by Q J Martin
“You aren’t so bad, Randell.” Logan patted his friend on the back reassuringly.
“Am I not? I held a knife against a stranger’s throat and tried to kill her. What was I thinking?” Randell gasped. “Maybe I’ve always been a terrible person. Remember that time back in 6th grade, when me and Jimmy McMillan had that little disagreement, and you had to come pull him off of me?”
“He landed a shot square in my jaw. I couldn’t open my mouth without it cracking for weeks. Hard to forget.” Logan shook his head.
“It was so worth it, though.” A faint smile graced his lips. “The look on Jimmy’s face, right after he socked you, when he realized that I had ran and gotten the principal, it was priceless.”
“That was, wasn’t it? How long was he suspended for again?”
“Felt like the rest of the year. Maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know.” Randell hesitated. “I never did thank you for that,” he said, contemplating.
“Well, you did try to set me up with Crystal right after that. I think that was you thanking me, in your own way.”
“Oh yes. The majestic, two years ahead of us, much more mature, Crystal.”
“Probably not the best idea you’ve ever had, getting a guy suspended and then trying to steal his girlfriend. You know what they say about hindsight.”
“The jerk got what was coming to him,” Randell laughed.
“Did he? You realize that he came by my house and expressed his disapproval of that little stunt.”
“You had a black eye for like forever after that.” Randell sighed. “I guess I’ve always been the instigator, and you’ve always been the peace-maker. I stir the pot, and you help settle things down.”
A robin swooped down onto the grass and started pecking for worms, completely oblivious to the death and destruction going on in the world around it.
“You got the beautiful wife. You got the amazing children. Everything good that has ever been a part of my life has come from you. What did I do? Get you into body-guarding? I virtually handed you those divorce papers.”
“It wasn’t quite like that.” Logan watched as the robin tugged a worm out of the ground and flew away with it, no doubt to feed its young. “It was a mutual decision. You know that.”
“Either way, if anyone deserves to be with their family, it’s you. I don’t want to imagine a world without Glenn, Rose, Elizabeth—I’m the bad luck charm in this whole equation.”
“That’s not true,” Logan responded firmly.
“You don’t have to sugar-coat it. All I’m trying to say is that I want to help you get back the life you deserve,” Randell said, “even if it’s the last thing I do.”
“And that’s why you’re such a good friend, Randell.”
Randell turned to face Logan and wrapped his arm around him in an embrace for just a moment, before retracting again. “I guess it’s time for me to let you be the better man again, huh?” Randell asked.
Logan smiled gently in response.
“Why don’t you bring our guest out for a bit.” Randell’s chest heaved, and finally he blurted out, “I need to apologize to her, for everything. And,” he said with a little more pep in his voice, “I noticed a little something-something going on between you two a minute ago, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a little thing like attempted murder come between you guys.”
Chapter XI
Logan walked into the restroom and found the woman sitting right where he had left her. There wasn’t any way she could be comfortable in the position that her handcuffs forced her to take, but she didn’t complain. She just looked up at Logan with her cool blue eyes as she tightened her grip on her baseball bat.
“I talked to Randell.”
“And?” she asked flatly.
“He finally came around. I’m going to undo your handcuffs now, if that’s alright with you.” Logan bent over her with the key in his hand. “Please don’t electrocute me,” he said. He laughed awkwardly, then unintentionally snorted. He felt his face turning red.
He had to get a little too close for comfort as he tried to reach back to get the key into the lock. He missed several times, and became acutely aware of the warmth of her body against his own. He cleared his throat and released the handcuff, springing back up and taking two steps back.
“I’m so sorry about all this,” he said, not risking looking her in the eyes.
“You said that already,” she said. “It’s ok. I understand your friend’s concern, if not his methods.” She sighed. “In my present condition, I can’t even guarantee that I’m not a serial killer, if I’m being completely honest. Although, even if I was, I have to say that I much prefer not being handcuffed to the toilet.”
“I don’t blame you there,” Logan said. “But… I tend to have a sixth sense about people.”
She took a step forward and leaned against the open door. “What does your sixth sense say about me?”
“It tells me that I have nothing to fear from you. I just have this feeling that you’re a good person.”
The woman smiled and brushed past Logan, walking into the hallway and leaving him to catch up. He ran after her, and together they walked the rest of the way into the kitchen.
Randell was, yet again, stuffing his face with every scrap of food he could find in the pantry. There was a pile of empty chip bags on the island, each one nearly licked clean.
“Hey,” Logan chided. “Save some for the rest of us, would you?”
Randell looked up at the two of them walking into the kitchen, suddenly aware of their presence. He looked down bashfully at the Twinkie in his hand, then, slowly, his face transformed into one of pure indifference. He stuffed it in his mouth whole. “So what are we going to be calling you?” he asked, doing his best to get the question out past his mouthful of pastry. “I’m getting tired of referring to you as Mystery Woman #2.”
“You never referred to her as Mystery Woman #2,” Logan said, shaking his head and putting his hand on his hip.
“Because the pain of my parting with Mystery Woman #1 is still too great for me to confront at present. Besides,” Randell leaned in and pretended to whisper to Logan, “I didn’t want Mystery Woman #2 to know that in my heart, she was still second bananas. I mean, how do you break that to someone you’ve only threatened to kill once?”
“I’m right here,” the woman said, raising her hand.
“Second bananas?” Logan rolled his eyes. “Because those two seconds of open rebellion against the Free States Armed Forces, along with invincibility and the power to control the Armies of the Damned really are hard to beat, aren’t they?”
Randell snapped his finger and pointed at him. “Exactly!” he said. “Although, now that I think about it, you always have liked the strong, silent, not-undead type, haven’t you?”
“Still right here, and not that silent.”
“She’s right,” Logan said, trying to blow the comment off, and not let the nervousness he felt standing in her presence reflect on his face or in his body language. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here.”
“Indeed,” the woman agreed. “I mean, you all lost me with ‘the Armies of the Damned.’”
Logan smiled at her, then he looked over and saw Randell smirking. Logan cleared his throat. “So, what would you like to be called, then? And let’s just completely discount Randell’s naming conventions from the get-go on this one.”
“I take great offense at that,” Randell said, digging his fingers into a jar of Pringles and shoving a handful into his mouth.
“You can call me anything, I suppose,” the woman said, walking to the back door and looking outside. “Nothing really calls out to me.” She paused, then added, “Not that I would even remember my name if I heard it.”
“Let’s call her…” Randell paused, contemplating. “Vinaigrette!” He threw his hands up as he said it, as if it was the greatest idea he’d ever had.
“Let's call you ‘Shut Up,’” Logan snapped back at him.
“Fine. Be that way.” Randell crossed his arms and propped himself against the cabinet. “I mean, I'm just trying to help you name our Jane Doe here.”
The woman perked up as Randell spoke. “Jane,” she repeated, testing the name on her lips. “I like that. It's simple, to the point, but still classy.”
“Ol’ Miss Jane Doe,” Randell said, extending his hand toward her. “Welcome to the Boys Only Club. We’ve only recently passed a memorandum allowing girls to join, with the requirement being that a previous member has at one time or another attempted to murder them and then deeply regretted it. We still need to change the name of the club and amend the parts of the rule book about cooties.”
Jane ignored Randell's hand. She walked over to Logan and made a show of leaning right up to his ear, until her lips tickled it. She whispered as loud as she could manage, “Does this guy ever shut up?” She let her hand linger on Logan’s shoulder as the question hung in the air.
“It’s a defense mechanism,” Logan said with a grin.
“Ouch! My heart.” Randell bent over and clutched his chest, pretending to be shot by an arrow. “I think I need to drink my sorrows.” He reached under the counter and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, slamming it on the table for both of them to see. “I think we need to unwind a little tonight.”
“You know, for once, I think I agree with Randell,” Logan said. After he thought about it for a moment, though, he tensed up at the thought of being drunk around this stranger, this gorgeous stranger. “And something to eat, too,” he said, hoping it could counteract the effects of the alcohol, at least to a small degree. ‘You're not the only one who's hungry right now,” he said, trying to cover his true motives.
⌬
The three of them grabbed everything that remained out of the pantry in preparation for their evening feast. In actuality, Logan wasn't as hungry as he had claimed. There was simply too much going on, too much for him to worry about, for him to give more than passing attention to his dietary needs.
He thought that he had picked up a paltry amount of food, but it turned out that Jane had gotten even less. When she picked up her cup and walked to the living room, she barely had more than a handful of snacks with her, and even then, she was eating painfully slowly.
Randell, of course, ate enough for all three of them. His appetite had not abated in the slightest since that morning, or that afternoon. He was throwing down handfuls of food at a time when he asked Jane, in between mouthfuls, what she brought to the table when it came to survival. “I mean, you don't even have your memories. Do you even know what you could do to help out?”
Jane sat up on her blanket that was laid out evenly with the other two, forming a triangle on the floor. “I may not remember anything from before I woke up,” she said, “but I've learned plenty since then.” She held up her glass, and Logan filled it up with whiskey. She was the only one that seemed completely unfazed by the liquor.
“In the… two… four…” Randell stammered.
“Three days since I've woken up, yes.”
“What have you learned since waking up,?” Logan asked. He leaned forward and placed his entire attention on her answer.
Randell seemed to be out only vaguely listening to her. Most of his attention was placed on his food, which he was vastly enjoying.
“Well, for starters, I know what's happening to the Infected.”
Randell perked up at this revelation. “How would you know that?”
“I woke up in a laboratory. There was a stack of papers on the desk that I was sprawled out across. I skimmed through them before I left.” Jane took a long swig from her cup.
“What did they tell you?” Logan asked, taking a sip of his own whiskey as well.
Jane sighed and propped her head in her hands, taking a deep breath before responding. “The Infection is a side-effect of InstaRegen.”
“Yeah, man… I mean, woman… girl…” Randell slurred. “Whatever I'm supposed to call you. We got that figured out already.”
“I wasn't finished,” she said pointedly. “It was intended to increase the speed that our bodies regenerate and heal. But it was only supposed to work as needed. The best I can figure, either people have a lot more problems that require fixing than anyone imagined, or the mod put everyone's bodies into overdrive, constantly replacing cells, even if they were perfectly healthy.”
“You don't know which one it is?” Logan asked.
She shook her head. “There was nothing in the documents I read about it. I'd like to think that if the scientists that were developing the mod were aware of its adverse effects, they wouldn't have released it to begin with. All I know is that the older or more injured a recipient is, the faster the ravenous hunger sets in. But it always sets in. It drives them mad. From what I can tell, it increases the metabolism of its victims by at least tenfold.” She eyed Randell suspiciously. “They end up much like you, eating everything in sight.”
“Hey, now,” Logan interjected, not believing she had even made such an insinuation. “Let's not start levying accusations at each other now. Randell isn't Infected.”
“How do you know that?” Jane asked.
“He's always this hungry,” Logan explained. He's not always this thin, though.
“Guilty,” Randell sighed before chomping down on a potato chip greedily.
“And I've been with him all day,” Logan continued. “If he was Infected, he would have turned already. When my neighbor was attacked, I tried to run out to help him, and he turned in seconds.” There's no way Randell could be Infected. It's ridiculous. There's just no way.”
“Fair enough,” Jane said. “I only know what I've read in the files and what I've observed.” She went silent, choosing not to press the issue. Instead, she changed the topic. “But if we're going to be discussing what we each can contribute to our survival, why don't we talk about you two. How did the two of you end up fighting to survive the end of the world together?”
“We grew up together,” Logan offered. “Randell got me into bodyguarding when we finished high school. I'm not sure where he got the brilliant idea of becoming a bodyguard from. I had to save him from the bullies every single time he would antagonize them in class.”
“I still say it was a genius idea,” Randell chimed in. “Who would ever expect someone like me,” he said, gesturing towards himself, “to get into something like that? The bad guys never expect little ol’ me to be the bodyguard. I always scare the crap out of them when I pounce.” Randell mined pouncing like a tiger, only to flop over and crush the remainder of his bag of chips.
Logan laughed at his friend.
Even Jane was allowing herself to loosen up a little bit around them, offering a slight smile. “So how did the two of you end up fighting to survive the end of the world together?”
Randell dumped the crumbs from the bottom of his chip bag into his mouth, then said, “When I saw what was going on, I went straight to his house. I knew he would end up runnin’ out and risking his life in the middle of this madness, and if he was going to do that, I wanted to make sure I could give him the greatest fighting chance possible.”
“Risking your life—For your family?” Jane asked Logan directly. “Who do you have waiting for you in Rochester?”
Logan's face flushed. He looked into his drink, took another sip, then looked up into Jane's blue eyes. They were strangely calming. “For my children,” he said finally, watching closely to see what her reaction would be.
She smiled slightly. Her eyes seemed to convey a renewed sense of respect for him. “How many do you have?”
“I have two. Glenn is ten, and Roselyn is eight. They're with their mother, somewhere in the city, hopefully. I don't know for sure. I haven't been able to contact them since the Infection.”
“Well,” Jane said somberly, even as she took another sip of whiskey. “It's not every dad who would walk miles and miles, risking life and limb for their children.”
Logan w
atched as a ray of the setting sun shone through between the closed curtains and glimmered in her eyes.
“Or at least I'd imagine.” Jane shrugged. “It's hard for me to state the rules of life when I don't remember any.”
“No,” Randell said. “You're right. Logan here is a terrific parent.” He brought his glass up to his mouth and contemplated it, then put it back on the floor beside him. “He's everything I've ever wanted to be, but better. And I'm not—I'm not just saying that. I knew, the second I saw what was going on, that if anyone deserved to have a streak of luck, to save their children and get the chance to live happily ever after in the middle of all this, it was him. That's why I decided to help him.”
“Ok,” Logan said, taking the glass away from him. “Someone's had enough.”
“I'm serious.” Randell looked around at their setup on the floor, and asked, “Why are we sleeping in the floor when there are perfectly good beds over in the bedroom?”
“It's safer for us to be together,” Logan explained patiently. “We can help each other more easily if anything happens to us, and we're right by the front and back doors.”
“Right, right. Well, that's a shame.” Randell flopped himself over on his blanket and began to snore the second his head hit the pillow.
“Jesus, he must have drank half the bottle,” Jane pondered.
“Try three-quarters.” Logan shook his head. “He's—he's quite a character.”
Logan looked up and saw that Jane was eying him closely. “You joke with him,” she said. “You laugh with him, and smile with him, but you don't share his blissful disregard for reality. I can tell by looking at you.”
“I’m just worried,” Logan whispered, almost to himself. “I spent the entire day trying to make it to my kids, and I’m not even half way there. And when I get there, what can I possibly do? I don’t even know where they are. I don’t know where to start looking. Chances are, they’re dead or Infected already.”
“Hey,” Jane said, leaning over and resting her hand on his own, “I know there’s nothing worse than what you’re going through as a father right now.”