Notes from a Necrophobe

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Notes from a Necrophobe Page 9

by T. C. Armstrong


  I can feel the heat of KC’s glare as the tension in the car rises tenfold. We’ve just left one of our own on the outside! Surprisingly, Mom says nothing; she just stares straight ahead as she carefully pulls away from the tree. She speeds up considerably when several parasites get a grip on the car until nothing is left but disembodied hands still clinging to the door handles.

  “Wait! Slow down! I’m slipping!” Martin shouts from the roof. Mom looks around, sees that we’re mostly clear of the mob, but still she doesn’t stop. She does slow down though. “Please, just take my bag so I can get a better grip.” Martin pleads from above.

  “Just throw the bag away!” Ghost shouts back.

  KC’s crying, which I find strange. This guy had a crush on KC and drove her crazy. He was always lingering about the house on weak excuses to see if she’d hang out with him. What makes her care about him now? Then I realize that Mom is crying too. Maybe it’s because he’s a survivor like us, and we’re barely helping him. He’s just a kid after all. “Why can’t we let him in?” Jesse wails. “He can stand up with his head out the sunroof!”

  “No. We’ll take the bag, but we can’t risk bringing him in here.” Ghost’s voice is so forceful and eerie, it shuts Jess up. I feel KC doing that forced-breathing-through-clenched-teeth thing again and know that if Ghost doesn’t watch it, she’s going to kick the crap out of him the first chance she gets. There’s a cold and ferocious battle of human wills going on in this car without a word passing between them.

  Ghost slides the sunroof open and fixes Martin with a look that says “Don’t even think of coming in here.” Martin looks like he’s about to argue, but he’s taken aback by Ghost’s expression and backs down. Martin gives KC a long look and carefully lowers his bag into her upstretched arms. He manages to say, “I know you’ll take good care of it,” before Ghost shuts the sunroof again.

  The thing is, Ghost is right. This little Jeep is only supposed to fit four. Now it has five people with five of the biggest split kits to be seen on our laps, plus Martin’s. We’ve got Naked taking up all the room at our feet. Martin could possibly sit on the bags on our laps and keep his top half out the sunroof, but that leaves us open to a risk from above that neither Mom nor Ghost are willing to take.

  We’re all right for now. We’ve managed to get out of our subdivision of suburbia and onto Kirby road. We’re looking around, taking in a scene not seen since the Lost Day. We see houses that are clearly deserted. We see houses that are little more than charred remains. We see bags dropped here and there, survival kits that would never have been abandoned if their owners were still alive. I bet Ghost wishes we could scoop some of those up. Bet he wishes we weren’t in such a tiny Jeep so we could stop and throw every kit we could get a hold of in a trunk.

  “Mom,” I have to ask, “Where are we going?”

  Jesse pipes up. “Are we going to look for an empty house?”

  KC’s voice sounds sour as she reacts to this. “Look around you. Do you see any homes fit to live in? Do you see any that are fireproof? There’s only one place we can go.”

  Mom’s voice is both soothing and reassuring: “We’re going to a refugee center, sweetie. We’ll be safe there.”

  Ghost and I flinch at the same time, our thoughts in sync. The nearest refugee center is my least favorite place on Earth. I’m going back to high school.

  KC

  I feel better now. We’ve pulled so far ahead of the parasites, we can no longer see them. It even smells better out here. It’s chilling to see all the burned-out and empty homes along Kirby Road, but it means that the zombies have finished their business here and have no reason to hang about. The streets are clear and we’re heading to a place of safety. We’re going towards a place with snipers and soldiers, a place with walls thick and high enough to protect us. We’ll have Internet and warm salty showers again. I can finally log onto the Internet and hook up with my friends. I can Skype Dad again.

  I feel bad for Houston. I know that to him, high school is anything but safe. I feel worse for Martin right now. It’s not that I ever liked him; he really got on my nerves with his constant attention and his omnipresence, but now he’s hanging on for dear life to the roof while we sit safely inside. At least I’ve got his bag.

  I knew what was in it by the way he carefully handed it to me. I wedged it between my kit and the door, not too tightly, and then gingerly put my hand inside to feel around for Martin’s most prized possession. I find it right away, touching velvety warmth that leans into my palm. A rough tongue licks my hand in gratitude. I stroked him reassuringly, relieved that he’s okay. Naked noses the bag with mild curiosity, so I pet her with my other hand. There will be no barking because Naked recognizes the familiar scent of a friend in Martin’s kit.

  I relax even further as Mom turns from a twisty Kirby Road onto the straight shot of Westmoreland. We’re so close now! Soon we’ll be driving through the security gates of Mclean High School. I start daydreaming, letting my mind wander while we cruise down the last street to safety. I wonder if we’re going to be on army cots. I picture myself unpacking my kit and getting settled in. I’ll charge my phone up right away so I can talk to Dad and tell him we’re safe. I’ll let him know where we are so he can meet up with us. Maybe he’s made enough money by now that he can pick us up and take us away to those secure apartments! I hope I can get to the computers right away; I really need to get back on Facebook. I wonder how Martin managed to survive. How long was he up in that tree? What happened to the rest of his family? I’ll ask him once we’re safe.

  Jesse’s voice breaks through my meandering thoughts. “Mom, what’s that up there?”

  My heart pauses as my brain tries to register what we see. It’s a moving wall of people. Not zombies, people. Survivors! They look knackered and dirty, yet they’re the most beautiful sight I’ve seen since this all began. For the first time in weeks I find that I’m smiling. The positive side of me is ecstatic that so many people have made it (there must be two-hundred of them at least!), and the shallow side of me is glad to see a number of them dressed up in the same goofy boots and ugly raincoats that we’re wearing. That means we won’t be the only ones looking like paranoid recluses when we arrive.

  They look up expectantly as we approach. It’s clear we can’t take any of them on, so they part and let us through. Why aren’t they running? Where are the zombies? Maybe the Infected stay away because we’re close enough to be within the snipers’ reach. Maybe they’re just too tired to run any more. I squint through the masses to see if I can catch sight of the school. I see light ahead, but it’s still too far up there to make anything out. We slowly break through the wall of humanity and start to lead the pack towards the light.

  And then, for no apparent reason, my good mood dissolves into a feeling of cold dread. Is anyone else feeling this? What’s changed? There are no zombies in sight; no screaming in the night. All I can hear is Jesse’s seat squeaking as she impatiently bounces up and down on it. I look around and see that Ghost, Mom, Houston, and Naked are breathing in shallow spurts. They wear looks of concentration like they’re trying to hear something. Their eyes are wide as they become hyper-aware of the change in the atmosphere. As usual, Jesse is oblivious to all this and is staring straight ahead at the lights. I look ahead and see nothing. I try to look behind us…

  “What’s that sound?” Jess asks.

  It’s a scratching, fumbling sound. It’s the sound you make when you’re trying to feel around in the dark for a door handle or a tent zipper and you’re trying to be quiet so you won’t wake anyone up. It’s coming from the roof. We look up. “Martin?” my mother calls out. “Are you alright?”

  A new sound joins the scuffing sounds on the roof: the thunderous sound of panicked running. That’s when I realize that Martin is not all right. He’s not all right and the people behind us are not all right and we won’t be all right if we don’t get moving.

  It’s starting to rain.

&nbs
p; RENEE

  We’ve lost Martin. We’ve lost Martin and probably every person behind us that isn’t wearing a raincoat. We’re so close now, I can see the gates and the soldiers patrolling on top of them, but will they let us in with a parasite clinging to our roof? I don’t know if my heart can keep up with these emotional extremes, from the terror of last night to the sleepy security of Eric’s house to a dramatic rescue followed by another flight from the undead, to the thrill of finding so many survivors.

  And now back to terror. I roll down the window and wave a gloved hand at the soldiers. I’ll start shouting when we get closer so they’ll know for sure we’re not one of them. My head is throbbing with the rush of fear and I make the classic mistake of every damsel in distress—I look back to see what’s coming and not where we’re going, which is right into a ditch.

  We hit hard and are violently thrust forward. “Where the hell did that come from?” I think aloud. “That wasn’t there when I did the school run!” I look up just in time as “Martin” flies through the air in front of the windshield. I hear the kids scream, the dog yelp, and something yowl in protest. I try to reverse the car, but only succeed in spinning the wheels. We’re stuck, trapped in a confined space with a fresh parasite in front of us and the freshly dead behind us. The parasite, who moments ago was known as Martin, is now slowly getting back on his feet and facing us.

  I hear shots coming in our direction.

  GHOST

  I don’t have time to be angry. There’s no time to be afraid; there’s no time for reflection; there’s only enough time to flee. “Everyone out!” shouts the mom. The girl who hates me is out first, split kit in one hand and that boy’s damn bag in the other. Everyone else tumbles out after her. She runs straight at the parasite formerly known as Martin and takes an almighty swing at his head with her backpack. “Nice try,” I think “But that only hurts the well-rotted dead.” Then I realize she’s not trying to take him out with the backpack, she’s only trying to knock him off his feet and buy us some time.

  Now we’re running, joined by the other survivors in a race against the dead. We’re sprinting towards the old high school and we’re checking to see who’s closing in on us, which is stupid. My track coach always said, “Never look behind you to see who yer’ leavin’ in yer’ dust!” Yet we can’t help it, we have to see how close the Infected are getting.

  Pretty close actually. How can these things move so fast? In the beginning they could barely put one foot in front of the other, and now they’re able to chase the rest of us as if they’ve known their host bodies their whole life!

  The mom and I have Jesse’s arms and are half-dragging, half-carrying her between us. This kid’s clumsy. She can’t keep up with us. She’ll slip in the mud and be lost forever if we let go. I’m never going to let go. There’s no way I’m leaving her behind because she reminds me of my little sister. I can’t suffer that loss again. I find myself weirdly connected to this family and I’m not going through that gate if they aren’t.

  The soldiers are shooting, which makes the crowd run faster. It’s the first sound of hope I’ve heard tonight. Good lads, they’re giving us a fighting chance by picking the parasites off. At least I hope that’s what they’re doing. The mom and I run a little harder when we hear the second sound of hope: the metallic sound of gates scraping and screeching in their tracks as they slide open to let us through.

  HOUSTON

  Relief floods over me as we sprint past the gate and hear it clang shut behind us. Rough hands grab us, shine lights in our eyes, and demand our names. I don’t think they really care about our names at this point or if they’re going to remember them, they just want to hear us speak like an uninfected human. Only when we answer are we allowed to stumble through the makeshift walkway and into the warmth of my old high school.

  I never thought I’d be happy to be back at school, but right now the heat, lights, and other trappings of civilization are pure luxury. To pass the cloak of responsibility on to well-armed soldiers is the best feeling I’ve had since this all began. I don’t care if I have to sleep on a cot. I’m just looking forward to a sense of security. We can make a life here, something better than what we had before: cooped up on the top floor of an unguarded house, subject to the whims of the electric grid. Here we can count on power, hot showers, Internet, and a watertight building that can keep the enemy at bay. I’m not keen on having to share personal space with others, but it’s a big school and I’m sure I can find some nook or cranny to hide away in when I need to be alone.

  I hear an unfamiliar voice call out through the murmurs of the assembled crowd. “Sir! There’s a dog and cat with them!” The murmuring stops.

  Oh no, Naked. What if they don’t accept Naked? We can’t live without her. She’s one of us! And who does the cat belong to?

  Jesse’s voice cuts through the crowd. “That’s our dog! Don’t you dare hurt her!”

  KC joins in with “And that’s my cat! They’re both clean, and they’re both useful—they warn us when there’s Infected in the area!”

  Wait, when did we get a cat?

  There’s another voice, but this one is authoritative and calm. It obviously belongs to someone in power. “Do not worry, little girl. We will not hurt your pets. We just need to check them out. We’ll dry them off so they cannot infect the others and make sure they’re pest-free.”

  That makes sense. I don’t want to have to deal with fleas on top of everything else.

  “And we’ll need your seventy-two-hour…I mean “split kits.” Or “bug-out bags.” Or whatever you kids call it these days. It’s just another precaution. We’ll return them to you within twenty-four hours.”

  No one feels like disagreeing, so we numbly hand over our packs. Ghost reluctantly hands his over last.

  My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness as we’re led down the red hallway past the silver and on to what feels like a choke point in an abattoir. I can’t see the color of the hall, but muscle memory tells me this is the blue hallway that leads to English class. I can see the throngs of curious refugees who come out from their rooms to gawk at the new arrivals. I’m immediately struck by how many people are here, and now I’m concerned about how comfortable they seem to being in such close proximity to each other. I break into a sweat just thinking about living in touching distance to everyone here. I can imagine what Jesse must be thinking in her usual exaggerated way: “There must be thousands and thousands of people!” but that is exactly what it looks like. And it feels worse than it looks. It feels like I’m crawling through a tunnel of clammy bodies.

  Their eyes dart from face to face, like they’re searching for a loved one or a friend among us. Despite their numbers they make no sound, apart from the occasional heavy breather. Why are they quiet? Why do they look so anxious? They’ve already made it!

  My thoughts stutter when I see Braden. Suddenly I’m angry—I thought he was dead! It had been so long since I had last heard from him I assumed the worst; yet here he is, safe and secure. Why didn’t he get back to me during his allotted Internet time? All my other friends in refugee centers were good at keeping up with me, why did he let me think he was dead?

  Braden’s eyes grow wide in acknowledgment, but he doesn’t say a word, not one word. In fact no one’s saying anything. There’s no way I’m going to be the first to speak up. I’ll just have to ask him what’s wrong tomorrow, even though it will give him the rest of the night to think of some stupid excuse why he froze me out.

  Just as I pass him, he breaks the silence with the first three words I’ve heard since entering the school.

  “Welcome to hell,” he hisses.

  JESSE

  This is so cool! I really like it here. With all these cots about, it’s almost like camping. There are more people who snore here than at home. That doesn’t bother me ‘cause we were all given earplugs.

  The soldiers led us through thousands and thousands of quiet-as-mice refugees and into our room. It’s
wall-to-wall people in here, like a big sleepover that never ends. They asked us if we were okay just sleeping in our clothes for the night, that we could have showers and breakfast tomorrow after we got our kits back. At least that’s what their voices said, but their eyes were saying something different. They were just being polite. They weren’t really planning on doing anything but dumping us here for the night. Maybe it’s past their bedtime.

  It must be past a lot of people’s bedtimes ‘cause the grownups are so tired they fall asleep right away. Even my mom is sleeping, and I’ve never seen her fall asleep this fast or stay asleep for so long. When we were at home, she would be the last to bed and then she would wake up at every little noise she heard and look out the window. This made her look worn-out and sad all the time. It also made her doze off at lot whenever she sat down, which we liked because we could sneak away from our schoolwork and watch SpongeBob.

  Now she’s sleeping so deep that none of my squirming or turning wakes her. Actually, Houston and KC are the same way. Maybe it’s because we’re totally safe now. We don’t have to look after each other anymore ‘cause the soldiers will do that for us. Cool. Maybe I’ll get the old mom back. Actually, that’s a stupid thought because I won’t get the old mom back until dad comes back. Still, it’s nice to see her relaxed for once.

  I look around and I see not everyone’s sleeping. Ghost’s not sleeping. He’s looking up at the ceiling like he’s studying something real hard. He turns his head to look at me and then his serious expression turns to a smile. He nods over to my other side like he wants me to see something.

 

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