"Here you go," she said to Captain Grey handing it to him when they got back to the Floating Island. "It was easy. You gotta turn that thingy and then fold it at the top and then the bottom."
"Is that right?" he asked sarcastically, as Neil went to get Eve.
"Yeah. Here let me show you." She started to unfold it, but he stopped her.
"Maybe in the morning. Right now I just need sleep."
They left Lewis Smith Lake in the morning, all of them. Both the ex-prisoners and the group from the Floating Island wanted to get as far away as possible from the raiders. As well, everyone liked the sound of Grey's description of the fortified camp in the Colorado Rockies. The one thing they didn't like was the idea of going anywhere near the River King.
"You may take any route you wish to Colorado," Neil told the group. "But I'm crossing the Mississippi in Cape Girardeau. The River King has my daughter and I'm getting her back."
Chapter 19
Deanna Russell
Sothern Illinois
Three zombies converging in front of her, one behind and on either side was an obstacle course of overturned pews. Deanna was slim and well formed, but wasn't in shape athletically and probably couldn't run a hundred yard dash without going dizzy.
Still she opted for the obstacle course; anything to keep out of reach of those diseased claws and those flesh-rending teeth.
She jumped over the first pew, tripped over the second and scrambled over a third, certain that she was only seconds from being eaten. With a scream building in her throat she looked back. What she saw amazed her. She had looked like an idiot trying to get over the pews, and yet the zombies were even worse than her; they were so uncoordinated that her panic left completely. She saw she could almost walk away from them at this point.
Instead she went down a row until she was close to one of the zombies. It has fallen between the pews and was having trouble righting itself in the cramped space. She tugged out her black pistol and shot it from four feet away. Despite being so close she still almost missed; the bullet had just caught the top of thing's forehead.
She climbed over two more pews to take a new position in front of another of the bumbling zombies. With this shot she took her time, aiming down the sight and holding the gun with two hands. The result was a hole smack dab in the middle of its forehead.
"That's what I'm talking about!" she exulted. She was just about to shoot another of them when she remembered the shotgun. It was a powerful weapon but only if she knew how to use it correctly. Deanna skirted the zombies and hurried around the mess of pews to where the gun sat on the floor.
Thinking she had to reload it through the side port, she pulled back on the stubby handle and was amazed to see a shell pop out. It was a new one. "It's an automatic," she said in awe. "I never knew they had these." Her ignorance far outweighed her knowledge; the weapon was technically a semi-automatic, meaning she would have to pull the trigger with every shot.
Still, she was happy. Her fear forgotten, she chambered two rounds and went to kill the remaining zombies who had managed to trap themselves in the heap of jumbled wood. This time she braced herself properly and although the gun bashed her in the shoulder twice, she managed to kill both zombies.
"I did it," she whispered, amazed that she had been able to fight off four zombies at once.
With a grin on her face she went straight away to tell the others. "The coast is clear. They're all dead," she told them. Absently she massaged her right shoulder which was noted by a few of the women.
"Did they scratch or bite you?" Joslyn asked, giving a look to Deanna's shoulder.
"No, but it was a close call. Come on. We shouldn't stand around…"
"Show us first," Joslyn demanded. "Let's see your shoulder."
Deanna unbuttoned her camouflaged BDU blouse and showed off her porcelain skin—it was unblemished. "You see? Nothing. Come on. We can't stay out here and I need help moving the bodies."
"How many were there?" Jackie asked. Though the sun was three fingers over the horizon, she still had her flashlight in her hands. It seemed to be part talisman, part reminder to everyone what her contribution to the group was.
"Only four," Deanna answered, feeling a strange sensation come over her. It swelled in her chest and made her want smile. It was pride, something she hadn't felt in nine months. "This time I'm not going to clean them up all by myself. In fact I'm not touching any of them. New rule: if you kill a zombie you don't have to move it."
"Well, I'm not doing it," Joslyn declared, baldly.
"Why not?" Veronica asked. "What makes you so special?"
Joslyn looked around at the others trying to find allies. When no one jumped to her defense she said, "Because…because since when does Deanna make the rules around here? If we had voted on it then maybe, but I'm not going to take orders from her. Not only did she try to kill me, but she's also a thief. Do those boots look familiar to anyone? Those used to be Bessy's. Deanna robbed a corpse!"
Everyone turned to stare at Deanna's feet. Dee glared at Joslyn, saying, "I needed shoes. So what?"
"So what?" Joslyn asked. "What do you mean? You stole from the dead! That's the grossest thing I ever heard."
With all the judging eyes on her Deanna's new-found pride shriveled. What replaced it was shame and the sense that her worth to the universe was nonexistent; pretty much just how she had felt every day she'd lived as a whore. A part of her wanted to slink away and hide her face; another part grew angry.
"Yes, I took her shoes, and before any of you judge, look around. Look at what's left of the world. It's one great big graveyard and everything in it used to belong to someone else. So those of you who have the nerve to judge me don't touch any of it! Go back to your old homes where your stuff is and die there."
She spun on her heel and stalked off to the church, deciding right then she would take the best spot to sleep in and if there were any robes, she would take however many she needed to make a bed out of. She was exhausted and the idea of sharing with these women was literally nauseating.
Morning sickness hit her right at the double door and she put her hand out to steady herself. "Settle down, Emily," she said rubbing her stomach. After a few breaths the need to hurl faded and she went to the back area where she had discovered the zombies. There was a short hall and four rooms. One, an office was cleaner than the rest and had a couch. In the closet she found priestly robes. With these she made her bed on the couch and after writing a note and sticking it on the door that read: "Dee's Room. Do not Disturb," she laid down and went right to sleep.
Her body and mind needed the rest, badly and she didn't budge for seven hours. She would've slept longer only Melanie tapped on her door at half past one in the afternoon. "It's Mindy. She's asking for you."
A sudden bolt of guilt ran through Deanna. She had completely forgotten about Mindy. It wasn't as though she was skilled in medicine however she could've helped with bringing her in at least.
"Is she ok?" Deanna asked as she hopped up. Like a veteran she armed herself without even thinking; the pistol went in her cargo pocket where it thumped heavily and the shotgun went over her shoulder.
"I don't think so," Melanie said. "She's really weak and her arm keeps bleeding like crazy. Kay thinks that her artery got hit by the bullet."
"What's that mean? She'll get better, right?"
Melanie replied with a shrug and led the way back to the leader of the group. There was a fire built up in the main room near one wall. A stain glass window had been broken above it to allow the smoke to run outside. Around the fire were sleeping women, while Mindy was off by herself; she looked dreadful. She was listless and as white as the robe she was wrapped in.
Deanna went to her alone and knelt. "How are you doing?" she asked her.
"Not good. I need a doctor soon or…" she trailed off with a sigh.
"You're going to be fine," Deanna said, taking her hands. Her right was warm, her left was like ice.
M
indy shook her head vaguely. "Let's not talk about that. Joslyn told me that you're a real bitch. She thinks you're a know-it-all. And Melanie is afraid of you. She says you've changed."
This was the last thing Deanna had expected to hear from Mindy. "Maybe I haven't changed," Deanna said. "Maybe I'm just changing back to who I was."
"I hope so. We don't need the mousy Deanna who always let everyone walk all over her. No…no don't get mad. Someone needs to step up. Someone needs to lead."
"We have you to lead us," Deanna said quickly. Everyone knew that Deanna wasn't cut out to be a leader; she was a follower and had been since she could remember.
"Maybe," Mindy said. "Maybe for a little while, but after I'm gone someone has to step up."
"It can't be me. None of them like me. They won't listen to me."
"They'll listen if what you believe is the right thing. Just tell them what to do. They're used to obeying. They've been conditioned to obey without question." Mindy took a long breath and added, "Now go be the leader. I need to sleep."
She closed her eyes and was asleep seconds later. Deanna watched her for some time hoping she wouldn't die. When her breath remained steady, Deanna went back to Melanie.
"What did she want?" Melanie asked.
"She wanted me to be the leader of the group until she gets better, which won't happen unless we can find a doctor or at least get some medicine in her. Do we have any drugs?"
"I don't know. Everything is still in the truck."
Deanna frowned, wondering what, if anything had been done while she had been asleep. "What about the food and water?" she asked. Melanie's look suggested they hadn't brought anything in. Deanna sighed, "I guess everyone was as tired as I was. I'm going to check the truck."
Deanna left the church in a crouch. Even though the afternoon was dark with heavy clouds hanging low, she felt exposed out there all alone. If a zombie was nearby it would see her quick as quick. This reminded her that she hadn't bothered to reload her weapons. She went down to one knee and topped off the loads.
"Gotta check our ammo status," she said to herself, making a mental note. There was also food she had to inventory and a water source to find. They would have to bolster the defenses of the church or find a better place that was more secure. Then there was the fuel issue; they were practically out which meant they were basically trapped in whatever little town they were in.
Her mind dwelled on all of this as she went out to the truck and climbed in. She was about to begin counting the food when she glanced back at the church and saw that the fire from inside was billowing dark smoke out of the broken window. It was piling up into the sky, joining the low clouds. If the Colonel had men looking for them it would be a dead giveaway.
Forgetting the food, momentarily she hurried back inside and was about to try to fix the fire herself when she changed her mind. She clapped her hands three times as loud as she could. "I need everyone awake! Come on, wake up. I need your attention."
"What do you want?" Joslyn asked. "We need our sleep. The escape was tough on all of us." The other women agreed and scowled at Deanna.
"It was very tough," Deanna agreed, "But we have work to do. We can sleep when we're done. Kay, can you find us some paper?"
"What's the paper for?" Veronica asked with suspicion.
"Work lists. You know things we should do right away. The fire is putting out too much smoke and the doors should be barricaded…"
Joslyn interrupted, "All that can wait. We need our rest."
Deanna glanced over at Mindy, saw she was still asleep, and blew out angrily, knowing Joslyn was going to be a pain. "Look, Mindy wanted me to be in charge until she got better. I don't want to do it, but she chose me, so…"
"So you expect us to listen to you?" Joslyn asked, incredulously.
"Mindy did ask to talk to her," Melanie said. "She didn't ask to talk to you, Jos."
Joslyn shrugged her shoulders. "So? We accepted Bessy as our leader. She was the one with all the ideas. Mindy was basically just her assistant, and right now she's not in the position to make any important decisions. We should vote on whatever we need to get done. There's not that many of us. It should be simple enough."
The women all nodded at this logic. Even Deanna had to agree. "I'd prefer that," she said. "I wasn't looking forward to trying to boss anyone around."
"Well you don't have to worry about that," Joslyn said. "I think the first vote we should have is to postpone all the other votes until we've gotten some proper rest. All in favor, raise your hands."
Everyone raised a hand except Deanna. "Hold on," she said. "There are important things we have to get done. There's the fire and the truck can't just sit out there…"
"You don't listen, do you?" Joslyn snapped. "We voted to postpone any more votes until after we've rested. It's a done deal. If you want anything done on your precious lists then you do them yourself and don't bother anyone else."
"But…"
"There is no but!" Joslyn screeched. "You either listen to the rules that you just agreed to or you get out."
Deanna could feel her anger build and she had to refrain from unslinging her shotgun Instead she just patted the weapon and said, "How 'bout you go fuck yourself, Jos."
Whispers accompanied this; the women seemed eager for a cat-fight. They were disappointed when Veronica stepped between the two. "Are you going to do this every time we have a vote and it doesn't go your way?" Veronica asked Deanna. "Because that will get old real quick. Just saying."
Deanna shook her head. "You won't worry about that, because I'm leaving like Jos suggested. Good luck."
She started for the door and Joslyn yelled out, "You're not leaving with those guns."
"Says who?" Deanna asked with a nasty smile on her lips. "Not you, Jos, because you aren't the leader and you don't make the rules. And you can't vote on it because you said no more voting until everyone gets their rest. Sorry, I'm keeping the guns…unless of course you want to break the rules you just voted for. But that would make you a hypocrite and I'm gonna tell you something, bitch, I'm done listening to hypocrites. I had enough of that on The Island."
"What do we do?" Jackie asked the group as Deanna kept going. "She's leaving. We probably shouldn't let her go."
"Try to stop me, Jackie," Deanna said over her shoulder.
Jackie didn't, nor did anyone. Deanna left the church and went straight for the five-ton truck that was sitting smack dab in the middle of the parking lot like an advertisement for stupidity. She climbed into the back, stuffed her pockets with all the food she could carry, grabbed a gallon jug of water, and hopped down again as fast as she could. Guns were one thing, the women were afraid of them, but they would probably try to stop her if they knew she was taking food.
Loaded down as she was, she didn't go far from the church, making it only about a block away before her arms grew tired. She ducked into a tall old house that afforded her a good view all around. Cautiously she went in with the shotgun pointing the way. She was hyped up and ready to blast the first zombie she saw, but hoped it wouldn't be necessary. She was low on ammo: fifteen shells for the shotgun and nine bullets for the pistol. They had to be for emergency only.
Luckily the house was empty. She went to the kitchen table and piled her nine cans of food on the table and plunked down the water jug. Although she was hungry the cans of food didn't appeal to her, they made her stomach go squirrely.
"Stop it, Emily. We have to eat something." She lined the cans up: three of tuna, two of pinto beans, two of Spaghetti O's, one of chicken soup and one of tomato paste. Nothing looked the least bit appetizing to her and so she settled on a can of tuna because she could eat it in one setting and not have to worry about leftovers.
The kitchen, though barren of food, possessed a can opener and shortly she had the tuna open and after wiping off a dusty fork she took a bite. Almost immediately it wanted to come back up again. "It'll be ok," she whispered pacing back and forth and breathing deeply. "Ju
st some morning sickness in the middle of the afternoon. Perfectly normal."
It took ten minutes for her stomach to settle, but then she found she couldn't be in the same room as the open can. She decided to search the house for some Pepto-Bismol, finding some in an upper floor bathroom. She poured out the recommended dose into a med cup and drank it down—and again her stomach rebelled.
"That's not supposed to happen. It's supposed to make me feel better." The nausea abated quicker than it had with the tuna. She took that as a good sign and went to try another bite of fish. "Oh, jeeze, oh jeeze," she whispered as the tuna made an attempt to come back up.
Deanna held it down because she had to. Emily would die if she didn't eat enough. With that thought as an inspiration she ate the can of tuna, though it took her an hour to do so. She then poked around the house for a bit, finding a dark blue backpack to haul the food in. Along with the food she stuffed the backpack with the can opener, a sharp kitchen knife, a fork and spoon, a small pan, a roll of paper towels that she would use as toilet paper and a set of clothes she found: jeans and a long sleeve shirt. They were big on her but were better than nothing.
Next she searched the house for a sleeping bag: the basement was pitch black and, since she had no way to make a fire, it went unsearched. The upstairs rooms were empty of anything useful. The garage was a treasure trove: fishing poles, a tackle box, an axe, tools of all sorts…she turned her back on all of it because none of it was immediately useful—her mind was still not what it once was.
Deanna had to go next door to find what she was looking for: a musty smelling sleeping bag. With it tucked under her arm she opened the front door of the house and nearly walked right out into the open where a dozen zombies were moseying across the street on a diagonal. She shrunk back inside and watched them through the dirty glass until they disappeared somewhere on her side of the street. She went from window to window, but the zombies weren't anywhere to be seen.
The Apocalypse Fugitives Page 18