Zombie World (Zombie Apocalypse #3)

by Hoffman, Samantha

  “Daisy, they’re right. He’s dangerous and you should stay away from him.” Hannah’s voice is so soft and quiet you’d miss it if you weren’t sitting right next to her.

  Daisy’s mouth opens and closes, as if she can’t find the words to say.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Madison says. “I agree with the others. I think he’s dangerous, and I think you’ll get hurt if you let yourself get caught up in this whirlwind love affair. Not everyone we meet can be trustworthy; you should know that by now.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid? I know we can’t trust everyone, but he’s given me no reason to not trust him. I think you guys are blowing something small way out of proportion just because you don’t want me to be happy.”

  Ryder shakes his head sadly. “If you honestly believe that, maybe you need some time alone to think things through. Cause to doubt all of us after everything we’ve been through and done for one another is just insane. We’re trying to look out for you, and you’re not letting us.”

  Daisy sputters, unable to think of anything to say that might change our minds. Finally she turns away from us and storms off in a huff, heading to the room she’ll be staying in for tonight. We all watch her go, not sure what to say or do. It’s not like we’re trying to keep her away from Trey just to be dicks about it. He’s a questionable person with shady and dangerous thoughts.

  Hannah and Madison both get up and go after her, leaving an annoyed Todd behind. “She knows that you’re right,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can see it in her eyes. She knows we’re trying to look out for her, and she understands why we’re upset about Trey, but she doesn’t wanna admit it to herself. So she’s gonna go sulk and try to find some way to prove us—and herself—wrong.”

  “Just give her some time,” Anders says, drawing our attention. “Trey will show his true colors to her soon enough, and she’ll figure things out.”

  “You say that like you already knew what a piece of work he is,” Reese points out. “You seemed pretty shocked at what he was saying just a bit ago.”

  “I was,” he admits. “I was surprised by the depths of his anger and thoughtless words, but not completely surprised that he’s a douchebag. In all honesty, he’s kind of a lazy bum. He doesn’t do as much work around here as he pretends to. I’m the one that helps Evan with the cows and the fences, and the gardening, and the mechanical maintenance that needs to be done. All he really does is feed the chickens, collect eggs, and water the garden on occasion.”

  “And Evan is okay with that?” Reese asks.

  Anders shrugs. “I think he just looks at it like it’s less work forced on my shoulders. Even though his contributions are smaller, it’s less time I have to spend out in elements breaking my back. And I think he assumes I enjoy Trey’s company, which I guess is true to an extent. It’s nice to have someone close to my age to talk to, but he and I aren’t exactly brothers or anything.”

  “Do you think he’s dangerous?” Ryder asks.

  Anders gives it thought, which I appreciate. “I would say no,” he says finally. “From what I’ve seen and heard, his anger is more internal than anything. I think he’s the kind of guy to take it out on himself rather than others around him. Plus he’s really not stupid or anything. He knows he’s got a pretty good setup here and I doubt he’d do anything to jeopardize that. He got a little hotheaded with you a minute ago, but I don’t think you guys are asking if he’d throw a punch or two.”

  “No,” Ryder says. “I’m asking if he’d seriously hurt or even kill someone.”

  “I doubt it. I guess I shouldn’t say that it’s an impossible occurrence cause I’m not a certified shrink and don’t know what goes on deep in the back of his mind. But it’s hard to see him as anything other than a lazy, regular dude. I think when he has a chance to cool down, he’ll come back and just try his best to avoid all of you. Though I’m sure that won’t extend to Daisy. He is a hot-blooded kid who has a handful of girls his age under our roof that he’ll see as fair game.”

  “You just made him sound like a predator,” Reese says flatly.

  “Honestly, that’s one of the things about him that has always bothered me most. He complains a lot that there are no women around, to the point where you just want to push him off a cliff. He likes to brag about his previous conquests, sometimes using pretty disgusting language. It’s just something I have no interest in.”

  “What, girls?” I ask. Anders clears his throat and looks back down at his textbook, and I feel my cheeks begin to turn red “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “No, it’s fine. I said it, you were just asking for clarification. But I didn’t mean I have a lack of interest in girls. Really, I have a lack of interest in sex in general. It’s never interested me, even when I was younger and going through a lot of changes and all of my friends were starting to notice girls. I always kind of felt broken because I didn’t. It wasn’t until years later that I figured things out.”

  “So you’re asexual,” Aaron says, sounding more thoughtful than confused. “I know it exists, but I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who was.”

  “What’s asexual?” I ask, trying not to feel stupid.

  “It just means that I experience no sexual attraction. To anyone, of any gender. I’ve had sex a couple of times in the past, hoping it might change me or something, but it didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why everyone else enjoys sex—it’s not the most awful experience on the planet,” he says with a smile. “It’s just not something I actively search for. I don’t get urges like other people do.”

  “So…do you still fall in love?” I ask tentatively. “You don’t have to answer anything that makes you uncomfortable, I’ve just never heard of this before.”

  “A lot of people haven’t,” Anders says with another genuine smile. “It’s okay though, I enjoy educating people on my sexuality. It can be a little uncomfortable at times, but I just tell myself that it’s one more open-minded person, which the world sorely needs. In answer to your question, yes, I experience romantic love. I’ve been in relationships before, there was just little to no sex involved. I guess technically you could say I’m hetero-romantic, meaning I fall in love with women, but experience no real sexual attraction towards them.”

  “How come I’ve never heard of it before?” Reese asks, looking as interested as I feel.

  Anders shrugs. “It hasn’t always been a commonly known thing. It started getting a little more exposure before everything went to shit, but it wasn’t mainstream or anything. But people were finally beginning to notice us, and were even doing research on it. Some “experts” disagree with us and don’t think asexuality is a thing, but I know what I am and what I feel, and no close-minded scientist is going to tell me otherwise.”

  “Well, I believe you,” I say, offering him a smile. “I think it’s cool you’re so open to talking about it, and being understanding with us.”

  “It’s a conversation I’ve had dozens of times before with new friends. I’m glad you’re accepting of it. It means a lot to me, even if you are practically still strangers. Part of me even enjoys talking about this kind of stuff. It’s one of my main reasons for wanting to become a psychiatrist, so I can help other struggling teenagers come to terms with who they are, even when society tells them it’s impossible.”

  “That’s pretty awesome,” Reese says. “I bet you’ll be great at it.”

  Anders frowns. “I doubt I’ll ever get the chance to help others now. Kind of hard to help people who aren’t here anymore.”

  I almost open my mouth, but one look from Reese and I keep it shut. I’m not sure what harm it would do to tell Anders about the cure, but I’m sure Reese has a reason for not wanting it to get out. But still, I want to give Anders hope for the future, to tell him that things will be okay, especially after the kindness he’s shown us just now. Maybe I’ll be able to talk Reese into telling him before we leave. I ca
n’t believe that it would hurt us any.

  While the others begin to settle down after Trey’s outburst, I clumsily disentangle myself from the blankets, and Ryder lets me up, his eyebrows lifting. “I’m gonna go ask Mary if she needs any help in the kitchen. I wanna try to be helpful because of earlier. Plus I’m really curious about fresh milk.”

  “Raw,” Anders says, not looking up from his book. “Milk that comes straight from a cow and isn’t pasteurized is called raw milk.” He looks up at me and smiles again. “If you don’t at least know that, there’s no way Mary will accept your help.”

  “Thanks,” I say, smiling back. “What’s different about it?”

  “The way it’s treated. Mainly, raw milk isn’t treated at all, whereas store bought stuff is. A lot of people drink it raw because they think it has health benefits over the processed stuff you buy in stores, which can be true as long as you’re careful about where it came from. As long as the cows are healthy and plenty of precautions are taken, most people never have any problems drinking it. I never have.”

  “So there’s no real health risks?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I guess there is, just like with anything. But like I said, precautions can get rid of a lot of those risks. Just don’t buy raw milk from places with poorly fed and cared for cows, and make sure their process is clean and efficient. I’ve been drinking it since I got here, and I actually feel a lot better than I have in the past. It tastes better to me than the store bought stuff ever did.”

  “Huh. Will we get to try some of it?”

  “Of course. It’s about all we drink around here. I’m surprised we didn’t have any with lunch since there’s tons of it around here, with as many cows as they have. Mary must have been frazzled at having to provide for a whole group of people on such short notice. Don’t worry about it though. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the help now.”

  I head into the kitchen and find Mary looking through some jars that have been neatly arranged on the counter. They’re full of brightly colored vegetables, probably fresh out of their garden over the past few years. I’m not a total idiot when it comes to kitchen things, and I do know a little about canning. These vegetables could very well be several years old, but will still taste nearly as fresh as the day they were picked. I’m not surprised to see full cans after seeing an empty garden.

  “Do you need something?” Mary asks gently, her demeanor much different from a little while ago.

  “I was just wondering if you needed help with anything. I kind of enjoy being useful.”

  She looks at me and purses her lips. “In the garage, there’s a large cooler against the far wall. Inside are packs of eggs and bottles of milk. I need two of the bottles at least. Be careful not to drop any of them, or you’ll be out in that blizzard tomorrow milking cows with Evan.”

  A quick glance out the nearest window tells me that her earlier prediction of a blizzard is probably going to be correct. It’s already starting to snow, and I can hear the wind begin to blow harder. I really hope we’re not snowed in here for too long. I might not mind spending another day or two here, but we really shouldn’t be taking too long to get to Detroit, not when we have so much riding on it.

  I head in the direction Mary points me, and I find a door leading out to the garage. It’s pretty chilly in the darkened building, and I feel myself shiver violently. My eyes scan the darkness until I spot a long dark green cooler against the far wall. I move slowly, making sure not to step or trip on anything that might be hidden in the darkness. The only light comes from a two inch gap between the bottom of the garage and the concrete floor, probably to help keep the contents of the cooler even cooler than it does. I see a plug running out the back of it and a small generator nearby, but with the cold air coming in, I doubt they’ll have to run it constantly during the winter and will be able to save on gas.

  The cooler is larger than any I’ve ever seen, and when I pull open the top, I’m amazed at how much stuff lines the bottom and sides. There are several rows of egg cartons, some stacked five high, and I feel a quick stab of jealousy at how blessed these four people are. But even more impressive than the eggs is the bottles of fresh—raw—milk that take up most of the rest of the space. I count eleven half-gallon sized bottles, all filled to the top, along with a couple mason jars full of what looks like butter, which I assume is made with the raw milk.

  I grab two of the bottles, careful to grip them tight enough so they don’t slip, and I carefully shut the lid. I’m even slower moving through the darkened garage, but Mary doesn’t look to be in any hurry when I get back to her. She just nods to the counter and I set them down. Before I can even ask what else she might need me to do, she points to the new milk that Todd just carried in a little bit ago.

  “There are bottles in the cupboard to your left. Use the funnel to fill them as high as you can so you don’t waste any extra bottles. They’ve already been washed and capped, so just undo the top and have at it. Then take them back out to the cooler so they don’t spoil. Make sure you put them furthest from the front so we use the older stuff first.”

  I bend down and fish through the cupboard, finding a few empty jars like the ones already in the cooler. Undoing the caps, I set them aside and grab the container of raw milk. It’s heavier than I expected, and I nearly drop it before steadying it with both hands. I notice Mary watching me out of the corner of her eyes, and I pretend like I didn’t almost just drop an entire bucket of milk on her nice clean floor.

  I fill the first bottle to the top, only letting a little dribble down the side of the glass. I wipe it away with a washcloth, put the cap back in the bottle, and set it aside for the next one. I fill two more bottles under Mary’s watchful eyes, and when they’re done, I take them in my arms and head for the garage. All three bottles fit easily in the cooler, and I head back inside to see if Mary needs any more help.

  Evan’s in the kitchen with her, and he offers me a friendly smile. He doesn’t say anything as he takes a handful of jars from Mary. A couple of them have the vegetable mixture, but the others are what look to be canned slices of steak. He disappears out a side door onto the porch, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders and zipping it to his chin. If I crane my neck, I can just make out some kind of small, weird grill hooked up on a table outside.

  “It runs off of charcoal,” Mary says. “We use it to cook pretty much everything here. Tonight we’re having stir fry, because it’s easy to make in larger batches, and soy sauce is easy to find in most stores these days since others saw no use for it. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course,” I say enthusiastically. “It sounds amazing. Thank you.”

  She hands me two boxes of chocolate pudding mix, and points to the cupboard above me. “Find a bowl in there and start mixing.”

  I do as I’m told, reaching above my head to find a large mixing bowl. There’s a whisk in a utensil holder on the counter, and I grab that, too. I read the directions twice to make sure I don’t mess it up, but they’re pretty simple and straightforward. Emptying the contents of the boxes into the bowl, I measure out the correct amount of cold milk and begin to whisk. It doesn’t take long for the pudding to begin to thicken, and I can smell the chocolate. It makes my stomach growl in anticipation.

  While the pudding thickens, I watch Mary work. She’s got a small camp stovetop, and it looks like she’s boiling water. There’s a bag of white rice nearby, and I can practically feel my mouth begin to water. We’re going to have a really amazing meal tonight, and we’re going to get to actually sit down and enjoy it as a family, with some new friends.

  We were lucky to have plenty of food while waiting for Dr. Richards to finish his cure, but nothing like this. It was like eating a slice of heaven at the time, but it was still mostly pre-made stuff that busy on the go scientists could pop in the microwave or oven and have an instant meal. This is actual fresh food. Fresh vegetables and fresh meat. Real meat, not overly processed stuff.

  While the
rice cooks, Mary orders me to set the table in the dining room. I carry a heavy stack of nice plates into the next room and begin to set the table. There are probably going to be twelve of us—if Trey and Daisy decide to eat with us—so I make sure to set out enough plates for everyone. There isn’t going to be much elbow room, but it’s not like we’re going to be at the table for too long.

  I head back into the kitchen and grab some clean silverware and napkins. As I work, the scent of steak hits me, and I can tell the others are beginning to notice as well. They’ve been peeking their heads into the kitchen, much to Mary’s annoyance. Finally, she snaps, and Anders is her target. “If you’re so interested in what’s going on in here, why don’t you pitch in? Take those glasses to the dining room, and fill them up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I almost laugh when a sullen Anders brings in a tray of glasses in one hand and a bottle of milk in the other. He sees me struggling to keep it together and gives me a quick smile. “Man, I knew better than to stick my head in there before she was done, but I was curious.”

  He begins to set the glasses around the table, and I take the bottle of milk from him, pulling out the top and following him around the table. I pour them about three-quarters of the way full until the bottle is empty and I have to head back into the kitchen to get the other one that I used for the pudding. When everyone has enough, I go back around and pour a little more into each glass until the bottle is empty and Mary can wash it out and reuse it.

  Evan opens the sliding glass door and brings in a large bowl of steaming stir fry, and I try not to drool as he sets it in the middle of the table. Mary comes in with a bowl of plain white rice, and Ryder follows obediently with my bowl of chocolate pudding. The food all looks and smells so wonderful together that I can’t wait to dig in.

  “Go get the others,” Mary says to Ryder. He disappears quickly to do as he’s told, and she looks at the rest of us. “The rest of us can fill our plates while we wait.”

  Anders takes a seat next to Evan, and I snag the open chair next to him while Mary takes Evan’s other side. He passes Anders the rice bowl and he scoops a heaping helping onto his plate before sliding it to me. The others filter in quickly as we pass around the food, and soon I have a full plate and no idea of where to start.