by Ponce, Jen
“You’re right,” I finally said into the uncomfortable silence. “He’s an ass. This does suck. This whole thing sucks.” Paisley looked startled, but I plowed on. “You lost your boyfriend. I lost my wife. Dan his kid. His kid! This whole thing sucks balls. But listen, you need to take care of yourself now. You’ve been living too long for other people. And you don’t owe Isaac shit.”
She was nodding again, her lips firming. “You’re right. You are. From now on, it’s all about me. Us. Not Isaac, not if he keeps up this shit.”
“You go girl.”
Dan knocked on my window and nearly scared the shit out of us both. I opened my door and he said, breath visible in the frigid air, “House is cleared—there was no one inside. There’s water and a fireplace. Let’s get our stuff.”
We hauled our gear inside the cozy little house and the first thing I noticed was the heat. “It’s warm.”
“Propane. They had it set on sixty and it stayed nice and cozy in here.”
We put the tents in a corner since we wouldn’t have to sleep in them tonight, and I was almost giddy with excitement that I couldn’t see my breath.
We moved the furniture back against the far walls and hauled down two mattresses from upstairs. Paisley made the beds and we smashed them together, so that it looked like a teenager’s sleepover. We had armfuls of quilts that we piled on the couch for bedtime, and then we rummaged through the cupboards for food and hit the jackpot.
Whoever had lived here was a canner. They had a pantry filled with jars of carrots, corn, peas, green beans, homemade salsa, jelly and more. We also found cans of brown bread which Dan got absolutely giddy over. We found butter in the fridge and a bunch of food in the freezer and chest freezer on the back porch.
“We could winter here if we had to,” Dan said.
I felt a pang of anxiety at that idea. I didn’t want to stay. I wanted to push on, wanted to find Lana just up the road at the next house or the next. Surely Dan felt the same way, but he wouldn’t look me in the eyes as he opened the brown bread and sliced it for our dinner.
While we goggled at all the food, Paisley found pots and pans and began heating up some soup. Dan put the bread on a tray for the oven and I opened a jar of salsa when I found the tortilla chips on a shelf. “We’re going to have a celebration tonight, you guys,” I said. “We need to appreciate the fact that we’re still here. We’ve mourned them and we shouldn’t give up hope we’ll find Lana, Owen, Ivy, and the girls,” I looked at Dan, “but we should be grateful we’re alive.”
Paisley and Dan both nodded and when our food was cooked, we took it to the living room and ate it by the fire, toasting each other with the wine Dan had found in the back of the fridge. It was terrible wine, but it was great wine too.
Isaac slunk downstairs after a while and got some food. He stood near the doorway like a feral dog wary about the people in his territory. After shoveling down some soup, he said, “There’s hot water for showers.”
Paisley’s eyes grew wide and she shouted, “Call it!” then ditched us all to head upstairs. Isaac didn’t even turn to watch her go, just stared off into the distance, soup bowl held close to his face.
I poured the last of the wine in a glass and held it out to him.
“What’s that for?”
“To celebrate another day of survival.”
He didn’t move to take it, so I placed it on the coffee table.
“It’s okay to be happy you survived, even if your brother didn’t. He wouldn’t want you to kill yourself because he’s dead.” The words slipped out before I could stop them and I waited for him to blow up, but he didn’t. He just nodded his head slowly.
“I know. I just can’t stop seeing him laying there with his throat ripped out. Human teeth did that. I just can’t stop seeing it. I can’t stop thinking if I’d gone with him he’d be okay. If I’d gone after him faster, he might have lived. I keep thinking about how scared he was, how it must have hurt, and I can’t … I can’t think of anything else.”
Trauma had a way of enhancing worry until it was the only thing you could see. The kids I worked with often obsessively worried over things, their brains playing out the traumas in their heads incessantly, making it hard for them to sleep, eat, live life without thinking about what hurt them.
“I can’t fix it, but I’m sorry you’re dealing with it.” I paused, debating whether I should stop there or keep going, then decided what the hell. “A lady I knew once, long ago, told me she managed to help minimize her obsessive worrying without really understanding what it was she was doing. The obsessive worrying and thinking about things manifested as spinning in her dreams. I know, it’s weird, but hear me out,” I said. I’d thought she was a little nut balls myself until a couple of my kids tried it too, and it worked. “She hated that she would spin in her dreams. There she was, enjoying herself and then bam, she was spinning. Pissed her off. Now, she was into meditation, okay? Those self-hypnosis tapes too. So she spent a lot of time imagining stuff. Working with her thoughts. Maybe that helped, I don’t know. Anyway, she got so tired of her dreams being ruined by the spinning, that she would practice spinning and then stopping herself from spinning. It took a lot of work, she said, because it was hard to stop herself once she got started. Sound familiar? Anyway, when she figured out how to stop herself, how to change direction, how to be in control of what happened, the obsessive worrying also got better.” I spread my hands, feeling a little dumb for sharing the story. I’d never had a ton of anxiety issues, but my friend swore by this technique and a few of my kids did too. “What you’re going through? Those constant intrusive thoughts of your brother, well, that’s your brain’s version of her spinning. You have to figure out how to change the story.”
He looked thoughtful rather than annoyed I’d said something, and I was glad. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if I saw Lana’s body, Lana’s throat ripped out … “I could picture us rebuilding my Mustang,” he said slowly. “We worked on it together out in our dad’s garage. Best …” He had to swallow the tears back, then continued, “best time of my life.”
“It sounds wonderful.” I fought with myself for a moment, then decided I’d already started, might as well finish. “I don’t want you to kill yourself. And running into buildings without backup or going out into the streets all angry with a machete isn’t going to change what happened. It’ll only get you dead.”
“I thought it would help. I thought if I killed enough of them the visions of him dying would stop.”
I stood. “Can I hug you? Do you need a hug? Because—” I didn’t even finish before he crossed the room to me and wrapped his skinny arms tight around me. The sobbing came next, the heartbreaking sobs that made me want to wrap him up in a blanket and protect him from the world.
Paisley came down, hair damp, eyes wide. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded, petting Isaac’s hair as if he were my baby, rocking him gently as he mourned.
When we went to bed that night, after we’d all showered in the lovely hot water and eaten our fill, Isaac slept with us, curled up tight against Paisley. Despite her earlier anger, the look on her face was one of hope.
I hoped to whatever gods might be up there that things had finally stopped sliding downhill into tragedy and we’d get a break.
We were due, weren’t we?
36
Now
It takes surprisingly little time to drop the dead things surrounding the truck. Pete and Gloria climb out of the bed with the biggest smiles on their faces. “We thought we were goners, you guys,” Pete says, his grin goofy, his arm wrapped tight around his wife as if he’s afraid to let her go. “We thought everything was quiet—”
“It was quiet,” Gloria interjects.
Pete nods. “It was. Dead quiet. Sorry about the pun. We felt like we were being followed, but when we’d watch our six, nothing. So we kept coming and got to the car. Weren’t here more than two, three minutes when they started coming out
of the shadows. I think—”
“We think they were waiting for us.” Gloria’s eyes are wide. “We think a few of them followed us and then somehow communicated to the others where we were headed. I don’t know guys, it was creepy.”
It is creepy and concerning too. If the dead things are getting smarter, it’ll make Dee’s journey that much harder in the morning. They will have to keep even closer watch, have to be more careful than ever before, and there’s still no guarantee they’ll survive the trip.
“Do you think they’re watching the Complex too?” Gloria asks, breaking the silence of their thoughts.
Yes. They are all thinking it, even if no one is brave enough to say it out loud.
“How can they be getting smarter? Shouldn’t their brains be rotting by now like their bodies?” Gary asks as if one of them could possibly have the answer. How could anyone explain walking corpses? Walking, talking, and sometimes singing corpses? And now they are planning ambushes. It’s the very definition of insanity and Dee is pretty sure if she thinks too hard about it, she’ll go insane.
“It’s good we know this,” Mel says. “Had we not come out here to save you guys, we wouldn’t have known what they’re capable of. Now we do. Now we can start watching for concerning behaviors and we can be more careful in the field.” She nods as if she’s settled the argument we aren’t even having, then says, “Speaking of careful. Why don’t we get in our vehicles and go home? If they’re out here plotting, I want some sturdy walls between us and them.”
They are all on the lookout as they drive home, squinting into the shadows as if they could see into the minds of the creatures that have so altered their lives.
How are the boys faring if the dead things are now plotting and planning? How are they surviving? Do they still have enough water? Food? And her parents, what about them? She hasn’t dared think much about them, has focused on her boys because they seem so young, younger even when they were half a country away. Have her parents survived too?
She hopes they all are alive. She hopes they loaded up the RV and got out of the city, though that would mean not seeing them when she gets to the house.
She hopes they left her a note. She hopes they were thinking positively enough to believe she would come for them.
“Oh Lana,” she whispers. Then a hand slips into hers and she turns to see Alex smiling at her.
“You okay?”
She nods, then realizes she’s lying. She’s not okay. None of them are. She’s very bad actually, but everything is bad and so by comparison what she feels is insignificant. “No, I don’t think I am.”
Her smile fades, but she doesn’t let go of Dee’s hand. And Dee is glad.
Back at the Complex, they have an impromptu celebration. A celebration of survival. As she drinks her glass of wine, she remembers another celebration in a house somewhere in Nebraska with a broken boy, a broken girl, a broken man and a broken self. She’s not anywhere near whole now, but at least she’s alive. Right? That’s something.
Pete and Gloria dance as though there’s no tomorrow and of course, there might not be. The dead things might rally in the night, they might swarm the Complex and kill them all. It’s good to have celebrations even in the midst of terror and tragedy because who knows if there will be a chance tomorrow?
She also wonders if they’ll still come with her tomorrow. The day’s events have shown that it’s still dangerous out there. She won’t blame them if they decide they don’t want to come. She won’t blame any of them for wanting to stay within the safety of the Complex’s walls. She wants to stay. But she wants her boys more, and so she resolves to go no matter what it looks like tomorrow, no matter if they come or not.
She looks over at Alex who is on her fourth wine cooler. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright as she debates the merits of whiskey versus tequila with Gary. They end up agreeing to disagree, which is weird to Dee since she can’t understand why anyone would get that excited over liquor.
When Dee finally heads to bed, Alex comes with her, tipsy and giddy, her lips puffy with alcohol. Dee wants to kiss her but can’t make the first move. It feels too disrespectful to Lana.
When Alex kisses her, though, she lets herself sink into the other woman and lose herself.
They almost lost two people today, but Pete and Gloria are safe in their tent. They didn’t win. The humans did. And she is human. And alive, damn it. And she wants something good and pure and warm. She wants Alex even though she feels guilty for wanting her. She wants to feel another woman’s touch on her body again and Alex is willing, is warm, is soft and female.
Her lips taste like peach wine coolers. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, her fingers spark magic, her moans are sweet music.
When they are done, they lay intertwined, skin slick with the afterglow of their lovemaking.
Yes, lovemaking. Not because they are in love, but because they are both alive and it was the best ending to a day where people lived instead of died.
Before she goes to sleep, Dee sets an alarm and then Alex curls into her and murmurs, “Night, Dee.”
It’s strange to hear those words out of another woman’s mouth, a mouth that isn’t Lana’s, but Dee lets herself smile anyway. She is alive and celebrations are important even when the loss threatens to overwhelm. She falls asleep with that smile on her face and Alex in her arms.
37
Now
When she gets up, Alex gets up with her. No sign that she’s planning to stumble out an apology and stay behind. Dee is relieved but still tense as she gets dressed, eats, brushes her teeth—all the mundane things she might have done before the zombie apocalypse. She tries to keep her mind off the terrible worry that Pete and Gloria will ditch her, and remembers telling Isaac how to stop his brain from picking at memories as if they were sores.
That memory, of him crying in her arms, that one will stay with her forever and though it doesn’t intrude obsessively, she finds herself thinking about it at odd, random moments. Thinking about his despair, the way his eyes were haunted by the death of his brother.
They’d been happy in that house on the side of the road.
If they’d stayed …
Pete and Gloria cross the room to her, backpacks slung over shoulders, smiles on their faces. A sense of relief so strong hits her that she feels almost dizzy.
“You’re coming,” she says and they both click their tongues at her.
“Of course we are,” Gloria says.
“Won’t let a little thing like getting trapped in a dump truck by dead things stop us from going with you.” Pete pats his chest. “Gotta get this to Will’s family too.”
Gratitude fills her. “Thank you.”
Gloria squeezes her shoulder, and then they are gathering up their gear. Mel comes to say goodbye, and most everyone else—those are awake, anyway.
“Be careful out there, you guys.” Mel hands them a case. “Flare gun. Four rounds. Shoot it if you get into trouble. We’ll be watching from the rooftops.”
“If we’re in trouble, you shouldn’t be charging out to save us,” Dee says.
“Bullshit. You’re one of us now and we protect our own.” Mel pushes the gun into Dee’s hands and walks off to curtail further argument.
Her surety that she shouldn’t leave grows stronger. She almost calls it off, or proposes they wait a day or a week, or even a month, but then Pete is unlatching the door and they are outside in the sunshine and she cannot stop them. It’s done. They are leaving.
She throws her gear into the back of the SUV and climbs into the driver’s seat. The rest of them tuck their supplies into the back and then doors are slammed and expressions expectant. “Ready?” she asks, though she’s the one who isn’t ready. She’s the one who wants to turn back and hide inside the building, never to step foot in the dangerous unknown again.
“Ready!”
She starts the SUV and they wind their way out of the maze of cars, Alex directing them with the map
in her lap, though Dee doesn’t need it. She knows where they’re going and she knows how to get there.
She just doesn’t know if she wants to make it.
“Brains are stupid,” Alex says. At Dee’s startled look, she adds, “You’re freaking yourself out. Put it in a box and tape it shut. Focus on what’s going on now or we’ll all end up dead. Get me?”
“Got you,” Dee says. She focuses her attention on the road and not on the what ifs and maybes and after a few minutes, she’s in the here and now.
Their first roadblocks comes when they turn off the main road that ran in front of the Complex. There aren’t a lot of them, but the minute they hear the truck engine, they begin calling to one another, singing their off-tune songs. For a while the survivors make good time despite them, because they’re able to weave through the abandoned cars without much trouble. A few blocks down the road, though, and there are more of them amassed in the intersection, and the intersection is clogged with vehicles.
“That’s okay,” Alex says. They backtrack and Alex guides Dee up a few blocks, once through a parking lot to avoid another clump of zombies, and then over a grassy median to bypass a crash. The dead things reach for them as they ease up over the curb and down the other side, the small detours reminding Dee of her harrowing trip through the mountains. Some of the dead things are burnt, some are missing jaws, or parts of their skulls.
Gloria tries hard to keep their spirits up, chattering brightly about things that happened back in the Complex, jokes, stories about her family, anything that would get their minds off the destruction outside. It occurs to Dee that they haven’t had the same experiences she’s had, haven’t had to struggle across great expanses of empty country, battling to stay alive at every stop. They’ve lived in relative safety at the Complex all this time. They are probably more nervous than she is and somehow that settles her better than all the jokes and stories in Gloria’s repertoire.
It’s her responsibility to keep them alive. She’s seen how things are, she’s seen more of the country than they have. It’s up to her to make sure they don’t die before they even get more than a couple miles from the Complex.