by Tracey Ward
“Shit, you’re fast.” he breathes.
I shake my head and want to tell him that normally, no, I’m not. I hurt from running so hard and my breath is burning in my lungs, but I keep quiet because there’s no explaining what’s wrong with me right now.
“O- open.” I manage to say, pointing at the door.
The automatic open function on the doors must be disengaged, and if I had enough sense at the moment, I would realize what that means.
“Yeah.” Jordan grabs onto the sliding door, trying to wedge his fingers between the two halves and nods at me to do the same, but neither of us can get in.
The doors are jammed or locked; either way we’re screwed. The infected are bearing down on us now and we have a quick choice to make. Cut and run or circle around and hope to find another door in the back to open. Jordan’s too cautious, he’ll never go for it, so I’m prepping my body to sprint again when suddenly the doors slide open easily. We look at each other in surprise for a split second and then run in. We’re met with a second set of doors which remain closed, and just as we’re trying to pull them open, the outer doors slide closed as well. Jordan bangs on the outer door, tries again to pry it open, but then quickly jumps back when he sees the infected start to pile up outside. He has his bat raised, ready for the outer door to unleash the swarm on us, when he backs into me. He glances at me then grabs my hand and pulls me behind his body, pinning me between him and the inner door. Outside, the infected claw and bang against the glass like moths at a light bulb.
I glance behind us to see that the store is pitch black and deserted and I wonder how the door opened in the first place, but I pray that it doesn’t do it again. I look around for something big enough and heavy enough to smash the glass on the inner door, but there’s nothing. Nothing but us and a dwindling air supply and the nightmare soundtrack piping in from outside.
We’re trapped.
I lean forward and rest my forehead wearily against Jordan’s shoulder, feeling his tense muscles and the rapid in and out of his breathing and I know I’ve killed him.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.
I knew I would be the death of him. I’m a curse, a jinx, a plague upon anyone who stands too close and I’m so achingly sorry that I’ve brought this on him. He’s a hero, my hero. A knight in shining armor and I’ve led him straight into the dragon’s keep. He should have saved someone else. Someone worth saving. He should have ignored my cries and saved himself, and if I could go back and change anything, it would be running from Dee. It would be crying out and fighting the inevitable because at least if I had died alone in that apartment, Jordan would still have a snowball’s chance in hell of making it into tomorrow.
He doesn’t respond to my apology other than to squeeze my hand still held in his.
There’s a banging on the door behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin from fright. Jordan and I spin around, his arm circling around my stomach and pulling me in close till my back is flush with his front, and we stare into the store. The lights are still off but someone is wearing a headlamp and fumbling with the top of the sliding doors. He stops for a moment, leans his face to the crack between them and shouts to us.
“Drop your weapons!”
It’s such a cop movie cliché thing to say that I’m not sure I heard him right. I turn my head to look at Jordan but he doesn’t take his eyes off the bobbing headlamp.
“Drop our weapons?” I whisper to him.
Jordan shakes his head minutely.
“It’s either that,” the guy shouts. “Or I open the other door and you can leave the way you came in! Your choice!”
Jordan swears under his breath and releases his hold on my waist. His bat clatters to the ground and his hands go in the air reluctantly. I follow suit, though I gently lay my bow, arrows and knife down. The guy fiddles with the top of the door again and they swing open. I glance nervously over my shoulder, worried the other doors will come open too, but they stay tightly closed.
“Come in. Slowly.”
We lower our hands and cautiously step through the doors. It’s so dark in here compared to outside and the guy’s headlamp is blinding me, leaving spots in front of my eyes whenever I look away. I can’t see anything but him and the press of undead on the door outside.
“Follow me. And just so you know, there are guns drawn on you, so move slow.”
Our tour guide swings around to face forward and the headlamp is finally out of my eyes. I have to follow the guy’s silhouette against the illumination of his lamp to figure out where we’re going, and I have that uncomfortable sense of infinity you get when in a dark, unfamiliar place. I have no idea what’s ahead of or behind me and the threat of others here with guns on us feels very probable.
There’s a noise behind us and Jordan and I swing around to see a shadow with what looks like a green glow stick dangling from its neck. It’s scurrying into the darkness with what could only be our weapons, because when I look at the now closed doors, I can’t see our gear on the floor where we dropped it. I’m nervous about what we’ve stumbled into and I almost cry out when I hear Jordan grunt and there’s a crash. I reach out to where he had last been and latch onto this upper arm with both hands.
“What happened?” I whisper fiercely, my fingers digging into his flesh.
“I tripped, it’s fine.”
“Keep up!” Headlamp shouts at us.
I slide my hand down Jordan’s arm until I find his hand and I clasp it firmly in mine. I’m hoping to keep either of us from stumbling again, and if I can be honest, the dark has me more than a little freaked out. It reminds me of trying to sleep with my hallucinations and I can think of just about a million awful things that could pop out at me at any second. I audibly sigh when Jordan twines his fingers through mine and grips me more tightly.
We are led for what feels like miles, but what was probably halfway across the store, until we reach a door glowing around the edges with light and emblazoned with bold red words:
EMPLOYEES ONLY
Our guide enters a code into a keypad on the door and there’s a click. He swings the door open and turns off his headlamp as light pours out from a beige hallway and spills around our feet.
“Follow me.” he says again, and leads us down the hall, past closed doors and what looks like a small break room until we reach a larger office with a wipe board and a dormant television set. As we enter the room, I glance at the door to read its label. We’re in a training room. There’s a long table surrounded by orange plastic chairs and we’re told to sit, taking places side by side and facing the door.
Our guide, an older man probably in his sixties with a graying mustache, closes the door, locks it and leaves us without a word. Jordan and I sit in silence, taking in our surroundings, which really doesn’t take long considering the room is all table, wipe board and uncomfortable chairs.
“This was a mistake.” I say suddenly, looking down at my hands. “It was my mistake and I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.” Jordan says evenly, and I wonder if he’s angry and containing it or if he really doesn’t blame me. I look sideways at him, my face pinched in remorse and he chuckles a little at my expression. “It really is alright, Ali. Don’t worry about it.”
“Aren’t you worried? Because I am.”
“Yeah,” he admits lightly. “A little, but we didn’t get eaten. That’s a good thing. And they didn’t shoot us, which is another good thing.”
“They took our weapons, that’s a bad thing.”
“We don’t seem to need them right now so it’s not the end of the world. I don’t like being locked this room, though.”
“Just this once,” I say with a chuckle, eyeing the walls surrounding us. “I’m going to agree with you. You think we can fight off the infected with chairs and dry erase markers?”
He rubs his hands over his face tiredly and his voice comes out muffled and hoarse.
“Worst lion taming ever.”<
br />
I frown as I watch him continue to hide his eyes in his hands. He’s exhausted and I knew it. I knew he didn’t sleep last night. I feel awful and I know that if we get out of here I need to find a way to get him to sleep. The boat house, even though it was surrounded by water, still worried him. I sit back in my seat and try to come up with a place where he will feel safe enough to rest while he keeps his face resting in his hands. I wonder if he hasn’t fallen asleep like that when he suddenly leans back in his chair and groans.
“How long have we been in here?” he asks, looking around for a clock but finding none.
“I don’t know. I left my cell behind at the—“
Jordan leans in suddenly and presses his mouth against my ear.
“Don’t mention the boathouse.” he whispers. “As far as they know, we have nothing but our weapons.”
I nod my head slowly and he withdraws, leaning back in his chair again.
“I’d say ten minutes or so.” I tell him in answer to his question.
“How much you wanna bet they keep us waiting for another fifteen? Maybe twenty, just to be sure?”
I frown, confused, but then it dawns on me. “The time it takes for The Fever and the decomp.”
He nods. “They want to make sure we weren’t bitten.”
“So that’s why you’re not freaking out? You aren’t worried they’ll kill us.”
“Oh no, they might still kill us. I just don’t think they’re going to do it right away. They could have left us to die outside or shot us when we came in the door. No,” he says slowly, looking at the closed door. “I think they have something else in mind for us entirely.”
Chapter Eleven
In the end they keep us waiting for another half an hour. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. When the door finally opens, we’re met with the same man who led us here and a much younger man most likely in his mid-twenties with short dark hair and fierce brown eyes. He’s short, barely as tall as me, but stocky. I wouldn’t mess with him. Especially considering the matte black handgun he’s carrying. Jordan and I both sit up straighter in our seats when we see it and my heart skips a few beats.
They close the door and the older man sits down across from us while the younger one takes a wide stance a few paces behind him. It occurs to me that his position is foolish. If he has to take a shot at either of us, he runs the risk of putting a round in the back of his partners head. It makes me nervous that he’s made this mistake. I worry he doesn’t truly know how to handle that gun and I firmly believe an unskilled marksman can be more dangerous than a skilled one.
“Why are you here?” the old man asks, getting straight to the point. His voice is gruff and impatient, as though we’ve annoyed him already and we haven’t said a word.
“For the same reason you are.” Jordan says calmly, ignoring the man’s tone.
He’s done this to me before as well, stayed calm in the face of my emotions, and I’m struck again at how very self-possessed he is. I’m grateful for his calm tone because with the gun in the room, the fire in the young man’s eyes and the timbre of the old man’s voice, I’m twitching with nervousness.
“Why do you think we’re here?” the old man asks, his eyes focused hard on Jordan. The question feels like a test.
“To survive.”
There’s no reaction on the man’s face, he doesn’t even blink, and I find I’m holding my breath waiting for his reply.
He looks away from Jordan, studies me briefly then asks him heavily, “What’s she to you?”
“Everything.” he replies instantly, and I struggle to hide my surprise.
I seriously doubt that’s true but there’s a conversation going on beneath this one, a measuring of the men in the room, each by the other, and though I don’t understand it entirely, I know it’s imperative that I keep quiet.
“Is she your wife?”
“As good as.”
The man nods in what I think is approval and sits back slightly.
“Did you come here to hide? Did you plan to stay, bunker down?”
“No,” Jordan replies with a shake of his head. “We came for supplies. We’re going to run, leave the city.”
“You have nothing?”
“Nothing but the weapons you confiscated.”
“Now how is that? How is it that you have weapons, but no other provisions?”
I can feel Jordan tense beside me and I know he doesn’t want to be caught lying to this man. They have our lives in their hands and our weapons in their possession. If they decide to toss us out the door, the waiting swarm will consume us in seconds.
“We were defending our home.” I speak up, reaching for Jordan’s hand and holding it tight. “We hadn’t planned on leaving it. We thought we were safe. Then last night we were attacked.” I let my voice break a bit, bite my lips together tightly and take a shaky breath through my nose. “We tried to defend ourselves but we were overrun. We ran. We ran all night.”
Jordan squeezes my hand gratefully.
The old man nods and when he looks at me I can see his eyes are still hard but his face has softened some. Feminism be damned. Crying Woman is a trump card I am not ashamed to play. Like Jordan said, we work with what we’ve got and if this is part of my currency, so be it. I’ll spend that dollar.
The man looks back at Jordan, clearly happier to be speaking to him and not the whimpering woman.
“What supplies were you planning on?”
“A bow for me, one like hers. Extra arrows for the both of us and a book.”
“And sunscreen.” I say quickly.
The man scowls at me for a moment. “Sunscreen?”
“We’ll be walking outdoors. A lot. We’ll need sunscreen. And Chapstick.” I reply hesitantly.
I almost add that I want Wet Ones wipes as well, but the man is giving me a look as though I was asking for down pillows and room service so I shut the hell up.
“What kind of book?” he asks Jordan, ignoring me now.
“Archery. One that explains how to make arrows. Neither of us knows how.”
The man nods, thinking. He stands suddenly and the young man opens the door for him, never turning his back to us.
“Wait here.” the old man says, and leaves the room.
The young guy steps out behind him, closes the door and I hear the lock click again.
“He’s fun.” I mutter, releasing Jordan’s hand and rubbing my sweating palms on my jeans.
Jordan chuckles but doesn’t say anything. I want to ask him about the “everything” comment, what that exchange was about, but I don’t know how to bring it up, so I leave it alone. They leave us sitting there for at least another half an hour and Jordan starts rubbing his face and eyes again. I’m starting to get antsy so I stand and pace the room. When the door opens again and the old man reappears, he stops and glares at me silently. I hold his stare and slowly sit back down in my seat. Once I’m seated, he takes his own again.
“There’s no book to help you with making arrows.” he tells Jordan briskly. “But we have some phones still working and able to connect to the internet. We can let you look it up and write down the instructions. We also have the bow to spare and the arrows.”
I want to slap myself in the head for not thinking of simply looking up on my phone how to make arrows, but I keep still. I also can’t help but notice we’re glossing over the sunscreen and Chapstick.
Jordan nods his head and grins slightly. “Thank you, we appreciate it.”
“Now hold on.” the old man says, raising his hand. “We can’t just give things away. The way things are headed, we’re gonna need all the supplies we can get our hands on. We might be able to spare a bow and a few arrows, but that doesn’t mean we won’t want something in return.”
“But we don’t have anything to give you.” I say, opening my palms on the table.
The old man looks at me closely and smiles. “Oh, I think you do.”
Jordan is fast. Really, really fas
t. He jumps from his chair, knocking it back against the wall and has me up and behind him before I even know what’s happening.
“We’re not making that kind of trade, asshole.” he says darkly.
The young man at the door has the gun raised and trained on us. I try to step out from behind Jordan and show my hands or sit back down, anything to get the gun off us, but he holds me firmly.
The old man lets out an exasperated sigh and shakes his head at Jordan.
“That’s not what I meant. Sit down!”
Jordan hesitates for a full minute then slowly releases me and we take our seats again. The gun is lowered and I take a deep, shuddering breath.
“We have women and children here. Hell, someone’s grandmother is here.” the old man scolds. “We’re not animals.”
“You were looking right at her. What did you mean, if not that?”
The old man points at me but speaks to Jordan. “She was carrying the bow when you arrived. You said you want another bow for you, ‘one like hers’. I assume she’s the one who can shoot it?”
Jordan nods slowly, his body relaxing. “She’s shot six infected today. In the eye on each one, dropped them permanently.”
“See, now that’s a skill we could use here. Eventually, bullets will run out. Arrows can be retrieved, or as you said, we can learn to make them, but no one here has ever shot an arrow before.”
“We’re not staying. We have to keep moving. We only stopped for supplies.”
The old man looks unhappy with Jordan, as though he thought better of him and now he’s being disappointed.
“You’re going to drag her all over hell and back with them on the loose? You’d be safer staying here.”
“I have to get to my uncle.” I say suddenly. “He’s alone on his property. He needs us. That’s where we’re going.”
“Where’s your uncle?”
“Corvallis.” I say, happy it’s not a lie. It’s the first honest thing I’ve said to this man.
“Well then, we’ll give you back your gear, send you out the back door and you can be on your way.”
“Without the other bow and extra arrows?” Jordan asks knowingly.