Zombie Playlist: A Rock Zombie Romance

by Kirsty Dallas

  Track Twelve: Dave Matthews, Sister

  CHAPTER 12

  After applying a little antiseptic cream, I carefully stuck band aids over the blisters that had torn open on Noah’s feet. It looked a bit of a mess, but she hadn’t complained once. A cigarette hung from the corner of my lips, smoke drifting lazily in front of my face. It might as well have been weed I was smoking for the instant relief and relaxation that washed through my body. Lawson wanted to treat her feet, but Noah refused to let him, still a little rattled and clingy from the Walmart adventure. Stuffing his notebook in front of my face, I pulled back and read it.

  She needs better shoes.

  Snorting, I passed Noah back her rainbow-colored Doc Martins and watched as she read the note too, her brow furrowing and lips pursing. This was going to be good.

  “I don’t want other shoes,” she said defiantly.

  Lawson scribbled away and shoved the notepad in front of Noah.

  Hiking boots would be better, or sneakers. You can still keep the Docs.

  “No way, no how,” she muttered.

  Lawson raised his brows my way, as if expecting me to intervene and fix this. My sister’s stubborn tenacity was legendary and if she wanted to wear her rainbow Doc Martin’s, she darn well would. When she was just six years old she’d refused to wear the school uniform for an entire semester, instead wearing her favorite My Little Pony shirt, grey tights, and pink converse sneakers. It didn’t matter what she was bribed with. She wouldn’t conform to the school’s uniform policy, and I loved her for it. Mind you there had been numerous times since where I wanted to throttle her for that obstinate nature. Raising a brow back, I shrugged at Lawson. He was on his own. Writing down another note, he offered it to Noah to read.

  Don’t you want to look like me and Shy?

  Noah shook her head as she laced up her brightly colored shoes. She didn’t care about looking like other people. She marched to her own beat, and Lawson wasn’t going to win this battle of wits with that argument.

  “You do you Boo, you do you,” I murmured, realizing it wouldn’t help the situation whatsoever. Noah gave me a thumbs up and smiled.

  Meanwhile, Lawson stood above us, his rifle slung over one shoulder, one hand on his hip as he rubbed the rough hair on his jaw thoughtfully.

  What if we find some paint and color them like your Doc’s?

  With a smile I looked to Noah, ready for her smack down. Instead, I found her scratching her chin as if almost mimicking Lawson’s pensive pose.

  “Maybe.”

  My grin fell. What the hell just happened? With her boots laced, she stood up and shrugged on her backpack.

  “Maybe, but it has to be yellow, pink and purple paint.”

  Lawson grinned and held out his fist for a bump, which Noah happily obliged him with. What the ever lovin’ fuck? Lawson glanced my way and held out a hand, pulling me to my feet with a cheeky wiggle of his brow.

  “It was a maybe, not a yes,” I mumbled.

  His arrogant smirk was delightful, and it took some effort not to smile back. As we began walking, I looked about the arid countryside. Today it didn’t seem so bleak and desolate. Before it almost felt like the apocalypse had bleached the color from the world around me layering everything in shades of grey and brown...the color of death. But right now, it seemed a little brighter, the sand tinged with varying hues of red, the sky a vivid blue. There was no doubt having Lawson with us was a good thing. From the way Noah stared after him adoringly, I assumed she was already halfway in love. Although I’d never admit it out loud, I felt at ease having him around. And he wasn’t too hard on the eyes, either. The bleakness in my life and this rotting world had been given a reprieve, if only for a moment.

  “Remember the last time we were at Nan and Pop’s together?” I asked Noah, needing to break the silence which was already driving me crazy.

  Noah chuckled, her head thrown back.

  “You used fire crackers to blow up cow poo,” Noah huffed out between bouts of laughter.

  Lawson looked my way with a smile and shook his head with amusement.

  “And it splattered all over Shy and Pop, they stunk of poop. Nan wouldn’t let them back in the house, so they had to hose off in the backyard in their underwear.”

  He gave me a questioning look, as if maybe he didn’t really believe us.

  Chuckling, I nodded. “True story, but it was Pop’s idea, not mine.”

  “Mom always said Pop was just like Shy. Their middle name should have been ‘trouble’.”

  The mood abruptly changed when Noah mentioned Mom.

  “Shy? Do you think Mom and Dad are okay?”

  My stomach rolled with the memory of killing our mother. The shiny golf club that I’d cleaned off with a little water and an oily rag not twenty minutes ago bumped my arm from the bungee cord holster it sat in on the side of my backpack. At one time her blood had adorned the bulky head and now she lay decaying on the floor in their modest home. Lawson cast me an inquiring look.

  “I don’t know, Boo.”

  With the smallest shake of my head, Lawson’s eyes filled with sympathy. Nope, not now, I couldn’t take that kind of gentleness and pity, it would only lead to useless tears. Tearing my gaze away from his, I kicked a stone from the ground in front of me.

  “Maybe they’ll be at Nan and Pop’s waiting for us?” Noah wondered out loud.

  “You never know,” I murmured, placating her with empty words.

  “What about you Lawson? Where are your mom and dad?” Noah asked, all blissful ignorance and innocence.

  Lawson wrote in his notepad, handing the piece of paper to me. After reading it I passed it to Noah.

  Dad died from a heart attack two years ago. Mom died when I was young, she had a genetic disease called Cystic Fibrosis.

  “I have a genetic condition called Down Syndrome. There’s no cure for it,” Noah said, matter-of-fact.

  “You don’t need a cure, there’s nothing wrong with you,” I growled.

  Noah had been lucky enough to be born with acceptance. My parents hated me, but for Noah they had endless patience and love. We’d always told her that there was nothing wrong with her. When she commented on the fact she looked different, we pointed out that we all looked different. She knew she had a condition called Down Syndrome and as she’d grown older she’d done her own research to better understand her differences. I absolutely hated it when she referred to her situation as something that required fixing. She was perfect the way she was. Noah rolled her eyes with dramatic flair and smiled at Lawson.

  “But I’m perfect the way I am, so it’s okay.” There was no sarcasm in her tone, again Noah was factual and honest.

  Lawson smiled, all straight teeth and dimples, putting one arm around Noah’s neck and leaning in to kiss the top of her head. Even though he hadn’t been able to say it, his actions clearly said he agreed. Noah’s cheeks flared red and she giggled, awkwardly putting her arm around the back of Lawson. Oh, my ovaries, this man had the potential to worm his way right into my dark, rotten heart.

  ***

  Walking is overrated. Heath, my bestie from high school, he was a walker, well, when he wasn’t stealing cars that is. But he loved walking, he walked everywhere. Said it gave him time to clean out his mind, kind of like strolling meditation. I bet he’d never walked from Blythe to Elmendorf in the middle of summer though. Noah had given up her shoes, refusing to take another step in them because of the pain in her feet. Lawson redressed the blisters and put her in two pairs of his thick military socks, and she’d walked along the hot bitumen in the khaki green footwear without another complaint. She’d also ditched the helmet, saying her brain was boiling under the hard surface. She still wore the cap I found for her, but the helmet had been relegated to my head boiling my brain. Right now, I’d tossed it to one side as I lay in the dirt. The ants that swarmed around me in perfectly synchronized harmony gifted me the occasional stin
g, but I ignored them for the most part. I was exhausted. In fact, I was beyond exhausted if that were even possible. I’d say I was dead on my feet if it didn’t have such a close connotation with the world’s current zombie problem. Every time I used the word zombie, Lawson would give me a look as if to correct me. He was fighting a lost cause because those drooling, bleeding, groaning, decaying bodies were everything a zombie encapsulated. Thankfully out here in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, we hadn’t seen a single walking dead.

  When I’d dropped to the ground beside the prickly bush, I hadn’t even bothered to take my backpack off. Instead, Noah unstrung Maybelle for me, and she was lying at my side while I used my pack as a cushion to raise my body, my legs outstretched in front of me. My eyes were glued to the two-story house before us. Noah was sitting beside me in much the same way however reversed, with her eyes on the road we’d wandered off not more than ten minutes ago. Lawson was checking out the house to see if it was safe. We all needed a break from the heat and sun. Two days into our trip, and Noah had stopped talking, her sunburnt face in a permanent frown. I’d turned into a bitch on steroids, snapping and barking at anything and everything. Since there wasn’t a lot to snap at, Lawson and Noah were on the receiving end of my exhaustion and frustration. The lone house sitting not far off the highway sat like a beckon of hope surrounded by the endless Arizona desert. There wasn’t even a tall tree in sight. It was simply a block of concrete with a tin roof which broke up the monotony of rock, dirt, and low-lying scrub. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t extravagant, but right now it was the best-looking thing I’d seen in forty-eight hours.

  “I want to go home.”

  Noah’s voice was barely a whisper, but in this expanse of silence, it was loud and seemed to echo in my ears. That had pretty much become her mantra over the last few hours. I got it, we were uncomfortable, tired, dirty, hungry, scared. I wanted to go home too. I wanted to close my eyes and wake up and find this all some morbid dream. I wanted my house, minus Cullen of course, I wanted my shower, my air-conditioner, my fridge, my sofa, my stereo. Fuck, I just wanted that butt-ugly house that jutted up out of the dirt in front of us.

  “We have no home.”

  Noah huffed and I swiped at a sting on my arm courtesy of one of the ants I was lying in. It was my breaking point. One ant bite too many, a push over the line of sanity, the last straw, so to speak.

  “For fuck’s sake!” I yelled, trying to climb to my feet and failing because of my heavy backpack pulling me back to the ground. Awkwardly, I shrugged it off my shoulders and staggered upward looking more like a drunken hobo then rock royalty. “I have over six million dollars in my bank account right now! How can I have that much disposable money lying around and not be able to fix this shit? I hate fucking walking. I hate the desert. I hate the sun. I hate all this boring fucking dirt, and I FUCKING HATE ANTS!” I was screaming like a lunatic now, my boots stomping on all the little black insects that were scattering out of their choreographed paths. “Fuck you all! Stop biting me you little ugly bastards!”

  A throat clearing somewhere behind me caught my attention and through heaving breaths and eyes filled with rage, I glanced over my shoulder and found Lawson standing…watching. He’d ditched his own pack somewhere, his rifle slung over one arm while he fought a smile. Pointing at me, he raised his hands to his hair and mimicked washing, then arched a questioning brow.

  “A shower?” I asked, my voice soft and disbelieving. Shower, a word that drained my anger and left my eyes prickling with tears.

  Lawson nodded and strode forward to help Noah to her socked feet, taking the burden of her backpack before he scooped down and picked up Maybelle. The exhaustion set back in, and I followed him to the house. A shower…a goddamned shower, something so simple had the power to bring me to my knees. I was going to have a shower.

  Track Thirteen: Kacey Musgraves, Rainbow

  CHAPTER 13

  The pipes that ran town water to the house didn’t work, but Lawson had discovered this home pumped underground water to the taps outside. He rigged up the outdoor hose and ran it up the side of the house and through the tiny bathroom window. It wasn’t really practical showering under the slow, weak trickle from the hose, so he filled up the tub so we could have a bath instead. Noah went first, and I’d almost lost my mind waiting for her. Who’d ever thought something as simple as being clean could send you mad with anticipation?

  The kitchen was mostly empty, or what food had been left behind was bad. Noah opened the fridge before Lawson or I could stop her, and now the kitchen, dining and living room smelled like rotting meat, not unlike the infected. On the plus side, we’d found unopened cans of cola in there, and even warm it was the best thing I’d put in my mouth in…well…ever. Most of the cabinets were bare, but some open, stale chips were portioned out between the three of us. We still had several cans of tinned food, but we were still a two day walk from Phoenix where we hoped to find more food, so we needed to make what we had last. The house was old fashioned, the carpet that ugly patterned velvety texture that had worn down to nothing but a thin barrier of fabric over hardwood floors. The curtains were lace and probably once white, but now a dirty beige. The sectional was faux leather and torn and cracked pretty much everywhere. I wasn’t a germophobe, but I couldn’t bring myself to sit on it, even as dirty as I was. As soon as Noah stepped out of the bathroom looking refreshed with a bright smile on her face, I grabbed my stale chips, warm soda, and backpack before I locked myself away in the small room. Like the rest of the house it was old, with a pale blue tile, most of which were chipped, the grout either worn away or black. A tiny shower sat unused in one corner, an old pale pink, cracked tub beside it. Noah had emptied the dirty water and thankfully while I’d been scurrying down the long hallway, Lawson had popped out to turn the hose back on to refill it. Placing the soda on the corner of the tub, I dropped my other possessions, including the disgusting chips, and proceed to strip out of my days old clothes in record time. Climbing into the tub, I sank down into the slow filling water with an obscene moan. Cold water in a skanky old tub had never felt so good. With reverent hands, I reached for the hose and pulled it over my head, letting the water run through my long hair as I tugged free the tangled hair tie. Noah had already unpacked the shampoo and conditioner we’d raided from Walmart, and I quickly went about cleaning my hair, then my body. I emptied the dirty water and replaced the hard, cracked plug to refill the tub. Then, I simply floated. My body was suspended in delicious, clean water. The chaos that was my mind slowed and finally the horror of the last week caught up with me. Death, blood, fear, it all tumbled into my body and left me shivering. I’d killed my boyfriend, my mom, strangers…people. No, fuck that, zombies…who were once people.

  Flicking my hand out of the water in frustration, the water splattered against the tile, the sound not unlike that of blood splattering from my driver after it connected with a head. The noise made my stomach roll, and I sat up in the tub pressing the heel of my hand into my eye sockets, determined not to cry. Survive now, cry later. Images of death assaulted my mind, and I shook my head from side to side, burying those thoughts deep. Forcing myself to forget was not as easy as one might think. Don’t get me wrong, I was great at pretending everything was alright and super-efficient at distracting myself from the important stuff. But forgetting death, the kind of death that was up close and personal, that shit didn’t slide away, ever. After several minutes several minutes of concentrated effort, I didn’t forget, but I managed to move those memories far away and out of reach. I replaced the death with thoughts of music and soon I was humming The Beatles Blackbirds. Settling back in the water, the hum turned to words, and I allowed myself to get lost in the music for a little while, pretending the world outside this bathroom was normal and that the stench of death didn’t linger on the wind. In the cocoon of this stranger’s bathroom, I washed away the horror and fear, and replaced it with resolve and strength. Just like the birds in the
song, I mended my broken wings and reminded myself that no matter how dark and desperate my days had become, I was still alive.

  The house began to darken as the sun set over the horizon, and I forced my wrinkled body from the cold water of the tub. I took my time moisturizing my parched skin, then applied some makeup. While my life had taken a shit-stink dive into a “B” grade horror movie, my makeup was still on point. Go me! Over my head I let Lawson’s dog tags fall around my neck and I admired them from the dirty mirror for a moment. I liked wearing them much the same way I had liked wearing Cullen’s shirts. Surely though they were more important than a shirt. Why had Lawson let me keep them? I was a stranger to him. Deciding my brain was too tired to ponder the question I pulled on some fresh underwear and a clean tank top. Then I wrapped a towel around my lower half rather than climbing into the clean jeans stuffed at the bottom of my backpack. It was too hot to wear them like that, I needed a pair of scissors. Waddling awkwardly down the hallway with all my gear and my towel tucked tightly around my waist, I found Noah sitting on the floor, staring at the blank screen of the TV. Lawson sat beside her pulling things out of both his and her backpack.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, breaking the silence.

  Lawson looked my way, his eyes lingering on my fresh, clean form before he nodded towards Noah’s pack, then all the gear on the floor beside it, then his backpack.

  “You’re re-arranging her pack?” He nodded. “Oh,” I murmured. Before my shower I might have replied with something snarky, suggesting we toss the treasure-trove of useless stuff. That bath must have contained miracle water though, because my anger had been blessedly doused. Now I could only think how damn thoughtful he was being.