by Rick Wood
But she had to keep Laney safe.
Allowing her to be his puppet was the only way to stop him from potentially advancing onto the child. The man was sick.
So she did it. Whatever she had to, she did it.
She detested herself for it, but she did it.
She was glad there was no mirror in that room. For if they had a mirror, she wasn’t sure she could look in it.
Bill burped as he threw the tin across the room, onto the mountain of mess they had created.
“We don’t got many left,” Bill declared, his eyes still looking at her with that lustful glint of satisfaction.
“We’ll just have to ration them.”
“I ain’t rationing nothing.”
“That’s the only way we–”
“I said, I ain’t rationing nothing.”
Kristine took a deep breath.
Bill’s eyes wandered downwards, prompting her to cross her legs and pull down her skirt.
Bill blurted out a creepy chuckle.
“I love it,” he announced, shaking his head. “I must have fucked you a hundred times by now. I must have smeared your tits and knotted your hair with my cum. I’ve even watched you shit and piss, touching myself as you did it. But me, sitting here, perving up your skirt. That’s what creeps you out?”
She remained silent.
What could she say? He was right.
She felt herself sink lower. Felt her self-worth diminish with her self-respect, falling into the bucket of faeces that sat potently in the far corner.
Her eyes turned to Laney. Ensuring the young girl wasn’t listening to Bill’s depraved rambling. Saving Laney from the reality of the world they were living in. Not having to hear the horrors inside or outside the basement.
“What do we do then, Bill? So we don’t ration, we eat it all. Then what?”
Bill stood, stretching his arms and cracking his back. He sauntered to the bucket in the corner and lifted the lid. Instantly, the stench of the last few months of excrement forced Kristine to turn her head to the side and grimace. He stood, pissing in it, and on the floor all around it. He even turned to look at Kristine, smug at the mess he was making.
“Well, baby doll. It’s been fun in here, but I suggest we start thinking about getting out.”
He turned around, making a point of not zipping up his flies until she had scowled at the sight of his fat, spotty cock.
“You think I’m disgusting?” he asked, taking a few sweaty steps toward her.
“Bill, please.”
“You think I’m disgusting, eh?”
She swallowed a mouthful of vomit.
“And how would you suggest we get out?” Kristine asked, ignoring his vulgar questioning.
“Through the door,” he answered patronisingly, as if she was the most stupid person alive.
“How? There’s no way to contact the outside. There’s too many of them, they’ll have barricaded us in.”
“Well that’s not strictly true,” Bill said, throwing himself onto the floor opposite her, playfully poking her thigh with his scabby toe. She could smell his body odour and, even though she imagined at this point she likely smelt just as bad, it made her choke.
“What do you mean?”
“There is a radio. It’s two rooms across the corridor.”
“What?” Kristine replied in astonishment.
Was he telling the truth?
Or was he just tormenting her further?
“It’s the room where they teach Media Studies an’ all that. They have mics, radios, and stuff to transmit. I know, ’cause we installed it two weeks before shit hit the fan.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Don’t give a shit what you believe, ’cause it’s still there, whether you believe it or not.”
Kristine was a kind-hearted person, someone who led with her head, didn’t let anger get the better of her. But right there, in that moment, if she had the strength, she would have throttled his fat neck until he suffocated to death.
“You mean, you’ve known it was there all along?”
“Yup.” He nodded cockily.
“And you haven’t said a single thing about it?”
“Nope.” He shook his head, his grin growing wider and more infuriating.
“Why the heck not?”
“Because as long as we had food, we survived down here. And as long as we survived down here, I got to plough that sweet, sweet pussy of yours.”
He said the word pussy with a hot, outward breath, full of toxins and garlic.
Her body tensed. She filled with rage.
They could have gone for the radio?
It was there all along?
And he…
He forced her to stay down there.
Degrading herself for Laney’s safety.
Forcing herself to endure his disgusting advances, just so he could take vile pleasure in having his sordid way.
“How dare you!” she snapped.
He burst out laughing.
This only infuriated her further, but she knew that when she was angry, she only came across as amusing to other people. Sometimes, being a sweet woman with a soft voice only served to make her a more vulnerable target.
“I say, get your little girl ready, and we make a move,” Bill decided, standing up and wandering to the last few tins of food they had left.
She glared at him. Seethed at him. Filled with contempt.
“That is,” he began, turning his leering smile toward her, “unless you want another go first?”
Her hands gripped. Her muscles tensed. Her eyes narrowed into a menacing glare.
He cackled at the sight of her anger, like it was the most hilarious sight he’d ever seen.
She swore to herself that if one of them had to die so the others could survive – he would be it.
He would never again lay a finger on her, nor would he touch Laney.
She would see to that.
Minus Eight Hours
31
Feeling his bare shins paddle through the water made Gus feel like a child again. As he sat on the bank of the river, cleaning his scar in the lake, he felt a sense of peace. A sense of solitude he’d been yearning for over the past few days.
Gus was growing hungry. He needed energy for the task he was about to undertake. So, leaving Sadie to guard the car, Gus had prompted Donny to seek out food. Maybe he’d come across a zombie and finally learn to fight for a change. Or, most likely, he’d shit his pants, and get eaten.
Ah well, one less burden.
Gus shook his head. He needed to stop thinking like that. Stop being such an arsehole.
Sure, his opportunity for death was approaching, and he was welcoming it like an old friend, but he still had a legacy. He still had the last few days of his life to leave a lasting impression.
But who cares, eh?
Who cares what he left behind?
There was nothing on this earth keeping him there. Nothing at all.
Yet the thought of potential resolution did make him wonder what would become of his two incompetent comrades.
Sadie. What she could be. What it all could mean. It could save the world.
She took the blood of zombies into her mouth, and survived.
Yet, she hasn’t survived…
Because she still staggered like one of them. Had the verbal capabilities of one of them. Had the strength and agility of ten of them. Her eyes still turned yellow when she fought.
Her blood could be what the world needed.
Only one question hung over his head like a black cloud.
Her blood could save the world…
But is it a world worth saving?
“Hello.”
Gus had turned around, drawn his knife, and thrust it in the direction of the voice before he’d even realised what he was doing, clutching the leather handle and readying himself for whatever attack was about to occur.
Except, it wasn’t an attack. It
was a scared little girl.
Her face turned red and her lip quivered with tears. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old. She had pig-tails either side of her neat blond hair, with a warm, snug jumper above a frilly skirt that bore a flowery pattern.
Gus dropped the knife to his side, scanned her up and down for weapons, then, seeing that she was in fact just an innocent little girl, put the knife back into his belt.
“Are you… are you going to hurt me?” she asked, her voice full of terror.
“No,” Gus answered. “What are you doing out here?”
“My mummy and daddy were here, and now I can’t find them.”
Gus looked around himself. Whilst t/he girl seemed perfectly safe, he had no idea what her parents would be like, and he endeavoured to remain cautious.
“What you doin’ out here with your mum and dad?”
“Well, Mummy was trying to set a fire to help cook whatever Daddy brought home. He was fishing on this lake, and then – then we got separated.”
She bowed her head shamefully. She seemed innocent – but too innocent. As if her childish voice and sobbing mentality was perfectly synthesised. Gus told himself that he’d seen too much, and that he was being ridiculous. It was just a child.
“Will you help me find them?” she asked optimistically, her eyelids batting as she looked quizzically up at him.
“I don’t know, kid, I kinda got stuff to do.”
“But – but I don’t want to go out there on my own. I’m scared that those zombies will get me, and eat me.!
He’d told the other two that they had an hour before they resumed the journey. He looked to the sun descending in the sky and guessed he had roughly ten to fifteen minutes left.
“Please,” she begged, reaching her delicate hand toward him, prompting him to place his in hers.
He sighed.
She was nothing like his daughter. His daughter was so genuine. This girl was so… Forthright.
“Fine,” he grunted, taking her hand and allowing her to lead him further into the woods. She directed him adamantly, and it occurred to him that she seemed pretty set in the direction she was taking him, despite being so unequivocally lost.
“You seem to know where you’re going.”
“I last saw them through here. You’ll help me, won’t you? Protect me from the bad people? And the infected?”
“Sure.”
He sighed. Looked around himself. Nothing but trees and bushes. The further she led him, the taller the trees seemed to grow. They blocked out more and more of the evening sun until they were towering over him like foreboding giants, casting shadows over the green terrain.
“What’s your name anyway, kid?”
“My name is Stacey Simons.”
“Stacey Simons?” he repeated. It sounded like a kid’s television presenter. Or a clown. Or a comedian. Why would parents name a kid that? It was bizarre.
This whole thing was bizarre.
And Gus was sure that the ten-fifteen-minute window he’d allowed himself was running out.
“Eh, kid,” Gus prompted, bringing them both to a stop. He tried to take his hand back, but she’d gripped onto him pretty strongly and he struggled to loosen himself. “Look, I got things I need to do. I can’t be traipsing all around the woods. We’re going to get lost.”
“Okay.”
“Can I have my hand back?”
“Okay.”
Feeling relief, he took his hand back and stared down at it. It had gone red, such was the ferocity of her grip, and it was beginning to throb. How had such a little girl managed to cause him to have such a limp hand?
How was she so strong?
Before he could acknowledge what was happening, the girl ripped the knife out of his belt and swung it into the scar tissue on his calf, right beside where his bullet was lodged.
He collapsed to his knees, wailing in agony, hearing his scream reverberate back to him multiple times. Tears shredded his eyes as he battled with the torture in his right leg.
He went for his gun, but it was gone. He went for the knife beside his shin, but it had gone.
She’d removed them. She must have. She’d taken them, as she had led him further into the woods, she’d somehow done it without him noticing… but how?
“What have you done?” he asked, whimpering in anguish, grabbing hold of his leg. The pain was searing up and down his shin and his thigh, spreading like fire through paper. His mind was filled with clouds. He could not form a single coherent thought, such was the pain shooting through him.
“Wow, Stacey, you have quite the catch!” came a chirpy, middle-aged man’s voice.
Gus twisted his neck upwards to take in the sight of the emerging man. He was the perfect image of a suburban middle-class father. His hair neatly parted to one side, with a woolly jumper over open collar and light-cream trousers. Beside him was a woman with equally distinguishable taste in fashion. She peered her blue eyes down at him, flicking her long, neatly groomed blond locks over her shoulder and crossing her arms over her expensive floral dress.
Battling against the pain and torment of his manically disjointed thoughts, he went to throw a fist, but was halted by the sight of his own gun pointed directly at his face.
“Ah, ah, ah!” dismissed the man. “We don’t engage in such unpleasantries in front of the ladies now, do we?”
“What the fuck are you people?”
“Oh, do mind me, where are my manners? Stacey, my daughter, you have met. My name is James, and this is my wife, Trisha.” He squeezed the hand of his wife and they gave each other a sneaky smile, like they were watching their child score a goal at their Sunday football game. “You have done so well, darling. So, so well.”
Gus glared at the girl. Stacey. Supposedly innocent.
“You bitch.”
James stomped his brown suede shoe down upon Gus’s bleeding calf, and Gus wailed in pain once more, scrunching his eyes as he lifted his head up to the heavens.
Must think clearly. Must think objectively. Must focus.
“One doesn’t address a lady in such a manner in civilised company. Sweetie, I do apologise for you having to hear such profanities.”
“It is really okay, Daddy. I think he’s quite a filthy man. His hand was all rough and coarse.”
“Well, you did an exquisite job of subtly relieving him of his weapons. We were behind you the whole time, just picking them up like Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs!”
Stacey blushed and smiled proudly, lifting her shoulders up to disguise her pleasure at the perfect fatherly compliment.
“So what? You just a bunch of sickos? Out here to torture people for fun?”
“No, no, my friend. We are out here for survival. For hunger.”
“For hunger?”
“It tastes like pork, but better.”
“What are you on about?”
James bent down, a smile widening across his face.
“Did you now the average human adult provides thirty kilograms of food?” James looked up and down Gus’s body as if he was mentally addressing a beautiful woman. A dollop of drool appeared from the corner of his mouth. “And with you, I imagine we’ll be packing even more meat than that.”
Gus felt a lump of sick come to his mouth. The pain was constant, an ongoing discomfort seizing at the base of his leg – but the dawn of realisation as he listened to this man’s words was even more painful.
“You what?”
“My new friend, you are going to last us for weeks.”
32
Donny peered over the horizon, watching the amber glow of the setting sun.
Gus had been very precise in how to recognise what time it was according to the level of the sun in the sky – specifically, how to tell when it had been an hour. In all honesty, Donny had understood very little, but didn’t want to let that on; so he’d nodded along, all the time keeping his plastic wrist watch hidden behind his back.
An hour. Gus had
been very strict. Very adamant.
“An hour, you ’ear me? Not an hour ten minutes, not an hour five, not even an hour and thirty friggin’ seconds – an hour.”
Gus’s words, however inaccurately recollected, rung around Donny’s mind.
It had been more than an hour.
This only confirmed one of two things.
Either Gus was dead, or…
No, that was the only thing it confirmed. Gus was dead.
Though Donny found it difficult to imagine how someone of Gus’s capabilities would end up dead on a trip to the lake to wash – something he was incredibly grateful for, as Gus’s odour was getting more poignant than Sadie’s, and Gus’s hostile temperament led Donny to believe that he would not welcome some delicately phrased astute observations that hinted at his need to wash.
Donny recollected stopping at this service station a few times as a child. It didn’t look the same. The busy car park and thriving shops were no more; replaced by a mass of burnt-out cars smashed together and abandoned, looted buildings. Even so, he was still filled with a sense of nostalgia as he reminisced over fond memories of running to the nearby lake as a child.
Donny turned to the car. Sadie laid across the backseat. Her eyes were fastened shut, her thumb held peacefully in her mouth, and her breathing was deep enough to indicate she was in a sound slumber.
Donny did not want to disturb her. Partly as she had been agitated for last part of the journey and she needed rest – but mostly as he was scared of what she would do to him if he woke her up. He once accidentally woke his ex-girlfriend’s cat up, and she had pounced upon him and gnawed on his arm, leaving teeth imprints for weeks. Sadie, being far thriftier, could well break his arm off.
No, he would go to the lake, see what was going on. It was five minutes away. He would be in either running distance of Sadie in the car, or Gus at the lake. He’d be fine.
But he’d take a gun.
Seemed like a good idea.
Not that he had balls enough to use it: that had already been highlighted. He couldn’t even shoot a zombie.
He dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head. He felt pathetic. All that time shooting zombies on a video game, but when it came to the real thing, it felt far different pointing a barrel at a real head, alive or undead.