by Tara Brown
I fear we broke it all, even the light inside of us. I don't feel any in me. I feel disparity and anguish. I feel broken and hollow, like the good stuff has fallen out and what’s left is the husk or shell. Like Mr. Milson and his inability to feel anything for the people he kills.
It’s been three days and I’m already sick of this life.
I want to get invited to a party, see my friends, drink a little, and feel a little bit guilty for it all. My friends were everything a few days ago and suddenly they’ve become nothing, a liability maybe even. Apart from Sasha maybe. If anyone is alive it’s her. Her dad is a savage and no one can run faster than her. I glance in the direction of her house, across several blocks, and decide I need to check and see if she’s alive. The smoke doesn't seem to be coming from that direction and adding her to my predicament would increase my odds of keeping the kids alive. Jamie, my other best friend would be a complete liability and a risk to my sister and her friends, but I can’t fight the want to glance at her house quickly and wonder if she’s alive. I doubt it—I imagine she clumsily brought this plague into our town. But I miss her in every way.
Not that I can think on it now. I turn and stare at my own reflection in the window.
I sigh, pushing the window to the side and listening for my mother inside of the still house. One of my legs slides in the window easily but the other leg refuses, as if half my brain is completely against the trip I’m about to take.
I force myself into the window, still pressing my back against it though. I shudder from the cool air inside of Joey’s dank room. The pinks and purples of the room could trick you. They could lull you into a false sense of security.
The plush carpet presses down as I take my first steps. The hallway is motionless but there are five doors from which she could jump from behind and attack me. I listen for her breath or anything that might give her away.
The house has never been as eerie or silent as it is now. I swear I can feel her cold hands upon me with every step I take.
My bedroom door is cracked open just enough for me to see my bed. It calls to me, lying about safety and sleep and things I might never have again. Fighting every instinct inside of myself I turn for the stairs, taking them slowly and missing the ones that creak. I have snuck out a couple times so I know which ones try to sing of my escape like an alarm for my parents.
When I reach the landing my eyes lock on the bench at the front door. The urine stain is still there, looking waxy and pale compared to the dark leather. The way Mr. Baumgartner’s eyes sought me out in the dark still makes me cringe, but I have to keep going. I pause at the end of the stairs, listening for anything. The sounds from outside mix in the house, stirring the silence so I’m not sure where all the noise comes from. Some of it could be inside.
Forcing bravery and the end of this expedition I take a breath and lean forward. The door to the under-stairs storage is in shards with a large hole in the center. Blood has dried to the jagged edges of wood. But none of that is what catches my eyes. No, it’s the twitching fingers with the chipped red nail polish and bloody fingertips that drag my eyes to them.
Was she wearing red polish? I don't remember.
But it has to be her.
The note to Dad is on the floor, torn a little and coated in old brown blood like the door. Her arms and hands are scraped raw from escaping the prison I placed her in. The way her fingers twitch brings tears to my eyes. It’s the kind of twitching you would expect in a dying person. It’s the last of the movements she will ever make. Weak and desperate jerks that are linked to the last of her nerves as they die off with her starved body.
She didn't drink the water.
She dehydrated and starved under the stairs as she turned into a biter. Had she been even a little aware of her situation, she would have drunk. She would still be alive.
I can’t look anymore. Partly because tears try to blind me, try to block out the bad things, but in reality I’m seventeen and nowhere near strong enough for this moment.
In a twinkling of shear stupidity or bravery, I slip to the garage, opening the door slowly and silently. I don't dare look back. I close the door again and walk across the chilled air of the dimly lit garage. I open the lock carefully, listening at the crease in the door and wall.
When I’m certain it’s silent, I turn the handle and open the door a crack. Nothing breathes or moans or groans or moves outside of the door. I take my chances with the outdoors, sliding through the small opening I’ve made and closing the door behind me—pressing my back against it afraid to move. Afraid of every step I am planning to take because it will lead me away from her.
Her, my mother. The woman who birthed me and loved me when I was little. The woman who deep inside of me is breaking my heart, her and the steps I take. My brain screams that I need to turn back and save her. I need to check on her. She was twitching, she wasn't dead.
But I have a bad feeling it’s her or me that's walking out of that house. I have to choose me for Joey.
I run to the right, away from the herd of them he has dragged all over the block. My legs warm as I get past the next house, pushing my thighs hard but trying to make the steps as quietly as I can. The only noise is him and the truck taunting and torturing the biters.
I want to keep it that way so I sprint silently to the street below. I hear the truck revving through streets as he barrels toward me. When he gets close to me, with the crowd of them chasing him, he slows and opens the passenger door for me. I grab it, swinging myself inside.
He doesn't ask how she was. I assume he knows by the absence of her and a lack of instruction from me for how to pick her up. Instead, he drives out of my neighborhood, not looking back.
“Can we try my friend’s house? Her dad is pretty intense and I have to assume she’s alive.”
He glances at me, frowning. “The deal was we checked on our loved ones and that was it.”
I nod. “But I have a feeling she’s alive, and if she is, we stand a better chance of staying alive if she’s with us.”
His answer comes with a heavy sigh, the kind only an old man can accomplish. “Where?”
“Downey Avenue, just down the road. She’s the big green house with the black shutters. Sasha Bernard.”
He nods. “I knew her dad, Phil. He was a trainer for the Griz, right? Blonde girl who plays with you on lacrosse?”
“Yeah.”
He doesn't say another word, just drives directly to her house. There is a serious lack of biters in her part of our suburb. In fact, there are none. No bodies, no biters, no blood. The whole place looks untouched. I don't know what that means but when he stops the truck and turns it off, I take my handgun because I don't know what to expect. I tuck it in my pants like my dad told me not to and walk across the pristine lawn to the back fence. When it opens it squeaks, making me feel sick with nerves but no one comes. Nothing rushes me, nothing stirs even. I walk across the back lawn to the sliding glass doors on the back deck and knock lightly.
Nothing inside moves so I tap again.
When no one comes, I have to assume she never made it back from the city with her dad. I’m about to turn around and leave when a shape stirs in the dark inside. Lifting my hand to the handle of the gun, I watch as an upright person walks to the window. I nearly jump when Sasha presses her nose against the glass. An odd smile creeps across her lips instantly, but she glances behind herself before moving.
She slides the door, not doing anything quickly until she rushes me and wraps herself around me. “Lou, what the hell? I figured you for dead. I went to your house but it was boarded up and the SUV wasn't in the garage. I figured you guys fled.”
I sigh into the embrace, closing my eyes for half a second. “I’m alive. Just barely but still alive.” My breath consists mostly of her blonde hair and perfume. It's weird she’s wearing it.
“Me too.” She nods, squeezing tightly as her voice cracks slightly. My heartbeat stops fluttering enough for me to notice
she’s shaking. “Run away from here, Lou. Fast.” Her words are a panicked whisper in my ear, sending chills up my spine. “Run fast.” Her words are my mother’s in my dream.
I open my eyes, jumping a little when I see the grinning face of Danny Hillman standing in the doorway. His dark greasy hair and dirty grin instantly make my skin crawl. “More guests for the party? Is that you, Lou?” he asks casually, stepping out onto the concrete deck and pulling a cigarette from his dark shirt pocket. “Welcome to the zombie-free zone, baby. We have made this the party house for the apocalypse.”
Jerking away from where he stands, I pull Sasha back with me, noticing the instant change in her. Her head drops and her lip quivers. It’s not my badass friend with me. It’s a weak and watered-down version of her.
Two other guys come into view behind Danny. I know them too—Danny’s cronies, Lance and Kelly. They are all scummy guys who are older than us but still show up at our parties, helping girls get drunker than they should be and making the party rowdier than was intended. They’re trouble, not the hot kind either.
I drag Sasha farther behind me, an act that feels natural somehow. My right hand stays on the hilt of the gun, ready to pull it. “We’re leaving.” I am suddenly a girl I don't know—a strong girl. But I have an idea of what’s going on here.
Danny shakes his head slowly. “No. You got here just in time. We were just about to have us another party, huh Sasha?” He lifts his hand like he wants to grab at her.
I don't let her answer, but I pull the gun from my pants and point it straight at his balls. “We’re leaving.”
“Well now, that's not what I expected to find in your pants.” His grin lifts as the other two guys walk out to fully join him. “You can’t shoot all three of us, Lou. Put it down before you piss me off.”
“I can shoot your dick off before they stop me though, and that would make whatever they did to me afterwards worthwhile. Not to mention, this is a Sig Sauer MK25. I’ll get off more than one shot before they get me.” I imagine there is a desperately blank stare in my eyes. A hard-core, end of sanity look that I suspect is lingering all over my face, left over from seeing my mother’s twitching hand and the haunted look in my friend’s eyes. There isn’t much left in me. My heart is a dark place and the girl surfacing inside of me isn’t a good one. I can feel that shift.
He cocks an eyebrow. “I suspect you don't know how to shoot that gun, Lou. A pretty girl like you. So I’m going to call your bluff—”
“Bad choice.” I shoot the concrete next to his leg. It ricochets off the deck and smashes a sliding door behind him, sending glass everywhere.
“Holy shit!” He jumps, crouching and laughing aloud like a maniac. The other guys try to jump back inside of the house like the cowards they actually are, but I shoot the other window making them both stop in their tracks, hands in the air.
Sasha nods against my face. “Her dad is military, you idiots.” Her voice hasn't recovered any of the strength it used to have. I don't know exactly what they’ve done to her, but I have an idea and it enrages me.
Danny smiles wide. “I guess we are at an impasse then, Lou. And I owe you a good scare.” He’s enjoying this.
I grab Sasha’s hand and drag her along the grass with the gun still pointed at them. When we get to the gate I sigh in relief, seeing Mr. Milson is standing on the grass holding double shotguns on the house. He nods at the truck and we don't hesitate in running.
As we round the corner, Danny and the boys come out the front door, I’m sure hoping to stop us with the piddly handguns they probably stole from houses in the neighborhood. All three halt when they see Mr. Milson. I pass the second Sig Sauer MK25, that I had grabbed from my dad’s weapons locker, to Sasha. Mr. Milson double racks the shotguns off his thighs like he’s someone from a movie, not the kindly old man I thought I knew. He could be ex-military or even some sort of militia maybe. It’s weird seeing him so badass. His sparkly eyes are still there somehow too. Like badass Santa. “You boys gonna make a move?” he asks smugly.
I check my magazine and grin. Sasha follows my lead, nodding. “Make a move, assholes.” We sound like more than we are and her voice is still filled with weak bitterness.
“You can take Sasha. No one likes a girl who cries all the time anyway. But this isn’t over for you, Lou.” Danny points directly at me, making me want to shoot him. I have never felt that desire inside of myself before. We ignore him, climbing into the truck. I start it up as Mr. Milson climbs in. Sasha hangs out the window, pointing her gun at them. “Screw you, Danny!” she shouts and pulls the trigger. She isn’t as awesome as I might have imagined her to be, shooting out a window nowhere near them. Not that it matters. They run back inside instantly, ducking like chickens.
She laughs wickedly, firing until I put a hand on her arm and mention the only thing we have in our favor, “Don't waste the bullets.”
She nods, lowering the gun but the weird look doesn't leave her eyes.
I’m scared of what’s behind her eyes—they look like mine, and I know what I’ve seen.
Chapter 7
Day Five
Sasha smiles out the window, shaking her head. “Mr. Milson seems all sweet and stuff, but he’s a bad dude. He has this whole thing figured out.” She’s bounced back fast since we got back to the cabins, working hard and being strong and loving to the girls.
I glance at him cutting wood in his “yard” and shrug. “He’s got skills I never knew about.”
“My dad knows him. I’m pretty sure he was military when he was young. In a war even, I think.” She scans over the three peaceful girls in the corner of the cabin coloring. “I’m glad. I think we might need him.” Her eyes get that weird look they had yesterday when I saved her from Danny, a situation she will NOT speak about. Not like I want details. “In case they come looking for us.” We both know she means Danny and his skid friends and not any of the biters.
Joey looks at me from her page in the Barbie’s Dreamhouse coloring book. “What’s for lunch?”
I open my lips, about to say we should walk over to the Milsons’ and see what she’s cooking, but there’s a knock on the door. Furgus lifts his head, tilting it to the side. He doesn't bark so I assume it’s her, Mrs. Milson. I don't think, I don't hesitate, and I don't blink. I open the door, jumping back instantly.
“Hey.” A girl with curly blonde hair, holding up a semiconscious brunette, smiles with a pleading look. “We’re unarmed.” She speaks fast with an East Coast accent, like she’s done this before.
I step back, wishing my gun were in the back of my pants. The three girls look up from their coloring and smile instantly when they see the two girls. Furgus gets up, maybe sensing my worry, but he doesn't attack. He just watches.
“Please don't close the door. We’re not bad,” the blonde says. Her blue eyes lower to the weak-looking girl in her arms. “My sister needs help and there’s nowhere to go. We smelled your wood smoke and were hoping you’d let us warm up for a bit and let me bandage my sister. We won’t stay long and we don't need food, just bandages.”
I back up, not certain what to do. Sasha comes to stand next to me, placing my gun in my hand. The girl’s blue eyes focus on the gun. “We don't want trouble, honestly. We just need some help, I swear. She’s getting worse.” There’s desperation in her voice. Her eyes dart from the gun to my huge dog. When he wags his black tail and smiles with his mustache, she shakes her head. “He doesn't bite?”
“No. He’s a gentle giant. He’s a hundred and sixty-five pounds but he’s like a kitten.” Joey stands and beams. “Come in. We have a whole medical kit. Don't stand there, Lou, help her.” Her little face finds mine and I know she just sees a lost girl and her sister. I think she sees us. She looks back at the blonde. “We have all kinds of medicine and stuff.”
“You do? That's friggin’ lucky.” She smiles at the dog. “He’s so beautiful.” Furgus saunters over, yawning and rubbing against her, as if he can tell he’s been compl
imented.
I almost tell the girl to get lost but my brain sides with Joey and silently asks me what if it was my sister and I was that desperate? I would want someone to take pity on us. I realize it's the thing my father would do, mostly because it's the natural thing Joey does. She always makes the right choice. And the girl seems oddly friendly, considering the moment we’re in. She’s even petting my dog.
“Okay.” The word leaves my lips with regret followed by several more. “You can come in but if this is a con in any way, you’ll be dead before you blink.”
“Fair enough. Dead by your hand would be better than any death I’d find outside anyway.” The blonde nods, dragging her sister into the house. She sets her down on the couch and drops to her knees in front of the semiconscious girl. “She was shot in the side. Someone thought we were sick but we weren’t. We were just trying to find food and they shot at us. She pushed me outta the way and took the bullet. I thought people from the Midwest were all friendly. Not that guy. Clearly, he hasn't seen Fargo as many times as I have.” Tears fill her blue eyes as she lifts her sister’s shirt, revealing spider veins coming from the sister’s side. I press my lips together, knowing we have no choice; we have to help her or she’s going to die. I’ve seen that on TV before and it’s bad. I turn and walk to the cooler bag with the medicine and pull out the already made pills we got from the pharmacy.
“I have some meds but she’s going to need that to get cleaned.” I gag imagining the things that will ooze out of a sore like that one.
“Girl, that's blood poisoning. We need the needle of antibiotics and the pills.” Sasha drops on her knees and gets close. “The bullet in there still?”
The blonde shakes her thick head of curly hair. “No. It’s a graze.” She looks about my age, maybe a year older. Her sister, who looks nothing like her, seems like the older of them. The dark-haired one is slim with lush dark hair and tanned skin. Her blue eyes are the only feature that matches her sister’s.