by A. M. Geever
“You know how to play Who Can Be The Quietest, don’t you, Violet?” Doug said.
Violet giggled, then said proudly, “Better than Silas.”
“Do not,” Silas protested.
“Do too,” said Violet.
As he and Violet passed by Mario, Doug murmured, “If he won’t try the rowboat, this is going to be a long walk.”
Mario smiled despite himself and went to get his pack. It was three weeks to the day since they’d arrived in Eureka. He was happy to be getting underway again.
They saw Tessa off at the short dock beside a gray warehouse with a faded blue and white sign that read Caito Fisheries, Inc. To his credit, Silas had almost gotten into the rowboat and spared them this walk, but he lost his nerve at the end. Doug and Skye had found liquid Benadryl at the hospital. They’d dose Silas up if need be to get him on the yacht, but if they were going to resort to drugging the children, they’d save it for when it really mattered. Mario hoped Silas would feel more comfortable on a larger vessel.
Violet wouldn’t leave her brother, so the five of them set out on foot. Doug had suggested Mario go with Tessa, but it made Mario uneasy to have just one adult per child. As they walked back to the remnants of the road, Silas ran his fingers over the square, wire fishing traps stacked taller than his head. Mario thought they were lobster traps, which conjured memories of weekends on Cape Cod with his girlfriend when he’d been a doctoral student at M.I.T. They’d stayed in the working-class fishing hamlets near the more upscale, picturesque villages where they’d spent their days, since they couldn’t afford the refined bed and breakfasts. Their nighttime retreat to cheap motels hadn’t bothered Mario. He’d been far more interested in the girl next to him in the bed than the bed itself.
The breeze blowing in from the bay riffled the tall grasses. Mario looked down when a small hand slipped into his own. Violet looked up at him and smiled. He put his fingers to his lips to remind her of their game. She nodded, then looked ahead, seemingly content. Silas walked ahead of them with Skye and Doug. Doug held Mister Bun Bun’s carrier. Sending Mister Bun Bun with Tessa on the rowboat had threatened a full-scale tantrum—and the noise that went with it—from Violet, so that had been that.
Kids are such a pain in the ass sometimes, he thought, but the warmth of the small hand in his reminded him that they were also—
Stop it, he said to himself. He still tired easily, so he was prone to wandering thoughts. And the children distracted him, which was dangerous. He needed to stay focused. Doug looked back, and Mario gave him a thumbs-up, even though his lungs ached. They were only walking, but it was the most activity he’d had since they’d been waylaid in Eureka. He’d had pneumonia once before. It had taken a few weeks before the coughing and achy feeling subsided.
Silas pointed at an old railroad crossing signpost, and Skye nodded her head. The water lapped softly, now a few hundred feet on their left as the road followed a more direct path toward the low bridge to the island. Seagulls swooped overhead, their harsh cries filling the air.
Mario held his machete loosely in his free hand. On his right the land rose, a gentle slope that turned into a short but steep hillside to the backyards of a row of houses. Mario pulled Violet along with him as he closed the small gap between them and the others. He pointed to the houses at the top of the hill, which would put them on the same level as the road that led to the bridge. A section of fence at the back of a large yellow house had fallen down, leaving a gap.
Mario said, “We can cut up to that gap in the fence.”
“Looks like a good spot,” Doug said. He stopped, set down Mister Bun Bun’s carrier, and crouched low. “C’mon, Violet. Time to ride piggyback.”
A smile lit her face, and she scrambled up on Doug’s back, quietly, Mario noticed.
“I’ll take point,” Skye said. “Silas, walk between Doug and Mario, okay?”
“Okay,” Silas said. “Should I carry Mister Bun Bun?”
“I’ll take him,” Skye said.
“Let me,” Mario said.
“But you’ve got Silas, too,” she said.
“You repel zombies. Don’t you think you should keep your hands free so you can kill some of them?”
Skye conceded the point, and they veered off the road into the tall grass. The gulls still screeched above them, their caws high and thin. Mario felt himself lulled by the swishing grass, the lapping water, even the noise of the gulls. Together it was almost like a hum—
He stopped, really paying attention now, then said, “Doug…hear that?”
Doug slowed, then said, “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Silas asked, his small voice high and reedy.
“Shh,” Mario said, putting his hand on the boy’s bony shoulder.
Skye had heard it, too. Mario turned his head, the dull drone filling his ears. He couldn’t smell the rot of dead bodies, but with the wind blowing in off the bay, that didn’t surprise him.
“It’s that way,” he said. “On the other side of the bridge overpass.”
Doug and Skye nodded, agreeing with his fix on the direction the zombies lay.
“When we start up the last part of the slope, where it’s steeper, they might see us,” Skye said. “We have to make it fast.”
Mario motioned for Silas to take his hand, but he had to set down Mister Bun Bun to do it, since he held the machete in the other. Silas obeyed, but he picked up the carrier first. It was oversized and awkward next to the boy. He looked up, eyes huge in his face. Mario leaned in close to Silas’ ear.
“It’ll be okay. We won’t let anything happen to you. If we need to run, you drop that carrier.”
Silas’ head whipped toward him so fast that he almost hit Mario’s nose. “No.”
“We can come back for him,” Mario said.
Silas whispered, “You’re lying.”
Goddammit, Mario thought, because Silas had caught him out. If they had to run from a horde of zombies and didn’t have Mister Bun Bun, the chances that they would come back were next to none. Mario needed a hand to hold on to Silas and a hand to hold a weapon. Silas wouldn’t be able to keep up if he was holding the carrier. If Mario carried Silas piggyback, Silas definitely wouldn’t be able to hold the carrier. And carrier or not, having a child on his back would hamper Mario’s ability to fight. He couldn’t prioritize a rabbit over a child, but he didn’t like how Silas was looking at him, like he was nothing but a disappointment the boy had expected all along. He didn’t know why it was important to him that this boy he barely knew believed him, but it was.
“I promise that I’ll try,” Mario said, incredulous that he was even making this bargain. “If I can save Mister Bun Bun, I will. Okay?”
Silas’ steady gaze never wavered. The silence stretched for a moment, then he said, “Okay.”
Doug asked, “Everyone ready?”
They sped through the tall grass, ducking low. When they reached the foot of the hillside, they paused. Behind them, the sound of the zombies grew louder. Maybe they’d seen the movement in the grass and were already pursuing them. Mario sheathed his machete. If they had to run, he had to carry Silas.
“Hop up on my back. I’ll carry Mister Bun Bun,” he said, crouching down. Silas didn’t move, just looked at Mario, his brown eyes wary. “I will not set him down. I promise.”
Silas looked at him for another long moment before scrambling onto Mario’s back. Mario stood, cursing himself for being such a goddamned idiot. He grasped Silas’ left leg and hooked it over his elbow. Silas clasped his hands around Mario’s neck, then Mario picked up the pet carrier with his other hand.
“Ready?” Doug asked Mario and Skye. When they both nodded, he said, “Go.”
They sprinted up the hillside, and the moans and hisses swelled. Mario felt a tightness in his lungs from the extra effort immediately, his upward momentum slowing as he compensated to keep his balance. With Silas on his back he was top-heavy, and with the carrier he couldn’t use his hand to p
ush off the hillside. By the time they reached the fence, he was coughing. Zombies were swarming into the high grass in pursuit—a lot of them—and the hill wouldn’t slow them down enough. The horde extended beyond the other side of the raised roadway of the bridge. He followed the others through the broken fence. They crept to the front yard. The decayed street, with grassy patches and saplings growing through the asphalt, looked clear. They turned west, walking single file.
Mario’s head was on a continuous swivel as they walked through a residential neighborhood of simple bungalows and low-rise apartment blocks. Now that they were up on the same level as the rest of the town, they couldn’t see beyond what was in front of them. Skye led them south, then west through a narrow alleyway. It had originally been wide enough for cars, maybe even wide enough for them to park and not block traffic, but now they threaded their way through shrubbery, listening for moans or the scuffling of zombies.
They paused at the divided thoroughfare at the alley’s end. To the left, the road inclined gradually, turning into the overpass to the island. Mario breathed a sigh of relief. Fog was rolling in, but their route was clear. A loud, hollow pop like a champagne cork was followed by a high trailing whine. A bright-red flare streaked into the sky, cutting through the fog, from the direction of the marina. A column of black smoke snaking skyward, getting blacker and thicker by the second.
“Holy shit,” Doug said. “Is that the yacht or something else?”
“Guys,” Mario said softly. “We need to go.”
Ahead of them, rounding the gentle curve of the overpass, a few zombies straggled into view. Silas’ body trembled against Mario’s back, and Violet whimpered. Doug and Skye moved closer, flanking him. From the corner of his eye, Mario saw zombies at the far end of the alley they’d just traversed.
He started forward, knowing that Skye and Doug would follow. The fog was thicker on the bridge, cutting visibility. They jogged up the gentle incline, not wanting to go too fast in case there was a mass of zombies ahead they couldn't see. Mario suppressed a cough.
Skye darted forward and slashed at the first few zombies, which all shied away from her. If there weren’t too many, she could clear a path for him and Doug, since they were carrying the children. They cleared the buildings obstructing their view of the marina. What Mario saw sucked the air from his burning lungs.
Bright-yellow and orange flames engulfed the yacht. It listed to the side, flames licking up the mast. The edges of the sails flickered red and orange. Mario could see Tessa, backlit by the fire, throwing supplies to the dock. Then he saw a horde of zombies ahead of them that had already reached the island. They tripped and shuffled toward the fiery beacon of the burning yacht. Silas began to cry, and Violet’s whimpers grew louder.
Skye said, “We’ve got to fall back. Tessa will have to hole up and we’ll get to her later. I don’t know if I can protect all of us,” she said. She dropped her voice as they retreated. “Even if I can, I don’t know that the kids can handle being surrounded by a horde.”
Smoke from the fire reached them, the taste of charred wood and melting plastic filling Mario’s nose and coating his throat. Violet, too, began to cry. Her sobs reminded Mario of a frightened animal.
Voice low and not unkind, Doug said, “Silas, Violet, you’ve got to stop crying. The zombies can hear it. We need to be quiet to get away.”
It didn’t make a difference. Both children continued to sob. Mario could feel the hiccuping shudders of Silas’ small frame against his back. He wanted to comfort the boy, and shake him. His reaction to the situation was normal, but they couldn’t afford it. A thousand feet ahead of them, shadows in the fog stumbled out of the alleyway onto the thoroughfare. They ran toward the zombies, veering to the left of the curb-height traffic islands dividing the road. It wasn’t much, but anything that would slow the zombies down was an advantage they desperately needed. The stench of death and sewage and rot wafted along with the zombies funneling out from the alleyway.
Skye ran ahead, scouting around the corner. She waved them forward, onto a street of both residential and industrial buildings. Mario coughed, phlegm filling his mouth. He spat, his lungs burning, unable to stop coughing. Zombies stumbled out from yards and parking lots. Skye tried the first two bungalows, to no avail. She sped past a one-story, flat-roofed warehouse to another bungalow. Mario saw her stumble and overbalance when she shoved against the bungalow’s door with her shoulder. The door must have given way easily. Then she disappeared inside to clear the house.
Mario and Doug ran alongside the warehouse. Mario caught a blur from above, then was on the ground. He fell onto his side, Silas’ limbs coming free from around him. The hard plastic of the pet carrier skittered away. He heard the snap of teeth at his ear over Silas’ scream. The stench of the zombie writhing on top of him hit him like a punch. He struck out instinctively, his elbow connecting with the zombie’s jaw. He rolled over, the rotting corpse now below him. A zombie dropped from the sky. It landed beside him with a sickening thud. He looked up, heart seizing. Zombies were falling from the warehouse roof, spilling over its edge like a waterfall.
“Silas,” he croaked. “Run!”
Mario lurched to his feet, slashing at the zombie attacking him. He ducked away from another, feeling the scrape of its fingers grazing his elbow. Doug wrestled with what had once been a short woman, but now looked more like a horror movie scarecrow. Its eyes were sunken, and a broken jaw bone jutted through leathery skin. At least thirty zombies struggled to their feet in the hundred feet between Mario and Doug. They listed side to side, their gaits awkward from smashed feet and ankles. Skye ran from the porch of the bungalow and scooped up Violet. A violent flash of Doug’s knife sent the zombie attacking him slumping to the ground.
The only person Mario didn’t see was Silas. Another zombie lunged at him, wisps of filthy hair hanging lank over its face to expose a rotted bald spot. Mario kicked out the zombie’s knee and turned back the way they’d come. Silas was running to get the pet carrier.
He sprinted after Silas, toward the approaching horde following them. His lungs were on fire. His legs felt like they were moving through molasses. Harsh breaths rasped painfully in and out of his throat. The approaching zombies were just steps from Mister Bun Bun’s carrier. So were the zombies from the warehouse's roof. He scooped up Silas and pivoted toward the bungalow.
“You promised!” Silas screeched, struggling against Mario’s grip. “You promised!”
One glance told Mario they weren’t going to reach the bungalow. There were too many zombies, and Skye wasn’t going to reach them in time to help.
He might as well get the fucking rabbit.
He shoved his machete into its sheath and kicked at a zombie pouncing on the carrier, his boot connecting squarely with its face. He stooped, grasped the carrier’s handle, and ran. Silas quit squirming, though his breath still came in raw, hiccuping gasps. There was one gap in the ragged line of zombies beside a squat brown brick building across the street. Mario had no idea if the zombies coming over the bridge would be on the other side.
He ran for the gap, racking coughs robbing him of air. He ducked low when a zombie at the vanguard of the rooftop zombies took a swipe at him. The broken asphalt crunched under his feet. He slowed at the corner of the building, where its driveway dumped them into an alleyway. Half a block to Mario’s left, zombies flowed from the bridge, unaware of them. Mario loosened his grip on Silas enough that the boy could slide alongside his body to the ground. He took Silas’ small hand in his own and pulled him down the alley parallel to the road where Doug, Skye, and Violet were hiding.
At the next corner, a house that faced the other side of the block had a low wooden fence. Mario looked over it, biting his lower lip to suppress his coughing, so hard that he tasted blood. He picked up Silas and set him down into the weedy yard. He handed Mr. Bun Bun’s carrier into Silas’ shaking hands, then hopped the fence. He crouched down on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His
chest felt pinched in a vise, his throat filled with razors. When he finally quit coughing, he saw that Silas peered inside the carrier, his face pinched with anxiety.
“How is he?”
Talking turned out to be a mistake, because it immediately triggered another coughing fit.
“Okay, I think,” Silas said when Mario’s hacking subsided. “He’s scared.”
Mario nodded. He took a careful, shallow breath without coughing. He took another with the same result. Voice shallow so he didn’t use much air, he said, “So am I, kiddo. Stay here while I check that house, quiet like a mouse.”
Silas nodded, his eyes huge in his face.
He wanted to tell Silas it would be okay, that he’d be right back, but could feel the cough rising in his throat. Instead, he tousled Silas’ bare head and left him with the rabbit.
Ten minutes later, they scuttled up the stairs to the second floor of the small house. Mario shepherded Silas into a bedroom that overlooked the tangled grass and weeds of the backyard. He set down the pet carrier and closed the bedroom door, then sat on the edge of the bed. He dug in his pocket for the inhaler that Hussein had given him. He shook it gently and opened his mouth. Holding the inhaler an inch from his parted lips, he pressed the cylinder down. A medicinal mist puffed into the air and he breathed it in. He repeated the puff-inhale five more times. The original dose had been two puffs, but it was so old that Hussein had said to use five or six, then see how he felt.
The viselike tightness in his chest eased. After a minute, he felt like he could breathe without coughing and gagging. Thank you, Hussein, he thought; I’d be totally fucked right now without you.
Silas was crouched in front of the pet carrier, talking to the rabbit. “It’s okay, Mister Bun Bun. It’s okay to come out.” Silas’ tear-streaked face was forlorn. A few seconds later he looked up at Mario and said, “He’s scared.”
Mario crouched down beside Silas and looked inside the carrier. The brown rabbit was crammed against the far end of the carrier, eyes shut tight and shaking like a leaf. The poor thing was probably in shock. Mario peeled off his leather jacket and rifled through the pockets of the vest he wore. In the breast pocket he found the crumbled crackers he’d put there an hour ago. An hour ago…it felt like a year. Slowly, so as not to startle the rabbit even more, he slid half of a cracker inside the carrier. Silas started to look inside again but Mario’s hand on Silas’ shoulder stayed him.