her car, making no attempts to catch her faltering breath. A second roar erupted from inside the shop. Louder this time, and longer. She jumped, struggled with her keys No sooner had she started the engine did her right foot hammer hard on the gas pedal.

  Anxiety still coursing through her veins, Vanessa gripped her hands on the steering wheel.

  “Fuck,” she muttered to herself, then breathed deep, and kept her mind on the road.

  7:23 PM

  I was nearly killed today. One of them, an infected, stopped me at the grocery store. I was going to bring something back for dinner but I didn’t. Right now I’m sitting at the back seat of my car. I’ve been too afraid to go anywhere else. It annoys me knowing that there are more of them out there. It pisses me off.

  How much longer can they live?

  I’m at the parking garage in BART. Top level. I thought of going back to the motel, but it’s too close to the store. Plus at least out here I’m out in the open. There are no corners to worry about. No cover spots for them to jump from. It should be safe enough for the time being. They’re not going to look for me up here. And even if they do, I’ll at least be able to see them coming.

  It’s early now, but I’m beat. I want to fall asleep, and yet I don’t. I have to keep my guard up in case any more show up.

  Is this what my life is going to be from here on out? Hiding? Trying to survive?

  Chapter Four

  Day Four

  Wednesday

  April 23, 2003

  6:01 AM

  Vanessa slept for most of last night. The time on her car read 6:01 AM. One minute past the hour.

  She got outside and stretched. She wanted to jog, but had to force herself not to. The last thing she needed at a time like this was to be caught by more of them while running on foot. She considered writing on her notebook to help calm her nerves. But she’d lost the mood. She leaned against the ledge, and watched as morning came to fruition.

  7:20 AM

  Cloudy skies today. Cold too. They say that the further up north people go, the more likely they are to kill themselves. Something about there not being enough sunlight that makes people depressed.

  How long am I supposed to go on this way? What am I supposed to do?

  Vanessa stopped. It was all she could do to grab a hold of herself. She climbed inside her car, and drove. No direction, no place to go.

  She piped in The Beatles on her headphone. The first track in the album was Back in the U.S.S.R. Paul McCartney telling her she didn’t know how lucky she was.

  Funny.

  She drove for about two hours straight, at least according to the time on her car. And yet it felt infinitely shorter. Her mind drifted off into another world, living out the fairy tale life she’d always wanted. She imagined being a mother to a child. Singular, because she knew she wouldn’t have it in her to carry any more. Demands of work didn’t leave much room for maternity leave as it was, nor for that matter the patience she would need to deal with an extra kid.

  Motherhood had always been that one thing she’d wanted to be a part of but never had the chance to consider. In between work and a husband she was on the verge of leaving, the opportunity for a baby never had the chance to present itself. Vanessa could only hope that once circumstances changed for the better, she would have a child. Even if it was on her own.

  She imagined herself, maybe five or six years down the road, growing to be a single, white collar mom. Living in her apartment with either her son or daughter, and a maid whose hours might as well have made her a permanent resident. She’d be off all day at work while Max (if it was a boy) or Evelyn (if it was a girl) grew up with the maid, showing off whatever new lessons were learned, maybe even mistaking the hired help for mommy.

  That was never going to happen now.

  Vanessa stopped in the middle of the road, and cried.

  It was nine o’clock. Still dark outside. Still cloudy.

  She couldn’t take it much longer.

  For the next hour and a half, the Corolla remained on standby. The engine was still running, and the indicator on her fuel gage had just turned yellow. Vanessa stared with empty eyes at the stretch of city road out in front of her, no longer curious as to where it would take her.

  9:17 AM

  I never believed in God, and yet as a child I used to think that the world revolved around some cosmological being of fairness. Karma. That good things happened to good people, and no bad deed ever went unpunished. When I grew up, I started to see karma as something different. More like a convenient excuse for injustice.

  It’s always easier to go through life assuming that even if someone who does you wrong ever does get away with it, they’ll still get what’s coming to them someday. If not by your hand, then by somebody else’s.

  With all that’s happened here, does karma exist, or am I looking right at it? Is this what I deserve?

  Vanessa rested her head against the window while peering passively at the empty city. She piped Billy Joel’s Piano Man on the portable CD pl
ayer, and skipped to the track that inspired its name.

  The first line of the song; It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday. Words that would have been an eerie parallel were they any closer to the truth. She listened passively as Billy went on to tell the story of a crowded bar, an old man making love to his tonic and gin, asking to be played a memory.

  In the periphery of her left eye, Vanessa saw a woman limping from the corner of an office building. She was slim, brunette, with long wavy hair, and a bright orange dress. Her skin was ghostly white, and her lips were cracked and dry. Her eyes were red, and her nails were as black as night.

  The infected woman peered out at the sky before she screamed.

  “Shit.”

  Vanessa jolted and put her gear on drive. She tried to accelerate when a hand burst through her window, smashing the glass into shards. The woman grabbed her by the collar of her tracksuit, and pulled. Vanessa fought to keep her distance from the infected’s encroaching teeth, drawing back every time it lunged closer. The infected straggled while the Corolla picked up speed. Vanessa swerved to shake its balance, turning her steering wheel at every which way it could go. With the infected woman salivating just inches from her face, Vanessa’s eyes drifted off the road until she could no longer tell where she was going. She unlocked the door and kicked it open, effectively increasing the distance between them. The infected clung to the wide open door, scarcely able to stay afoot off the sweeping gravel. When Vanessa aimed her head back on the road, there was an infected standing straight at her trajectory.