by Rose Francis
For the most part, Derek just seemed to be there—he never had a solid goal or ambition as long as Steven could recall, and eventually, Derek became just a tagalong: whenever Steven decided on something, Derek sort of went along for the ride. Back in eighth grade, when Steven announced he wanted to be a pilot, Derek suddenly wanted to be one, too. When their mom got Steven a lego set one Christmas, suddenly the gift she had gotten Derek became insufficient to him, and all Derek wanted to do was play with the lego set instead of the toy he had specified and gotten from their mother. When Steven joined the military after high school, Derek left behind mooching off of their mother to follow him. Even when Steven got a girlfriend, Derek got one.
Steven had seen such relationships before—a sibling looking up to another to the point of almost becoming a leech—but it was usually the younger sibling doing the leeching.
Steven often wondered what Derek would have done if he hadn’t come along.
Oddly enough, Steven had always sensed a competitive drive from Derek whenever Steven made an ambition or mission clear, as if Derek was determined to do whatever Steven did, but better. Unfortunately for Derek, that day hadn’t yet come—he never turned out to be as good as Steven at anything; in fact, everywhere he got since their adulthood was as a result of simply being Steven’s brother—folks wanted to see if he had anywhere near the same potential and gave him a shot.
Steven sometimes wondered just how deeply his brother’s resentment of him ran, as Derek fell short over and over again. Steven never felt like they were Cain and Abel waiting to happen—he had never felt homicidal toward Derek, and he never got the impression that his brother wanted to do away with him either, despite them generally getting along better the more distance they had between them. If Steven disappeared, then what would Derek do? They were more like The Joker and Batman—their existence and purpose was enhanced by the other’s presence.
Sometimes, Steven thought that they were a bit like Jacob and Esau. As far as he remembered the story from those long-ago required trips to church, Esau, the slacker and eldest, eventually lost his birthright to Jacob, the more hardworking one, and rightfully so—despite the deception involved. As for Derek and Steven, their father ended up leaving Steven everything he had—again, rightfully so. Steven had always been the responsible one, and it hadn’t been lost on their dad. Their father didn’t have a whole lot to leave them anyway, and some property somewhere meant absolutely nothing now.
At times, Steven thought of him and his brother as a bit like Thor and Loki, but what Derek lacked in actual strength, confidence and bravery, he made up for in brawn instead of cunning, bulking himself up into formidable shape. Derek at least gave the impression of being a daunting figure, despite the weakness Steven knew existed inside of him—a weakness their parents had apparently sniffed out, along with others who met, and had no qualms about verbally comparing out loud, the brothers.
Their parents had never said as much, and it didn’t mean a whole lot in the end, but Steven knew that he was their favorite, and there was no doubt Derek had caught on to it, too.
Still, Derek managed to react negatively to his lesser position only a few times. Once, on Steven’s ninth birthday, Derek had wrapped a rotten banana and given it to him as a gift. Steven had figured out what it was due to its shape, but he never figured out if the banana was rotten before or after it got wrapped. In any case, it was useless and smelly, and he did what he thought was the right thing at the time—he thanked his brother through tight lips, and then immediately dumped it in the garbage.
Derek went into a rage and attacked him.
Steven had wondered how he could react so strongly after having disrespected him in the first place? Steven had just turned nine, and Derek was eleven, so surely he knew what he was doing when he presented the ‘gift?’
Although they had never been close, Steven hoped his brother had managed to make it somewhere out there in the ruined landscape, and that he had found something to do with himself—something purposeful and fulfilling, like perhaps helping others in a way—independent of any desire to show up his younger brother.
Every now and then, Steven was struck with sadness that Derek had never been able to focus his life in a direction that made him happy, and that he seemed to just let himself get tossed in waves or led along like some…
Steven sighed.
Like some zombie.
*
Steven saw another body that needed burning—a male, on the larger side.
For a moment his heart seized as he thought the body looked familiar.
He went up to it slowly, expecting the face of the dead body, staring up at him before he gassed it and lit it on fire, to be his brother’s.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about the possibility of being the one to find Derek dead, but he breathed a sigh of relief when the staring eyes were not the familiar blue ones of his older sibling.
Steven realized that he had been thinking about Derek too much, and he was no longer confident that he wanted the closure.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DUPED
Derek smiled to himself as the car roared to life. The satisfaction of hot-wiring a car and coaxing its metal and wire parts into submission never got old.
He looked at the gas gauge, waiting for it to settle. When it did, it indicated that the tank was half full.
He almost punched the air and yelled, “Yes!”—he could get pretty far on that.
Derek briefly wondered what had happened to the car’s previous owner, then decided he would rather not know.
He happily put the car into drive.
He knew he might have to walk a bit again before running into another vehicle he could use once the gas ran out, but for now, hope roared to life with the car, and he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
He tried to calculate how many miles he had based on the car’s model.
Let’s see…maybe a fifteen gallon tank, maybe twenty-two miles a gallon…
While he struggled with the math, Derek felt relief over the easing of one sensation in particular as he drove along. All the while he had been walking the road before settling on this baby in particular, he had felt the familiar sensation on his neck from predatory eyes, and as much as his senses prickled, he never spotted any movement, or watchful, stalking orbs; he never caught the shadow of whoever—or whatever—had their eye on him.
The feeling disappeared once the car started.
In any case, Derek knew that he was getting closer and closer to safety—to a place where he could be helped; after all, he knew that he was one of the lucky ones: he had a resistance to the virus that managed to grab a hold of him like so many others, but unlike those poor souls, his body had the ability to fight it off.
‘Bout a hundred and fifty miles! Derek finally figured, joyous at how far the car could possibly take him.
And where was he now, Barstow? The car could take him straight into Nevada, and very close to his intended destination.
He would pretty much be in the clear at some point, because, well, what zombie would take the route he planned on? It was rough out there—a huge desert with no lush supply of fresh human bodies along the way, he would bet. He could probably walk the rest of the way once the car ran out of gas and be fine—as long as he had enough water.
At some point, Derek felt a familiar dull poke. As dehydrated as he felt, he had to pee.
Derek stopped the car and got out, but made sure not to go far—the diseased might be slow in daylight, but who knew how motivated they could become the hungrier they got? Next thing he knew, one of those diseased fools could open the car door and hide in the back for long enough to scratch or bite him again.
He wasn’t stupid.
*
Derek rejoiced when he realized he had crossed the California-Nevada border, and he knew when he had safely made it deeper into Nevada, but thirst was killing him—almost to the point that he was willing to risk going amongst the gathered diseased
or the completely turned in whatever storefront he came across.
He needed a clean stop, and fast, and he had the feeling that his current location would probably be his last chance before hitting the last highway to safety.
Maybe there were survivors with supplies in that church over there? Or huddled in that old museum across the way?
Derek drove a little slower, examining the structures around him, and then decided to give a ghost of a gas station a try. It looked completely abandoned, just like everything else around him. If anyone was around in the area—healthy or diseased—no one was showing any sign of it.
The gas station’s windows were broken, and Derek already knew what he’d find once he looked in, despite holding on to some hope. But the place had been absolutely raided—not a single thing to eat or drink.
Then the thought occurred to him—maybe he could force some gasoline out of the pumps and extend the usefulness of the car while he was there?
Derek set about trying to squeeze out some extra gasoline.
He had been driving since late morning, and evening—or the appearance of it—would be coming in soon, so he had to be quick.
*
Derek had successfully managed a tiny bit of gas and poured it into the car, buying him perhaps another fifteen miles, when a sound caught his attention.
He turned toward the sound, and the bottles laid out in his line of vision almost seemed too good to be true.
Was he seeing things? Was this one of those desert mirages?
Derek stayed put as long as he could to properly assess the situation, but the sight of those water bottles energized him.
Where had they come from? Had he simply missed them standing there? Had some healthy person grabbed them from the store, then had to leave them behind as a mob of diseased attacked him and dragged his body off?
Derek’s mouth almost watered; if there had been any extra moisture lying around, it might have.
Perhaps, he thought, a survivor had seen him having a hard time in the store, searching high and low for this very thing and had anticipated his desire. Perhaps he or she had peeked through some house or drive-through window, and a tiny bit of humanity left in them compelled them to put their own safety and life aside for the moment, and put out those few water bottles over there in the road, just about twenty feet away.
One had fallen, and was now rolling like a bowling pin, and it had been the sound of that rolling that had gotten his attention.
There was no real dilemma—Derek knew what he had to do. Surviving without food was one thing—people could go weeks, even months without food—but water?
Derek headed to the bottles, holding on to the hope that they wouldn’t disappear.
So distracted was he by the treasure trove before him, that he reacted too late to the sound of running feet; in fact, his first thought was that it might have been another survivor, trying to steal his water.
By the time the figure reached him, it was able to grab a hold of him with its teeth, sinking them into his arm.
Derek screamed out.
God damn it, not again—not when I’m so close!
Derek fought and fought to get the creature off, but it soon released him—almost too easily—and ran off, slinking back into the shadows, and hiding itself behind some obstruction.
Stupid creature probably thought he was fair game, and then didn’t like the taste of him.
How the hell had the creature come this far anyway? Had he rode along under the car? Or had he been a creature from this ghost town?
As Derek’s impression of the diseased figure settled, once the pain of the bite started to fade, he couldn’t shake that the creature reminded him of his brother’s old friend, Gregory.
Derek grabbed the water bottles and rushed toward his borrowed car. He had no more time to spare.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RETURN
Steven felt a rumbling in the earth and braced himself.
He made sure that the area around him was clear and that nothing could fall on him, and then he slowed to a stop.
The rumbling increased, and the ground shook with a ferocity he had never felt before.
All he could think about was Serena—how much he longed to see her again, and how much time he had wasted out here in the San Diego wasteland trying to save others when he should have concentrated more on himself, like so many others would and did. But he had never had it in him to be so shortsighted.
When the rumblings ceased, he was thankful that his vehicle was still upright, and he crossed his fingers that he could find an undamaged path back to the Nevada compound.
In the meantime, he waited for the aftershocks. When he felt quite certain that they were over, he prepared himself to head back. There was no doubt that this mission was over.
He wasn’t sure if the earthquake was Nature holding up a middle finger or extending a helping hand, or even if somehow the cause was man-made, but he hoped that something good would come of it. If they were lucky, a tsunami would show up and help wipe the land clean, and he would be far into Nevada by then.
*
Steven felt a growing excitement as the time before he saw Serena again shortened.
He had been in Nevada for a while, and he estimated that he had another hundred miles to go before arriving at the compound. Less than two hours!
Steven’s eyes scanned the landscape as usual, and then he glimpsed the figure of what was undoubtedly a Morph in the road ahead of him. He considered just running it over, but death was no guarantee in that case, and he needed to inflict death. For what was hopefully the last time on his single-man mission, he would take a Morph out.
Steven slowed down the vehicle and prepared the usual—he double-checked his gun and got the fire-starter supplies ready.
When he left the APC and moved closer, he realized that the figure looked familiar, and his heart took a dive.
Steven didn’t think the Morph could look much worse, yet he did. Still, he recognized Gregory’s form, despite him looking even less human than before. Before, his skin hadn’t been mostly purple and gray, but he now undoubtedly looked diseased, and even more than that—he looked like he was dying. Gregory was probably in the second-to-last stage before his body completely succumbed to the disease and he dropped dead.
While his stature and hair had looked familiar, tipping Steven off, it was the T-shirt that gave him away—a T-shirt that Gregory had borrowed from him long ago that he never cared to get back.
“You still attached to that one, bud?” Steven asked with a sour chuckle, knowing his friend wouldn’t answer him. “I never really liked it anyway,” he continued. “Forgot how I even got it. Oh, wait—won it in some bar game, right?”
Gregory only started shuffling toward him, determined, yet slowed down by the remaining daylight.
Steven wondered how long he had been waiting there for a body, for his next fresh meal.
Steven knew it was risky to leave the APC, and that something could have changed in the anatomy of the diseased that could leave him vulnerable. Gregory might even be able to somehow signal to other Morphs that a viable candidate for food was nearby. Like pheromones. Or did the Morphs become selfish? Did they do everything in their power to have a meal by themselves instead of having to share with a pack, despite how much a pack could come in handy for hunting?
Still, Steven felt compelled to continue. He had so much to say to his friend—so much that he had never gotten to.
“I love you, buddy,” he began, hoping Gregory could at least hear that. “And I should have taken you out a while ago. Although, I’ve got to admit—I’m still having trouble doing this now.”
The break in his voice echoed through his ears, and Steven realized he was reaching a dangerous point.
Humor would help.
“Hey, how is it your hair still looks good?” he asked, trying to will away the tears gathering in his eyes as he raised his gun to level with Gregory’s head.
Steven won
dered how many bodies Gregory had feasted on, and how many more people he had turned all this time that he had managed to stay alive. In any case, there was no letting nature take its course this time, no more waiting for someone else to do the job he should have done.
“I’ve gotta say, bud—and I know you’d hate to hear it, so I’m glad that you probably can’t—but I’m crazy about her—Serena.” Another bitter chuckle escaped him. “Yes, I love your wife.” Steven shook his head. “I never meant for it to happen—it just did, and I did my best to deal with it; you know I’d never cross you like that. But now, we’re all each other’s got left.”
Gregory kept shuffling forward, his face unchanged. Uncomprehending. Uncaring.
“You know what? Sometimes I wondered if she knew how I felt about her and was deliberately torturing me. Like this one time I came to pick you guys up so we could hang out at a bar for the night. While she and I waited for you to finish getting ready, she pulled out this photo album of you guys for me to look through. Who does that? No one ever wants to see someone else’s photos like that, whether of adults or children. Anyway, I had to sit there and feign interest in photos of you guys at Sea World, or some other date. And fine, maybe she was like those parents who think anything their kid does is interesting, but what about the way she dressed when the three of us went out? You always talked about having a hard time getting her to wear something other than sneakers, jeans and a T-shirt, but when I was around, she found heels?” Steven braced himself.
“Anyway, all this to say she was committed to you, whether she was aware of how I felt or not. She loved you, bud. Like you loved her. And no matter how much I wanted to think she was sending me some kind of message, she probably wasn’t—she was probably totally oblivious. She dressed up for you, not me. But I’ll admit—I often wondered if she meant more, and if she was communicating to me secretly since that’s what I wanted so badly. I just had this crazy hope. You know how it is, man. Love makes you crazy.
“Remember that time you guys were staying with me for a week until your new apartment was ready? Well, you had gone off to work one day and, as usual, when she got up, I invited her to breakfast—I knew you had no problem with that, and you even made her go with me once, and I appreciate that. Anyway, she accepted, took a shower, and then left the bathroom in full view of me, dripping wet in a towel. She gave me this weird look as she pretended to modestly run off to the spare bedroom you guys slept in. All I could think was that she could have spared me the sight—she had done it before when you were there: emerging from the bathroom fully dressed, having taken her change of clothes in with her. But she probably just forgot that other time. Man, I got so worked up after that—all the uncertainty messed with my mind. Did she or didn’t she have some other kind of feelings for me? I needed to know! Even without any intention of doing anything about it. She was just so full of mixed messages.”