“There it is, kids,” Ron says. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
A double set of chain link fence spreads out across the road, adorned with razor wire on top and cement blockades in front. As the truck approaches, the bones that litter the road begin to crack under the weight of the vehicle. Over a few fresh bodies, the tread slops and splatters like ripened fruit exploding in the sun.
“Just cover your ears, it’s nothin’,” Ron says, feigning a nauseous smile.
When the truck is within a hundred yards, the bodies on the road become thicker and a voice comes loud from a bullhorn.
“Stop where you are and turn off the vehicle.”
Ron puts up his hands and nods his head. He places the truck in park and turns off the ignition. The sweat begins to bead up along his face as he nervously drops the keys on the seat.
“Now slowly exit the vehicle and keep your hands above your head.”
Ron nods again and opens the door with his left hand, keeping his right at the top of his head.
From two towers on either side of the road, behind the fence, soldiers keep aim on Ron as he exits. Their faces are lost behind gas masks and dull, flat black helmets. “You two stay here while I work this out. I’ll have them come back for you,” he whispers over his shoulder, not daring to divert his gaze from the soldiers.
Emma whispers back in agreement and cowers down lower in the back seat, placing her hand on Billy’s head, instructing him to do the same.
“Now walk slowly toward the gate” The bullhorn sounds out with a dry click and faint static.
With machine guns leveled at his head, Ron shuffles through the corpses at his feet, too afraid to flinch. The smell is overpowering as maggots and dried shards of flesh squish beneath his shoes. He can imagine Hell in the odor, sweet with decay and pungent with rot.
“Stop,” the soldier orders, “and get down on your knees.”
Ron glances at the filth with a sick expression and drops down to one knee. He can feel the bile rise in his throat as the slop courses up through his pants. He imagines mud and tries to breathe through his mouth to abate the stench, but is assaulted by a rancid taste that clings to his teeth and lines his mouth. His eyes begin to water as the bullhorn barks back to life.
“Keep your hands on your head.”
Ron’s eyes tighten, loosening tears as he nods in compliance. He can hear faint clicks sound out as he recoils from the stench and tries to hold his breath.
An order is given, but Ron can’t make out the severity over the bullets that rain down upon him. He feels the hot lead penetrate like a volley of fists, but can’t register what’s happening.
Emma screams from the backseat as she watches Ron jerk from the impacting bullets. She jumps to the front of the truck and fumbles for the keys. After scratching the side of the ignition a few times, she manages to get the key to fit and twists it hard. As tall as she is for her age, she can’t reach the pedals and is forced to slide down until the windshield is out of view before she can stomp on the gas.
The truck swerves and weaves over broken bodies, sending a splattering of rot up along the bed as the tires spin in the remains.
“I need your help,” she screams as she whips the truck around and slams the shifter into drive.
Out of the corner of his eye, Billy can see a soldier taking aim. He can see the determination in the man’s glare. He launches himself over the seat as bullets pepper the side of the truck. There is a burning sting in his side as he pushes Emma out of the way, but he ignores it through the adrenalin and panic that is coursing through his veins.
Emma jerks back in the seat and stares at Billy. His eyes flicker with pain as he gives her an awkward smile. She tries to thank him, but he’s on the floor and pressing the gas pedal before she can. The truck skids and fishtails through the bodies below as Billy puts his weight on the gas.
“A little slower,” Emma shouts and Billy eases up on the pedal.
Gunshots quiet in the distance as Emma steers the truck, trying her best to keep it on the road over the slick that still clings to the tires.
“My side hurts,” Billy says.
Emma looks down at the pool of red saturating his t-shirt. “It’s going to be okay,” she says, trying to comfort him. “We’ll stop soon.”
Emma pulls off the road and onto a narrow dirt trail inside a sparse cropping of trees. She drives along the path until she can’t see the main road any longer. She glances down at Billy from time to time to make sure he’s all right.
The boy’s breath has become shallow and he wheezes through Emma’s instructions.
“Tap the brakes,” she says. Once the truck slows enough, she tells him to press the brake pedal down as far as he can, and she sets the shifter into park.
Billy rises up from the floor with a look of pain that distorts his face. He makes his way up to the seat, grunting and holding his side. He looks down at his blood covered shirt for only a moment before he feels lightheaded and turns away.
“Let me look at it,” she says and begins to lift his shirt.
“Do you know doctor stuff?” he asks, gritting his teeth as Emma peels the shirt back.
“No.” she shakes her head. “But I know how to bandage cuts.”
He shakes his head and moans. “If my dad was here, he’d know what to do.”
Emma reaches in the back and grabs her pack. After sorting through the contents, she pulls out her book and the first aid kit. She leafs through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for.
“It says to keep pressure on it and make sure it’s clean.” She opens the kit and pulls out a can of antiseptic spray. “This is going to sting,” she says as she taps the nozzle.
Billy recoils in pain when the mist hits his side. “Ow, it hurts,” he says as he looks down at the wound and nearly passes out.
“Just lay back, I think I can do this,” she replies. Bloody fingerprints stain the pages as she flips through the pages of the book. She uncoils a length of bandage and places it on the side of the seat. “I need you to sit up so I can wrap this around you.”
Billy does as he’s told and winces through while Emma applies the gauze and begins to coil the bandage around his body.
“We’re going to have to put fresh ones on every once in a while,” she says, placing a length of medical tape across the end.
“Do you think it’ll be okay?” he asks.
“I think so.”
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah,” she says, wrinkling up the side of her mouth in a smile. “I kind of like having you around.”
Billy smiles at her and lies back on the seat, his eyes fluttering sleepily as he rests.
“Thank you,” she says as he begins to nod off.
“For what?”
“For saving me.”
“Awe, it was nothin’” he replies. “I just didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
She smiles at him and watches as he dozes off.
As Billy sleeps, Emma sorts through what they have stored in the truck. From behind the seat, in a small pouch attached to the back, she finds a map. It is a thin book and not very detailed, but she can make out where they are. She traces the roads with her finger and guides it along a highway that leads to Colorado.
From the back of the survival guide, she pulls out a picture, wrinkle and broken around the edges. On the back is directions written in her grandpa’s handwriting. It details the roads that would be best to take to get to the cabin on the other side of the picture. The directions are simple and easy for her to read now that she has a full map. She flips the picture over and again as Billy snores on the other side of the bench seat.
She remembers going there a few years ago with her mom and meeting up with her grandfather on the long, desolate trail. She remembers how high the cabin was and she remembers the smell of the trees and the wood that the cabin was built out of. She remembers it as a hazy dream from when times weren’t so bad.
As Billy
rests, she gathers the things she needs and fastens a set of large, empty water bottles to the gas and brake pedals with the medical tape. She sits in the driver’s seat and tests to make sure she can reach them without having to sink too far down into the seat. Satisfied, she locks the doors and eases herself back, letting her eyes rest as she thinks about what she has lost.
All the faces gather and jump in her dreams, fluttering from one image to the next as she remembers them. She sees her grandfather fall over backward through the hatch and her view changes abruptly.
April stares through the attic window and quietly asks why. Greg is there too, his mouth is snarling as the dead thing knocks him to the ground. She misses Scarlet the most, she misses they way she smiled even when things were at their worst. Johnny ruffles her hair and grins, the blue of his eyes shimmering like the sky.
For all of this she remembers, her dreams are scattered and hopeless, but then the cabin comes into view just like the old, blurry picture she found. In that image, all of the pain and misery seems to fall away and becomes replaced with hope and possibility.
Epilogue -
Emma is much older now. Her face is thinner and more refined. Her features have become delicate and more pronounced.
Her hair trails at the side of her face, gently caressing her cheeks as she stands at the edge of the cliff in front of the cabin and gazes down at the dead. The emaciated husks stumble and swoon in the valley below, letting rotten strips of flesh swing with their tired movements. The skeletal remains of countless others that followed them so many years ago lay like the twigs and branches of disregarded trees after a storm. They shine under the morning sun, gleaming white and clean like they’ve been bathed in countless ages.
She turns and her stomach juts out in pregnant glory, curving down to her waist, ushering in the promise of many tomorrows. She cradles it like the most fragile of things and places her hand on top as she turns back toward the cabin.
Out front, there is a hand well with flaking red paint and rust at the edges. Along the porch, plants sway in the breeze that comes from behind, taking away the smell of the dead. At the other side of the property, a steep slope descends to the canyon floor, shaded in trees too old to fret over the passing of days.
A simple garden sprawls out along the far side of the cabin, growing under the constant sunlight it receives. Corn stands against the cabin, dropping down to poles covered in beans and potatoes resting at the bottom. Carrots and onions round out the edge of the garden, right in front of a patch of herbs that glisten with a fresh watering.
The cabin is modest, but gives them everything that could hope for. Billy hangs a hide from a circular network of twigs, bound together with sinew, and stretches it before hanging it from the side of the cabin to dry. A small smoke house bellows out the aroma of meat and spices and he adjusts the flue to lower the temperature.
The squawking of birds sounds out from overhead as their wings flap furiously before they glide downward to the valley. There are more of them with every passing year, more than Emma can count at once. They dive through the air and attack the wavering dead, relieving them of the rot that hangs from ligaments that juts out between cracked and weathered skin. With scraps of rancid meat in their beaks, every predatory bird Emma can recall makes itself known to the sky. They flip the meat in their beaks and return to the sea of death that has gathered.
“How long do you think it will take them to eat all that,” Billy says, wrapping his arms around Emma.
“I don’t know,” she answers. “Every year, they thin them out a little more.”
“Do you think there’ll ever be a time when we can go back down?” he asks, straightening out the sparse tuft of beard that covers his chin.
“I don’t know why we would ever want to,” she says. “We have everything we need right here.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says with a nod and a deep breath. “Still, it would be nice if our son had someone to play with.”
“I told you, we’re having a girl,” she says, pursing her lips. “We’re going to name her April.”
“After the month?” he asks.
“Yeah, after the month,” she replies.
Waiting to Die ~ A Zombie Novel Page 22