by Fitch, E. M.
The loudest shot of all sounded, and not just because the gun fired from right next to Kaylee’s ear. A small dot, dark red, appeared in the center of Susan’s forehead. It may have been a smudge of makeup or an errant pen mark, but her eyes took on that blank, deadened look as a tiny trickle of blood flowed between them. She crumpled at Kaylee’s feet.
And the world came crashing with her.
“Let’s go,” Jack roared, grabbing Kaylee’s forearm and pulling. But Kaylee didn’t move. Her feet were planted, her eyes fixed on the bleeding mass that was her mother. She had fallen on her side and her eyes were still staring and a puddle of blood was blooming like a halo around her head.
“Kaylee!”
The gleam of firelight glanced off her still body, and a tiny shining, pinprick of light caught Kaylee’s eye. Saint Jude. The medal her mother always wore, hung still from around her neck. Kaylee stooped and lift it between her fingers. And in a moment of impulse, she yanked it free, broke the chain that secured it in its place. The noises of the world came rushing back and the loudest of these was the pounding of feet.
Jack had let go of her arm and was stepping back. And as she met his eye she knew he knew. He backed away from her and she followed. Andrew was shouting, gesturing wildly for them to hurry. Jack lift his bike and kicked it to life and it was only a second later, both boys watching her from the seats of their motorcycles, that Kaylee was climbing up behind Andrew.
She clung to him, burying her face in the fire-warmed leather of his jacket, willing her tears away. And if he was shocked or angry or pleased she wouldn’t have known, but regardless, in what felt like less than a moment, the bike flew. The asphalt melted into a blur beneath her feet and the rushing wind erased the noise of the city they were escaping.
She knew the explosion had went off because she felt Andrew glance back to see it, felt the rush of heat against her unprotected back. But she didn’t hear it, didn’t see it, didn’t care. It was behind her. And it would stay there.
Kaylee was pulled off the bike the moment Andrew cut the engine by a frantic Emma. “What the hell, Kaylee!” she growled into her ear, gripping her tightly. Anna was running towards her, the calculating look of assessment glowing her in eyes.
“There were dogs,” Andrew supplied. “We didn’t see. If Kaylee didn’t come—”
“I had to warn them,” Kaylee interrupted, her voice flat. She reached for the lower hem of her shirt and ripped it up and over her head. Her skin was blotched red with the blood of the Doberman. Emma was a step ahead of her, using a water bottle to rinse the blood off her sister. The top of her jeans got soaked. Kaylee didn’t care.
“Here Kay,” Anna said, proffering a clean shirt.
“Thanks,” Kaylee muttered, her eyes averted. She snatched the water bottle from her sister and rinsed out her mouth before looking up to the line of motor vehicles, the clean, white shirt still gripped tightly by her bloody fingers. Quinton was perched on the foot of the motor home. “We ready?”
“All set.”
Without another word, Kaylee ran up the steps of the motor home and claimed the front seat. Bill was driving and he would leave her alone. Anna and Emma were quick to follow, the former perching by Nick who was settled in one of the chairs. No one must have told him what Kaylee did, his eyes were gently shut, his breathing even. He could have been asleep. The outer hatches slammed and then Andrew and Bill were aboard. Kaylee heard the tanker wheels spit out gravel and dust as Quinton directed it west following, Kaylee was sure, Jack in his Hummer. She pulled the soft cotton over her head and settled deeper into the cushions, squeezing her mother’s medal in her palm, the dirty metal biting into her skin.
Chapter Seventeen
Andrew and Emma sat in the back, perched on the bed, watching the city grow smaller and smaller behind them; black buildings and crumpled mortar backlit with the orange glow of firelight. They had urged her a few times to join them, but she couldn’t, couldn’t even respond when they asked. There was nothing back there for her.
The highway stretched before her, seeming endless. It narrowed and curved, the yellow dashes blurring to dots in the center of the asphalt. The black strips of tar gleamed golden by the early rays of dawn. The brightest sunrise seemed to follow the blackest, most heart-wrenching nights. It grew and stretched, pushing fingers of light into the stars, mocking one’s inability to feel grateful.
Her mother was dead, really and truly dead, undeniably. And Kaylee found it strange that she couldn’t cry now, but she couldn’t. Her eyes remained dry and empty.
The vision of Jack’s face assaulted her. He knew what he had done, not as he was doing it of course, but after. After, when he had seen her face, seen her take that necklace. How had she looked? Angry? Devastated? Horrorstricken? Whatever it was, she didn’t feel that way now. Now she felt empty. And she supposed she should grieve, cry, something. And maybe that would come. But, as she stared into the pale, grey nothingness of the stretching highway, she felt only numb.
“Kay? Last chance, don’t you want to see?” Emma sounded gleeful, completely happy to be gone.
But she gave Mom up a long time ago.
Kaylee shook her head and ran her thumb over the cold metal disc in her pocket, the bumps and grooves that made up Saint Jude felt comfortingly familiar.
The window was lowered and fresh air blew past Kaylee, catching her hair in its force. It felt clean and wonderful. It was such an old, well-known feeling, one that she had registered as forever lost. But here it was, ready to comfort her again. And really, all those things Kaylee had thought lost hadn’t really been. She knew that now. They were there, all along, just ignored. Flowers in spring and long drives, walks, laughing, community, and friendship: all still here. And somewhere there was other people. She was more and more sure of it now.
Alaska was ahead. And so was Jack. Kaylee wished she could pulled her brain out and scrub it free, rid it of the image of Jack shooting and killing her mother. But she couldn’t and neither could he. It was there now, part of them, un-altering, life changing. How do you look at the man who killed your mother? Emma would tell her Mom was already dead, say in no uncertain terms that Kaylee should just get over it. But Kaylee had never believed her mother was dead. Mom was Mom, infection or not. Not that it mattered anymore.
And Jack was Jack – with her, a part of her always, just as life changing and now just as devastating, but a part of her still. However, even with that, she still hadn’t been able to bear getting on that motorcycle behind him.
The sun rose, as it always did, and the city was slowly left behind. There was no need to turn and check its existence. It was where it was supposed to be: in her past. The future loomed before her, unknown, frightening, inescapable, a pale grey point at the end of the highway.
For my parents, Tom and Rita McCullough, my first and best teachers.
Chapter One
“We’re not going to make it.”
Bill’s only response was to jam his foot harder on the accelerator. The motor home jerked forward, faster, but not by much. Already Kaylee could see them waking. The bodies were scattered, some on the pavement, some in the dead grass on the side of the road, still others were piled together in the parking lots Kaylee could see from the highway. Their fingers would twitch first, small muscle spasms that were deceivingly innocent. Then came the groaning.
“Exit forty-two.” Andrew pointed ahead to the reflective green sign that stood, knocked by wind or age or something worse, at an angle. Mud spattered most of it, but the graying forty-two was still visible. The motor home jumped and bounced as it flew down the ramp, jolting the people inside at every crack in the asphalt. Andrew’s hands clenched around the wrinkled map edges. Kaylee could feel the potholes and grooves that weather and feet had bore down into the untended pavement over the years.
“C’mon, Dad, almost," Andrew urged. The flat expanse of the target roof was visible now, shining orange and gold in the early dawn rays. Shadows still
spilled out over the streets, but it wouldn’t be long now, moments really, before the sun’s rays reached them too. And then there would be nothing to keep the infected quiet, calm, asleep. They would wake, shrieking and pawing as they were forced to rise. And then they would eat. Eat whatever they could find.
“Hey,” Anna muttered, head bent over a black footlocker that she had dragged into the center of the motor home’s living space. The dark box stood like a blot on the beige carpet. It wasn't the only thing out of place. Floral pattern curtains hung, drifting limply over the barrels of the rifles propped up behind them. Granite countertops shone behind rolls of duct tape and stacked boxes of ammunition. The duffle bags and knives and axes all mixed with the pattern bedspread and set of matching mixing bowls. Chaos and home life, now intertwined and inseparable. Anna flipped the top of the footlocker open unto the blue and tan paisley print that covered the bench, her dark curls hanging over the opening. “Someone come help me with these.”
Kaylee turned from the grated windshield, from the limbs that were now trembling on the roadside, back to Anna.
Emma didn’t move. She stayed next to the bed, perched by their father. He sat propped up by the headboard, his daughter's fingers clenched on his shoulders to keep him in place. His jaw was grit but that couldn't hide his pain as he winced over the bumps the shocks couldn’t absorb. The injury he sustained from setting off those explosions the day before wasn't terrible, it wouldn't kill him and it wouldn't immobilize him; but he hurt and it was difficult for him to get around. Anna was yanking chains, locks, and little bits of plastic out of the locker.
“Hand them out,” she said, not even pausing to make eye contact as she tossed the items at Kaylee. Next she hauled a case of black spray paint out from under the table. She handed a few cans over as Kaylee rocked with the swaying motorhome. Emma already had one hand out, waiting for her sister to pass her a bundle of zip ties and a can of paint.
“Everyone knows what to do?” Nick asked through a grimace. Kaylee wasn’t sure whether his discomfort stemmed from his injury or from the fact that his daughters would be more active in securing their safety than he was.
“They'd better,” Bill answered in a growl. “Countdown.”
Kaylee had enough time to press a length of chain and two padlocks into Andrew’s waiting hand before the main entrance to the mall loomed overhead, casting the motor home into defuse shadows. He reached back to grab paint for himself and his father.
“Out! Run!”
Kaylee ran. She knew Bill would carry their father and the time she would spend worrying over him would be wasted. There were only a few moments left. That’s it. And if they didn’t hurry, there would be no stopping the infected.
Jack was already there, kneeling by the main glass doors. His Hummer was silent behind him. A gleaming metal tool hung from his mouth while his fingers worked a different tool in the lock at the base of the door. That was a good thing. If the mall had been locked before any infected got in, it might still be free of them. With a grating pop, the lock turned and Kaylee didn’t have time to register Jack’s face before she joined Emma, Andrew, and Quinton as they each raced for a separate corner of the mall.
She picked the longest corridor, she was the fastest and it made sense that it should be her that had to run the longest. Stores and kiosks blurred as she flew by. She was not able to register their names, only keeping an eye out for movement. The halls were silent but for the slap of her sneaker against the dusty tile. She drew her breath evenly, the exertion and the stretch in her muscles feeling good after twenty-four hours of bumping around in the motor home. A large heavy chain bounced evenly over her heart, matching her pace in cadence with her breath.
The skylights in the mall shone orange, lighting the halls in a soft glow. She couldn't hear the infected from in here, but she knew they must be rising now. There were no exits down this corridor, just the entrance to a department store. She ran through, dodging racks of jewelry and glass cases. The glow cast from the skylights grew dimmer the farther she ran into the store. There were no windows and quickly her surroundings darkened. But there was a faint glow from up ahead and Kaylee raced towards it.
She was already shaking her can of spray paint as the south exit loomed before her. Giant glass doors, windows lining them, but at least they wouldn’t be difficult to secure. Heavy brass handles met in the middle of the main doors. Kaylee ripped a zip tie out of the bundle in her hand with her teeth as she rolled the can of paint towards the door. She'd need both hands now.
The can clanked against the doorjamb just as Kaylee was pulling the zip tie tight. She reached for another, and then one more, sliding each through the brass handles before cinching them tightly.
Should hold for now.
She heard the first moan as she popped the top off the black paint.
It had been Andrew’s idea, spray painting the glass black so the infected couldn’t see what, or who, was inside. Kaylee had her doubts. Was it even sight that clued them in to where a fresh meal was hiding? Or was it other senses? Could they smell her, hear her, feel the heat of her exerting body? Even now, even with the paint and the supposed blindness?
She wasn’t sure. But the paint and the zip ties weren’t the only defense. They had the locks, and the chains, and she would loop those through the brass handles too. And the store gates, the individual security doors that each of the little inlets and large chain stores employed, would be pulled shut and locked as well.
Black covered the doors and windows. Fumes saturated the air. The paint ran down, small rivulets that oozed over the dirty glass.
CRACK!
A hand slapped the glass, dirt encrusted and graying. Broken fingernails scratched against the polished surface. Kaylee could hear the growls and moans of it’s owner from behind the barrier, sounding so, so close. Kaylee felt her chest seize as she stepped back from the glass.
It wasn’t working.
“You missed a spot.”
Kaylee shrieked at the soft voice that sounded to her left. Jack raised his canister to the faint outline of a handprint and covered what she had left undone. And as the last of the light from outside was extinguished, the cadence of the moaning shifted. Nails still scratched and there was the distinct sound of shuffling, scrambling, just outside the door. But nothing was beating at the glass now.
“Kaylee,” his breath landed on her neck, brushing it lightly. She wanted to turn into him, bury her face in his chest, find comfort in the pine and rain and honey that was Jack, her Jack. But a single red dot prevented her. It had looked so out of place. Everything her mother had become after she had been bitten had been so horrible, but it was that little red dot, the hole from the bullet Jack shot into her brain, that kept flashing through Kaylee's thoughts. Just that bullet hole, a small, seemingly insignificant little dot, placed there by Jack's gun after he pulled the trigger.
“I, I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. And Kaylee believed him. His voice cracked as he finished and he sounded desperate.
Neither did Kaylee. So she didn’t say anything. She pulled a length of chain from over her shoulder where she had hung it as she ran and strung it through the door handles. Jack moved forward to padlock it for her.
“I’m so sorry, Kaylee, I didn’t—”
“You need to get some sleep,” she interrupted, happy she couldn’t actually see him in the gloom of whatever department store it was that she had run into. She realized now that she wasn't even sure which it was. Macy’s, maybe.
“I need to talk to you,” he countered, reaching for her. She backed away.
“Later,” she said, turning from him. He hadn’t slept yet, not since it had happened. It had been over twenty-four hours now. She knew Andrew had offered to take over for him, to let him get some rest. But he had refused. He shouldn’t have, he sounded awful.
And she felt awful. She wouldn’t have been fair to him. Not now. She needed space, needed time to think. Alone. Her thumb found t
he grooves of the St. Jude medal and rubbed along it comfortingly. It hadn't left her pocket since she had ripped it from her dead mother's neck.
“When?” he asked. Kaylee never answered. She walked away, back to Emma and Andrew and her father, back to comfort. His last plea for her to stop was drowned out by the echo of a trio of gunshots that rang through the hall.
~
There had been a fountain, right there in the center of the main courtyard. Kaylee could make out the shape of a dirt-covered penny. She sat on the edge now, catching her breath in the glow of the sky lights high in the ceiling. The gun shots had come from Bill, Andrew, and Anna. They had each stumbled on security guards, infected and rotting and hungry. They must have locked themselves in ages ago and succumb to the infection after the doors had been closed. No one else saw any other sign of life.
“Okay,” Quinton started, rousing the group’s attention. He sounded tired and, Kaylee thought it for the very first time, he sounded old. “The doors are secure?”
There was a round of response to affirm it. Kaylee nodded along with the rest. Her door was chained and the security gate pulled down and latched.
“Good, we can rest up for a few days, exchange our clothes and stock anything else we might need.”
Kaylee whipped her head around at the sound of breaking glass, panic seizing in her chest momentarily. Andrew shook the glass off his elbow as he ripped a store map from it’s covering and dragged the large piece of plastic out to a patch of light. “There’s a uniform supply store,” Andrew muttered, staring down at the fading map and ignoring Emma’s annoyed glare. She always hated being startled. “And a pharmacy.”