“Every day. I don’t like to stay inside too much. It’s boring.”
“You’ve been in here the whole time?”
“Since the first day of the outbreak,” she told him. “Everyone was leaving town and I saw the building empty out. It seemed like a good place to hide.”
“What about your house?”
She shook her head and suddenly, her face looked sad.
“I couldn’t stay in my house,” she told him.
Kyle had learned a thing or two about listening to people. He’d never really considered himself a good listener, but Mark? Mark was an excellent listener. One thing Mark always did, without fail was wait people out.
Kyle kind of hated it. He’d asked him about it once and Mark explained the technique. The thing is that people like to talk. Even when they don’t think they like to talk, they do. They need to fill the air, to fill the void with words. If you stare at someone, but you don’t say anything, eventually, they get uncomfortable.
Eventually, they just start talking.
Sometimes, being quiet is the push people need to open up. Sometimes, it’s the little bit extra they need to tell you about themselves, about their life. Sometimes, a little bit of silence is all it takes to get someone to tell you their secrets.
So Kyle waited.
Torrance touched her hair and then sat down on one of the chairs outside. Kyle sat across from her and continued to wait. He could be patient. He wasn’t particularly good at it, but he could be. He could learn.
“I had a kid,” she said finally. “He died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Zombies?”
“Yep.”
“That sucks.”
She laughed then, long and loud, and the sound surprised Kyle. There were a few Infected wandering around the lake and he knew they could hear her, too. The creatures looked up and watched them. Looked at them.
“Yeah,” Torrance said after a minute. “It fucking sucks. What else can you say about it, really? I had a kid and then I didn’t. I was a mom and now I’m not. It was like that,” she snapped her fingers. “And then he was dead.”
“You had to put him down,” Kyle said. There was no gentle way to say it. There was no graceful way to ask someone if she had to kill her own child. He’d turned. Torrance’s little boy had turned.
“The messed up thing is that I didn’t know at first. Like, you know, mothers should know. We should have this intuition. We should have this idea that it’s going to happen to us and I just didn’t. He was fine, and then he wasn’t. He was alive, and then he was sick.”
“And then he was dead.”
“And then he wasn’t.”
Kyle wished he had some smokes. This seemed like a good time for smokes, or weed, or anything that would make them feel a little less. He didn’t need to feel good or happy, but he wanted to feel a little less of the pain.
He wanted to feel a little less of the reality.
He just didn’t want to hurt quite so much.
Not tonight.
Not here with Torrance.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Kyle said. He didn’t want to ask for the details, didn’t want to know them. Not really. It reminded him too much of the house he and Mark and Alice had stayed it. It reminded him too much of the child they’d seen in that place.
It reminded him too much that he didn’t know what had happened to his brothers and sisters.
It reminded him that life was fleeting.
And useless.
Chapter 12
Torrance had been a good mom.
She’d been a great mom.
She’d done the arts and the crafts and the play dates. She’d driven Brandon to different towns, so he could go to cool new parks and library events and museums. She’d taken him to work and been involved with his school.
She’d been a good mom.
When he got sick, she thought it was a normal fever. There was something going around the school, she knew. The elementary school had sent a note home. It said that kids with fevers should stay home.
So she’d kept him home.
She’d taken the day off work and the two of them had watched movies and cuddled and she’d read him Diary of a Wimpy Kid until he was laughing so hard he forgot all about the fever.
But it got higher.
And higher.
When she called the doctor, they said it was a strange new virus and that she should give him some ibuprofen. They said they were booked solid, that there was a line out the door, and that everyone had the same symptoms.
They said there was nothing else they could do.
Just take a fever reducer.
Then the clinic had hung up the phone and Torrance had been left on her own.
So Torrance had tried to save her son with a box of Tylenol and a children’s book.
And she’d fucking failed.
By the time he started throwing up, she knew it was too late. She knew she’d fucked up. She should have taken him to the hospital. She should have driven across state lines if it meant Brandon would still be alive. She should have done anything but what she did.
She should have done anything but stay home with him.
“In retrospect,” she spoke out loud for the first time in a long time. “They couldn’t have done anything. They couldn’t have saved him.”
“No one can stop this, Torrance. It’s not your fault.”
“Feels like it, though.”
“I know it does.”
She wasn’t going to cry now. Not in front of this stranger. She wasn’t going to cry in front of this guy she didn’t know, who didn’t know anything about her, but who somehow, suddenly knew the most important thing about her.
He knew about Brandon.
And she kind of wished she could take that back.
Torrance didn’t like to be vulnerable. She didn’t like people to know things about her. When people had information about you, it meant they could use it against you. It meant they could talk about you or complain about you or try to hurt you.
Torrance wasn’t easy to hurt anymore.
She’d had a damn week, just about, to mourn her kid.
She’d had a week and it hadn’t mattered.
It still hurt.
She was still sad.
She still thought every day about throwing herself over the balcony.
She wouldn’t die when she hit the ground. Not from the second story. She’d be hurt, though. Maimed. Then the zombies could have her. They could have her fresh meat and she wouldn’t have to be so fucking sad all the time anymore.
She should do it.
There was nothing left to live for.
But then something happened. Then something happened that she hadn’t expected. Something happened that Torrance wasn’t quite ready for.
Kyle reached for her hand, and he took it, and he squeezed it.
When she looked at him, she silently asked him why he’d done it, but he just shrugged.
“Nobody likes to be alone.”
Chapter 13
Alice and Mark made their way back in silence. They had a new gun, now, which was holstered neatly in Mark’s waistband. Now he had two and she had zero. She didn’t ask for the weapon, though. Much as she wanted to carry something, she knew better than to push her luck today.
At least she’d gotten a shower.
It had been cold, but she felt clean for the first time in days. Mark had taken one, too, while Alice sat on the couch and read a book for awhile. When he was finished, they left the little house and headed back to the library.
There was something strange about the place and even though Alice thought it would be nice to live somewhere else, somewhere with real beds, she knew they couldn’t really live in a place where the undead had been.
The chance of infection was too great. Who knew how long the virus could live in bodily fluids? What if one of the Infected had spit on the
floor and the virus was just sitting there, ready for anyone to touch it?
She didn’t like to think about that.
It wasn’t that hard of a choice to leave.
When they got back to the library, Kyle wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere.
“Maybe he went for a walk,” Alice mused, but Mark just shook his head.
“He went to see the girl,” Mark said. His voice sounded a little deep.
“Did you just growl?”
“No.”
“Yes, you did. You growled.”
“I did not.”
“Well, you definitely just huffed.”
“I didn’t huff and I didn’t growl. Come on. Let’s go see if the kid is all right.”
Alice didn’t ask Mark what he was worried about. Maybe he was scared that Kyle was going to be making out with the new girl or maybe he was worried it would be something serious. Maybe Mark thought she was a mad scientist or the one behind the entire apocalypse. Who knew what he was thinking?
He handed her the .22 and she was a bit surprised, but she took the weapon, checked to make sure the safety was on, and followed him out of the library and across the road.
Then Mark knocked on the door.
“Really?” Alice asked, raising an eyebrow.
“What? I’m a gentleman.”
She thought about how Mark had behaved only a few hours before. He hadn’t been very gentlemanly then, she thought, but Alice hadn’t minded. Not really. Not at all.
Mark knocked again.
Then once more.
“Should we break in?” Alice asked.
“No.” He tried the door handle. It was locked. “This is her set-up. She’s not going to want to fix the door if I break it and I’m not letting her come stay with us.”
“Why’s that?”
“You never know, Alice. We can’t just trust everyone we meet.”
“Give her a chance, Mark,” Alice said gently. She placed her hand on his arm. “Not everyone is good, but not everyone is evil, either.”
“I know,” Mark said. She didn’t really believe him, though. That was all right. They didn’t have to agree on everything.
“Hey, guys,” they heard Kyle’s voice, then, and looked up. He was hanging out of the upstairs window, waving at them. “Just a second and I’ll come let you in.”
He disappeared and a woman appeared at the window.
“Hey,” she said. “You put clothes on.”
“Just for you,” Alice said.
“I like them. You look good.”
“Thanks. You got a name?”
“Torrance.”
“Alice.”
“So I’ve heard, and the big guy is Mark, right?”
“The one and only,” Mark said. He still sounded like he was growling.
“Oh, shit!” Torrance called suddenly. “Watch your back!” Alice and Mark spun around on the top step to the building and looked. Coming toward them was a group of Infected and they did not look happy.
This wasn’t one or two.
This wasn’t half a dozen.
This was thirty pissed-off zombies and there was nowhere to run.
What happens next? Find out in Just Another Day in the Zombie Apocalypse: Episode 5.
Author
L.C. Mortimer loves zombies almost as much as she loves coffee. When she's not on a caffeine-induced writing spree, she can be found stocking up on canned goods for the apocalypse. Mortimer loves reading, playing zombie video games (7 Days to Die is currently her favorite), and spending time with her partner-in-crime: her husband of 11 years.
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Lost in the Apocalypse
Need more zombies in your life?
Check out this excerpt from L.C. Mortimer’s novel, Lost in the Apocalypse.
Prologue
Staff Sergeant Neil Swift stared at the stopwatch in his hand and frowned. He hated running PT. Hated it. Physical training was an important part of military service, but he hated it just the same. Thompson had finished running and was standing off to the side, drinking water. Baker and Allen were still making their way slowly – too slowly – around the track.
“Pick up the pace,” he called out. “Let’s go.” He frowned. He was supposed to be the one pushing them to do better. If they failed their tests, they’d be the one to suffer the consequences, but he’d still get his ass handed to him.
This was already a makeup test. None of them had made it to their originally scheduled test the week prior. Now Neil was stuck, sitting around, counting pushups for people who could barely meet the minimum requirements for staying in the Air Force.
Airman Allen slowly made his way around the track. Allen, who was at least 15 pounds overweight, but somehow still managed to pass his waist measurement every time. Neil glared at the pudgy airman. Allen was nice enough, but he was slow and lazy.
Neil just wanted to go home, shower, and have a cup of coffee before he went to the office. Oh, he’d spend his day doing paperwork, but it was better than being out in the blistering heat timing runs and counting pushups.
“Sorry we’re late.” Neil turned at the sound of voices. Two airmen ran up to him: one male, one female. They were both in PT gear, complete with their reflective belts, so he wouldn’t bitch too much, but they were at least half an hour late.
“Where were you?” He asked, giving them weary looks. He knew them both, but only barely. The male, Airman Peterson, was a strong runner and a hard worker. The female, Airman Albert, had her hair pulled back in a half-assed ponytail. Her makeup wasn’t within regs, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to go home: not complain about her heavy eyeliner.
“Medical,” Peterson said, slapping the tiny bandage on his shoulder. “Had to get my vaccine this morning.”
“I had to drive him,” Albert added helpfully. The look they exchanged told Neil that she didn’t have to drive him, but rather, he had slept over the night prior and didn’t have his car with him.
It was a bit early for their yearly required flu shot, but there was a new recommended vaccine out that everyone was getting: Artovax. It was supposed to be a two-in-one AIDS and flu shot vaccine.
Neil was skeptical, but rolled his eyes. He was scheduled to get his after lunch. He glanced at his watch again. It was already 0900. He was supposed to be at the office in ten minutes. Apparently, that paperwork was going to have to wait.
Baker and Allen both made it back and picked up their water bottles while Albert and Peterson took off around the track. It was a tiny track overall, but a few laps got the job done. With military budget cuts every year, the base couldn’t afford something nicer. They didn’t need it, though. The track worked well enough.
Neil squinted against the rising sun as he watched his airmen run. The only sounds were the chugging of water and the slapping of rubber against pavement.
Run. Run. Run.
The airmen maintained the same pace during their first lap but broke off during the second. Peterson began to fall behind, much to Neil’s surprise. He was usually ahead of the others. Neil watched as Peterson began to slow, then stopped altogether on the opposite side of the track.
Albert slowed and looked over her shoulder, but didn’t stop. She ran another lap. When she reached Peterson, she stopped and said something to him, then glanced over at Neil.
“What’s the problem?” He shouted across the track. Suddenly Peterson lay down on his stomach. Was he seriously getting sick from the run? He had barely even started to run. Maybe he was coming down with something. Fuck. Maybe he was a diabetic.
“Somebody’s hung over,” Thompson said in a sing-song voice. He finished his water and headed to his car. “I’m out,” he said over his shoulder, and drove away.
“What’s wrong?” Neil yelled again. Peterson still wasn’t up
.
Albert looked at him and shrugged, but the casual look on her face quickly turned to horror. Peterson suddenly jumped up and grabbed her, then pushed her to the ground. She cried out and tried to push him away, but Peterson covered her with his body.
“What the fuck?” Neil dropped the stopwatch and ran across the track. He knew Baker and Allen were right alongside him. Neil made it halfway to the couple before he saw what was happening and stopped.
Baker and Allen did not.
Peterson was kneeling over Airman Albert, but she wasn’t screaming. Not anymore. He looked up at the approaching airman, a look of disgusting pleasure on his face. Baker and Allen kept running, but Neil stopped.
Blood.
There was blood all over Peterson’s face.
He had bitten Albert in the neck, bitten a hole right in her body, and her blood was pouring out onto the pavement.
And it was all over Peterson’s face.
“Stop!” Neil shouted, but the warning came too late. Peterson grabbed Baker’s ankle and bit him – hard – and reached for Allen.
Fat, pudgy Allen tried to turn, but he was tired and too slow. Peterson grabbed his leg and tripped him, then jumped on him. Baker was sitting on the ground, holding his ankle.
He looked to Neil, as if to ask for help, but Neil just shook his silently and backed away. He had seen one too many horror movies for this to feel real, one too many films where the hero dies trying to figure out what’s going on, one too many videos on Friday nights with his older brothers.
His feet moved slowly, backing away from the scene unfolding before him. Suddenly Airman Albert was sitting up again, her once-beautiful face now distorted and ugly. Blood matted her neck and the bottom of her long ponytail. Peterson chewed on Allen: the poor airman’s screams filled the field, but Neil stood still, blankly staring at them.
This couldn’t be real.
He told himself this couldn’t be real.
Then his training kicked in. Peterson looked up at him just as Neil turned to run. He ran to his car, fumbling for his keys, and climbed in. The beat-up Pontiac had never failed him, not since he marched down to the dealership the day of his first paycheck. He had been proud when he bought it, and excited, but now a growing sense of dread filled him. He stared at the four airmen on the track, watching them stand one at a time.
Just Another Day in the Zombie Apocalypse (Episode 4) Page 5