There was a smoker down there in the yard but it looked too heavy to lift. Besides, what did she have for it? Nothing.
Geneva went to the front of the building and looked down below at the street, filled with the dead, all trying to get into the place.
As she circled the roof again to get back to her comfy chair she noticed the side road was empty. Where Halifax and Elm crossed behind them were eight-foot tall fences, the road nothing more than a glorified alley where trucks could cut through to get to the docks.
This was the way Warren used to leave. He'd scoot down the fire escape, lower himself down to the dumpster and run the two blocks to the strip mall. When the shit hit the fan, he broke into the pharmacy and grabbed candy, soda (nothing diet) and bags of chips.
"Nothing for me?" Geneva had said the first time he'd come back on his own. She realized now she had abandonment issues (she was the typical kid that daddy had walked out on) and their forages to the stores had been together, piling shopping carts with stuff they both liked.
There'd been an argument, her doing most of the screaming, accusing him of cheating, insinuating that he was going to leave her here to die.
And he had, in the end.
Geneva was sweating without the umbrella to shield her and could feel her skin frying. She'd need lotion tonight before bed.
The alley remained empty for the next hour while Geneva stood there and streamed through the good times and bad times of her life.
Even though she was in her middle forties, and had known Warren for about a year in total, most of her memories centered on him. The time he took her to meet his sickly mother in the nursing home, and the pleasant lunch afterward they had in the park. The fight they had at the mall when he looked at that slut's ass. Their first movie together, a romantic comedy starring Jennifer Aniston. Their last movie, a horrible bloody action film starring Jason Statham.
Now she was alone, abandoned by yet another man in her life. Would she ever find true happiness, the Prince Charming she'd sought since she was a little girl reading fairy tales?
* * * * *
It was high noon, the sun obscured by low clouds, but Geneva could feel the harmful rays frying her exposed skin. She decided she'd rather die from skin cancer than a bite from a zombie. Geneva wondered if zombies got skin cancer or if they tanned.
She took the last sip of her chicken noodle soup and walked to the edge of the roof. Below at least thirty zombies stumbled into one another, like a slow motion mosh-pit. When Geneva was in her late teens the Ramones, Sex Pistols, the Damned and the Cramps had been popular with her outcast friends, and they'd get drunk and crash into one another in the parking lot.
She was always the hippy chick, listening to Hendrix and the Doors, and smoking a bit of pot when someone offered.
The fires had burned out, smoke fading on the light breeze, but she could still smell charred wood and other things. She decided to concentrate on the wood smell.
A walk to the alley side of the roof was next, figuring she'd glance down and then go back inside for a nap. There were two romance novels she'd found in Miss Klooney's apartment and she wanted to dive into one of them while there was still plenty of natural light.
Something moved behind the dumpster. She didn't hear it, but she could see a shadow moving around. It might be a dog or a cat.
Geneva wanted a pet. As a child she had hamsters, fish and an iguana. Never a cat or dog because her mother was allergic. At least that was always the standard answer. She figured her mother just didn't want to be bothered.
A moan escaped from behind the dumpster. The zombies didn't moan, like in the movies. They were deathly quiet.
"Hello?" she called out and regretted it as soon as it left her lips. If it was someone alive but hurt, she'd just rung the dinner bell.
Geneva ran to the front of the building and looked down. Shit.
The zombies were shuffling toward the alley en masse.
Geneva grabbed the portable stereo, cranked the volume to ten, and placed it at the farthest corner of the roof, but they ignored it.
"Hey!" she yelled, and tossed the radio over the side, where Queen stopped singing the praises of girls with big asses in a shower of metallic pieces.
They stopped as one and shuffled slowly back. Geneva sighed.
* * * * *
Geneva got four steps down the fire escape before stopping. She was only five foot six and there was no way she'd be able to reach the bottom rung of the fire escape once she got down onto the dumpster.
"Hello?" she tried to whisper but she knew it was too soft. The dumpster underneath her was at least twenty feet away from where she'd seen the man.
Seen the man? Now she was fantasizing that a man was back there, hurt and alone, and needing her help. She imagined he was bare-chested with tight blue jeans, incredibly piercing blue eyes and thick, curly brown hair. Despite his pain he would smile at her, his dimples melting her as he reached out with his hand and gently touched her breast…
"Fucksake, get over yourself," she whispered. She was acting like a fifteen year old, getting all wet thinking about someone hiding behind a dumpster. Pathetic. And she knew she still loved Warren, despite him leaving. He was the only man for her and she needed to stop kidding herself.
But if the person was alive, he'd need her help. He'd need to be bandaged up and fed and he'd need water. Maybe he was dehydrated.
Or maybe it was a woman who needed help, or a stray dog, or the Easter Bunny. Just focus on helping whoever is there, in need of rescue.
Geneva didn't want to leave the safety of the roof and drop into the alley. She didn't know if she could even reach back up and grasp the bottom of the fire escape ladder once she was on the ground. She got her foot onto the bottom rung of the ladder, straining to see who was back there. But the dumpster was angled away from her and too far away for her to get a good look. Since it wasn't directly under the building she couldn't get a good view from the roof, either.
Maybe I can get a glimpse from one of the apartment windows on that side of the building? Geneva knew she was stalling. If she jumped down she might not find something to stand on. She might be trapped, locked out of the building. Since Warren had left her there was no use in leaving and nothing out there she needed.
Geneva looked back up to the safety of the roof. Tomorrow I'll come down, after I find a weapon and figure out a way to get back up. There's no use…
Her hand slipped, her elbow slammed into the metal rung, and she clawed in the air to grip the ladder. Her fingers brushed against the warm metal and for a split second she thought she'd managed to hold on. Geneva landed on her ass, her head hitting the ground with enough force to make her see stars. She rolled over and was finally glad she had a fat ass. It had taken most of the blow, and she was able to stand and hadn't broken any bones.
She'd have a bruise on her ass and thighs but it was better than a busted leg or ankle. Geneva tried to reach up to the ladder but she was a half foot too short, even with a jump. She knew she was wasting her time, but now she was scared to see who (or what) was actually behind the dumpster.
Now that she was down on the ground she was scared. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. Her palms were sweaty, and Geneva's mind raced through every cliché she could think of right now. Her feet were sunk in cement. She was paralyzed with fear. Anything to keep her from actually moving her body.
She heard a low knock from the back of the dumpster, or had she imagined it? She decided to simply stand there, rooted in place, until she died. It was easier than taking action.
There was movement at the end of the alley. Geneva turned her brain off and ran as fast as her hurt butt would let her, because there was definitely a zombie in the alley with her now, but she didn't think she'd been spotted.
Geneva squatted down, one hand on the dumpster and the other hand on the ground to keep her from tipping over. She was shaking. If the zombie saw her it would be shambling down the alley to get her. I
f it had any friends around, they'd be joining him and she'd be the day's feast.
People aren't just being bitten, they're being raped… Geneva needed to see where it was before it snuck up on her. She lifted her head an inch at a time but it felt like forever before her eyes broke the plane and she could see over the dumpster.
The alley was empty. Thank you, Jesus.
Was that a moan from the other side of the dumpster?
Geneva knew it was now or never. The alley wouldn't stay abandoned for too long, especially with noises coming from it. She took two steps at got to the side away from the building and stopped, looking down at her empty hands. She was weaponless. What if it attacked her? What if there was a horde of squatting zombies on the other side, ready to rape her?
"What if, what if…" she whispered with anger. Daylight was wasting, she was hot and getting sun poisoning every second she stood here, and she was starting to get hungry. And she had to pee.
Geneva came around the dumpster as quietly as she could and stopped short when the person came into view. And it was a person, a woman, bleeding and unconscious. She was still alive because Geneva could see her chest moving up and down.
Now what?
Careful not to touch any of the blood spots on her, Geneva touched the woman's neck. "Hello?"
The woman's clear blue eyes opened and she smiled. "Am I in Heaven yet?" she whispered through parched lips.
"You're still alive." Geneva stepped back and knelt next to the woman. "I don't know how, but you're breathing. Have you been bitten, or… anything else?"
"I don't think so." The woman tried to stand but ended up leaning against the dumpster instead. "What day is it?"
Geneva shrugged as she helped the woman upright. "I have no idea."
"Where am I? I got separated from a group of survivors holed up near the Publix. I was attacked but I wasn't bitten." She patted herself down and tried to wipe dried blood off her arms. "I'm still alive."
Geneva smiled. "I haven't had someone to talk to since Warren left."
"Warren?" the woman asked and averted her eyes.
"You know him? He's still alive?" Geneva got excited. "Is he with your group?"
The woman closed her eyes. "You must be the woman he kept talking about."
"Yes. I'm Geneva. Did he mention me by name? Is he coming back?" She gripped the women's shoulders as she spoke excitedly. "What did he say about me? Does he miss me?"
The woman shrugged off Geneva's grip and rolled her neck. "We need to get out of this alley. Please tell me you have shelter and something to eat or drink."
Geneva smiled, elated to hear about Warren. Maybe this woman was the key to getting him back. She'd feed her, let her heal, clean her up a bit, and then she'll say nice things to Warren to get him to come home. "I live in this building."
The woman nodded. "How many of you are there?"
"Just me… and Warren. He'll come back for me. I know he will."
"Before we get inside, do we need to scavenge for food or water?"
Geneva laughed. "Heck no. I have enough supplies for the three of us to last months. Food, water, soda, batteries, music, first aid supplies, feminine hygiene stuff for us ladies, and whatever else we need."
The woman seemed focused now as she danced from foot to foot. "How do we get inside?"
Geneva hesitated. "Shouldn't you go get Warren first?"
A dark cloud past over the woman's face before she smiled. "Honey, I need to rest and eat for a couple of hours first. The Publix isn't that close and there are hundreds of those things between here and there."
"Fair enough." Geneva walked to the overhead ladder and pointed. "That's the way in."
The woman was taller than Geneva but strained to reach the bottom rung on a jump. "How were you planning on getting back up there?"
Geneva looked away embarrassed. "I didn't think about getting back up. I saw you down here in trouble and knew I needed to save you."
"And I thank you for that. Now, give me a boost."
"Why not give me a boost?" Geneva asked.
The woman laughed. "Honey, nothing personal, but I weigh about a buck twenty wet. You've been eating well. In my condition I hope I have the strength to pull myself up. Once I get up there I'll hang down so you can grip my ankles and we'll climb up."
Geneva knew this woman was her link to Warren. "Then we'll eat and go get Warren?"
"Of course." The woman looked back up. "I just need a little boost and then I'll pull myself up the ladder." She turned back to Geneva. "Do you have any rope?"
"Coils of different kinds. Warren raided a hardware store, but they are on the second floor in the Galvin apartment."
"Excellent. You have a veritable fortress filled with food and supplies. This is going to be fun for a change." The woman got into position. "Help me up."
When Geneva hesitated the woman looked her in the eye. "We're wasting time, and that's time you could be sharing with Warren."
Geneva helped the woman up and she managed to grip the bottom rung and pull herself onto the ladder, her feet hooking into the last step. She teetered, looking like she was going to fall, but managed to stay on the ladder and was standing within seconds.
"You did it," Geneva said and clapped quietly. "Now hang down so I can get up."
The woman began to climb, getting onto the first landing of the fire escape.
"Are you going to get the rope?" Geneva asked.
"Not likely."
Geneva was confused before the sad truth dawned on her. "You had no intention of helping me."
The woman grinned and peered down the alley. "This is a dog eat dog world, honey. You just let me into the doghouse and I got plenty of dog chow to keep me alive. Nothing personal."
"We can work together. You'll get lonely. You need me," Geneva said, trying to figure out a way to get back inside. Warren had nailed the bottom floor windows and doors up and there was no entrance except the fire escape.
The woman started to climb the fire escape. "I only need myself."
"What about Warren?"
The woman stopped. "Who?"
"You lied to me," Geneva spat.
"Dog eat dog. I'd go find another hiding place because when I get to the roof I might just call some dead friends over to meet you. I can't have you hanging around and trying to kill me or steal my stuff."
"Where's Warren?"
"How should I know? Everyone I've met so far I've killed or stolen from. Good luck finding him." The woman reached the roof and swung over. "Nice place you got here." She laughed. "Nice place I've got. Good luck finding Warren."
Geneva tried to jump and catch the bottom rung but missed again and again.
Armand Rosamilia
It was all falling into place, his dreams coming to fruition. He stared at the screen of his laptop and slowly read the first few words over and over aloud, savoring the sound…
Congratulations! We love your zombie new novel. In fact, we love it so much we're prepared to offer you a six-figure deal and we want to offer the same for the next three books in the series. We'll be sending a stretch limo in one week's time to whisk you to the airport so we can get you up here to New York and sign some contracts, wine and dine you, rave about your writing… Oprah has decided to do a personal interview with you. Live on the air, before Barbara Walters gets her claws in you… ever had a Cuban cigar? Three supermodels have sex in front of you? Eaten endangered animals for dinner? We also took the liberty of giving Alyssa Milano your home number. She thinks you are cute…
Maybe it didn’t actually say those exact words, but Armand Rosamilia, author, could read between the lines. This was his break, his time. Two failed marriages, dozens of relationships thrown by the wayside, three kids who hardly talked to him, and an ass which could barely squeeze through the front door anymore had all been worth it.
He'd show them all. With the millions he'd be raking in soon he'd get a personal trainer (he was quite fond of that hot chick from
The Biggest Loser) and spend for some of that fat-sucking magic as well. Armand wasn't about to give up eating M&M's but he'd do anything else to get in shape and look good for his many appearances and TV interviews he'd be doing.
The bathroom mirror showed a monster, but when he looked closer trough his dirty eye contacts he realized it was only his own sad reflection: his balding (fine, he was bald) head was unshaven and he looked like Friar Tuck meets Bozo the Clown. His long, straggly gray goatee was shadowed by his unkempt beard (also gray) that circled his bulging necks. He counted at least three.
None of it mattered. It would all be gone soon. He'd lose a hundred pounds, gain some definition in his flabby arms and lose the M&M gut, much larger than a beer gut. He'd shave his head and face, dye the goatee and buy nice clothes. His current wardrobe consisted of several zombie-themed T-shirts, most with holes and stains on them, and ratty gym shorts. He had sneakers and shoes somewhere in a closet, but preferred his old man slippers to glide around the house.
Armand was about to call out to one of his kids to get him another bag of M&M's from the cabinet but realized they were gone. Everyone was gone. He vaguely remembered a woman living here with him, yelling about how he never listened or something along those lines… he couldn't be bothered. He'd show her, and those bratty kids of his. Wherever they were.
His usual afternoon routine consisted of taking a quick power nap (two to three hours) right after finishing his second pot of coffee and another half a bag of plain M&M's. He went into the kitchen and pulled the bag of candy from the cabinet and was dismayed to see this was his third to last bag of M&M's. He'd need to make a trip to Publix after his nap, which would involve a long walk in the heat of Florida.
Since he never used his car any more, he'd let his driver's license, car insurance and car registration expire. He still had the car (a rusting piece of shit Kia) in the driveway but he hadn't turned it over in months. It had cobwebs underneath.
Still Dying: Select Scenes From Dying Days Page 10