Taking on the Dead Page 9

  I nod and eye the shallow bench above the mattress, padded, but short. With my body’s obvious attraction, I don’t think it’s a good idea sleeping next to him, but the bench looks even more uncomfortable. I sigh, knowing this won’t be a problem.

  “I should probably go soon.” I bite at my cuticles. Maybe he can take me somewhere I can get a vehicle. Not knowing his plans keeps me from asking. Also holding me back is the fact I have no idea what I’m going to do next.

  He rises to peek out the small windows. “I want to show you something. If you’re up for a walk.”

  “That might be a good idea.” Even though my body is sore, I am ready to get out of here, to stretch my legs and come up with a plan.

  We tread slowly through a wooded area. Rudy seems to know where he’s going without any obvious path. It’s a cool morning. The clouds droop in the sky, letting no sun through. I wear a black fleece jacket over my T-shirt, and Rudy has a dark green, hooded sweatshirt and bandana. The ginormous bow is strapped to his back.

  I recognize it for what it is – a reflex compound bow. The technology of it gives great accuracy and speed. The bow’s anatomy is complicated with axels, risers, strings, and cables. The decoration is simple camouflage and a wood grip. I tried one in the old life, but it had been awkward. I love my pistol crossbow for its accuracy and simplicity. You just shoot it, like a gun. I should give the compound bow another try. It’s certainly the more advanced weapon, and my pistol crossbow has proved unreliable.

  Even with his bow, I’m sure he has a whole armory on him. I grip my crossbow and familiar machete, keeping a sharp eye on my surroundings. I won’t be caught unawares again. My pack rests against my back, and my hood’s up with my locks loose, covering me like a shredded curtain down the front of my body. They swerve and bounce around my breasts, stomach, and waist as I stumble after him.

  “When we get back, we will need to leave. I’ve found a back road into the heart of Clarksville. It’s dangerous with the amount of famished around, but I want you to see what it’ll be like now, at a safe distance,” he whispers over his shoulder.

  I nod, surprised to learn we’re so close to my destination. “You can drop me anywhere I can get another vehicle.” He stops, turning around to study me. I blink, keeping my face passive. He gives no affirmation, his face blank.

  We walk the rest of the way in silence. Mature colorful oaks, maples, and pines give way to a scenic trump through the woods, bringing along a misty scent of damp forest. Trumping is hardly the word for it, because he moves silently, stepping over things that would snap. He makes himself a part of these woods, dominating them like a predator stalking prey. The guy has a seriously large build – big-boned and muscular. I admit he’s better scenery than any of the trees surrounding us. It’s surprising, with his size, to see he can move so furtively. He watches for any sign of movement. From time to time, he turns to look at me as if to make sure I’m not falling behind. Maybe I surprise him with my ninja stealth skills. At one point, I raise my eyebrow at him, and he never looks back after that.

  We clear the trees about an hour later. Before us, a broken-down warehouse stands tall. I imagine it was broken-down before the outbreak. The red bricks and mortar are blackened and cracked in several places. Broken windows line the top to light the inside of the warehouse. Rudy automatically goes to a rusted door on the side of the building, alert. With the trail of worn down brush, it’s obvious he’s been here before.

  “Hurry, try not to make any....” He catches himself, trailing off.

  “Noise,” I finish a little too sarcastically.

  When we are in, Rudy shuts the door with a loud screech, and bolts it shut. We both cringe at the sound. The warehouse has an open space, broken up by several pillars. Boxes and paper litter the place as a musty smell catches my nose. The concrete flooring is dull and cracked, settling into the earth. Dock doors take up the right side. The farther I walk, the more it smells like foul urine and mold. Maybe homeless folk lived in here before the outbreak. The opposite wall has a rusted, chromatic staircase leading to the first floor landing, with a door bent on its hinges. Even though it looks unstable and noisy, Rudy has no qualms using the staircase.

  The door leads into an old office. The smell of mold is stronger, almost unbearable. The broken windows visible from outside are cracked and boarded with a few boards missing. A couple of old metal desks sit between cloth-covered, cubicle walls, and I notice immediately it’s the source of the mold. Broken windows, moisture, and fabric do not mix well. I resist the urge to put my shirt over my nose. Following Rudy to the window and looking out, what I see makes my heart sink.

  The outskirts of Clarksville are broken down. A strip mall across the street has broken windows with vines and weeds overgrown throughout. Motor vehicles of all sorts – the old rusted, and the new shiny – sit randomly and closely on the street, and some block the sidewalks. Trucks, luxury sedans, vans, SUVs, semi-tractors, and compact cars. Among these are groups of famished – there must be hundreds of them. They aren’t acting like famished zombies. They walk together, grouped. Occasionally, a small fight breaks out between them. Every few minutes they change direction. The moans and groans they make are in unison and unsettling.

  They have the jerky movements of the walking dead. Every type of ethnicity is present, each special in their own, cadaverous way. The scene before me is ghastly. Splotches of blood scattered on them seem to be the only live color in the whole surreal picture. It’s worse when the sun breaks through the clouds. They come alive with movement as if the sun energizes them. I know they can run, and run fast. Dawning horror sweeps up my spine.

  “Puppets being pulled on strings,” I whisper, not really meaning to be heard.

  Rudy whispers right back, “What did you say?”

  “They look like they’re being controlled like robots. Why aren’t they in a frenzy, looking for food?”

  “You’re right. I’ve never thought of it that way. There’s nothing to be in a feeding frenzy about. The zombies at the army base are they same way.”

  I look at him. The sun glints in his eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen them. When people say, “The eyes are the windows to the soul,” I never understood until now. They’re hazel, like mine, but more green than gray. The bronze brown around his pupils is the color of his hair and it fades into an evergreen color and goes lighter, to a jade speckled with gray. Heavy with amusement and light, they move sideways and peer at me.

  I laugh, “Sorry, uh, your eyes are something else. I haven’t really seen them until now.” I shrug and grin.

  “Your eyes are the same color,” he muses with a slight raise of eyebrow.

  I really don’t know what to say, so I look back at the unbelievable scene below us. I can see him watching me in my peripheral vision.

  I make a decision. “I’m guessing there are more famished at the base?” I ask, letting the previous subject go.

  He’s still watching me when he speaks. “Yeah, many more. At least there were when I escaped their clutches.” He turns back to the window, gesturing outside. “They mostly behave like that though, unless they see or sense us.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?” I ask, thinking this is going to be a difficult rescue.

  “Julie.” I open my mouth to say something, anything, but he does first. “We grew up together, even though we’re not the same age. She attended LSU, and was living with me at my apartment. She’s all I got…”

  I think about how close they had to be if this is true. He helped me, and I feel like I owe him.

  “I’ll help you, if you would like. After that, I’m on my own.” I hold out my hand to him. He looks reluctant, but he shakes it.

  With that, I dig through my pack, pull out my laptop, and turn it on to boot up. I don’t know why I keep trying for a signal. It’s hopeless. I haven’t been able to connect since power went down in my home town. I know enough to know that if I ever came close to a survivor that could
keep a connection, I would get some type of signal for communication. It’s not like I want to use Google, but knowing there are people still alive keeping a network of ISP’s would be a comfort, even if they chose not to communicate with me. I would also do better if I had a working LAN line in an area with power. My power cords are in the bottom of my pack, just in case.

  No such luck – I knew I wouldn’t get anything from wireless. At home, even connected to power and satellite, all I got was “router failure” and “requested time out” on my screen. It was only because my family’s satellite provider crashed. I just keep hoping that someone’s out there to restore power. I know deep down, all I have to do is find the right people and place. Civilization might have gone downhill, but technology is man-made. As long as there is someone out there who can do it, technology can survive an apocalypse.

  Rudy said there are people. I don’t know how many, but it gives me extra hope that people all around the world are still alive. We don’t have to go back a hundred years. We have the resources to keep it going.

  I sigh and realize Rudy is watching me, curiously. I shrug, “Never know unless you try.” I shut down, and place the laptop in my pack. He raises his eyebrows at me. I explain my theory on modern civilization as I pack up the laptop.

  “All you need are the right people who know what they’re doing. Makes complete sense. If it makes you feel better, I’m sure someone is out there.” He looks lost in thought.

  I clap my hands and change the subject. “Time to figure out a way to get into the base.” I turn to jog quietly down the steps, eager to be out of the smell. I barely hear him behind me. He grabs my shoulder just before reaching the door. With a finger on his lips, he puts his ear to the door and listens. He unbolts it and peers out, jerking his head to let me know all is good. The fresh air hits me like cool water down a dry throat. I breathe in huge gulps.

  We dash back into the tree line, only to find the famished kick up in sudden aggression when they see us. They are already headed for the cover of trees, away from the sun. We’re roughly seventy-five yards ahead of them, but we’ll wear out way before they will. Shrieks split the air. I grip my weapons, at the ready.

  Rudy’s eyes widen at the sight of hundreds of famished making their way toward us. “Fuck! Run!” he growls, urging me forward. I notice he has a gun out. Where did that come from? I run, but my body does not want to, feeling drained and hot. Now is not the time to be battling an army of zombies.

  Any signs of stealth leave us, and I feel some kind of pride that Rudy can run as fast as I can. He needs to be in front, because I don’t know the way. We run for less than half the time we walked to get to the warehouse. I thought it would take us longer to get back. My body’s very familiar with running, but it’s screaming for me to stop, and I can only assume it’s from my injuries. My right knee keeps popping, achy joints are seizing, and my leg muscles cramp. I can see the truck through the trees, but my vision blurs, making me dizzy and I stumble.

  I fall to my left knee, further injuring my right as it bends awkwardly. Picking myself back up, my chest heaves – “My vision,” I explain while Rudy’s form blurs. Then, Rudy does something amazing. He slows to help me. I spare a glance back over my shoulder, and almost stumble again when I notice the famished have gained ground.

  Rudy grabs my arm, bringing it over his shoulder. “Jump and hold on.” I do, but he does most of the work by picking me up piggy back, gripping my thighs. Where’s the gun? We might need it. Rudy slings his bow around my arm for me to hold on my back, running like I’m nothing but a sack of potatoes. I hold on, dizzy and light-headed. His hair blows in my face as he runs. Something snags my jacket from behind, followed by a snarl. Rudy jerks forward and out of the famished’s grip. I turn with my left arm and slash at the zombie with my machete, catching two of them in one swipe. They fall, tripping other zombies in their wake and buying us precious seconds.

  We arrive at the truck with no more problems. His breath comes in heavy pants from running with me on his back, but he easily opens the passenger door.

  He tosses me in. It’s amazing because I have my pack and his bow on my back, while gripping my crossbow and machete. When I turn to look at him, he has the magic gun again and jumps in on top of me.

  Several bangs and screeches of frustration follow the slamming of the door. I scoot over, taking off the pack and bow. We both sit breathing heavy while the truck rocks slightly.

  My vision swims as blood pounds in my head, I ask, “What are we doing?”

  A smile splits his face, “Taking on the dead, Darlin’.”

  “No, I mean what are we going to do?” I clarify before returning his smile.

  “We better go before they cover us. They can’t get in, or do any damage, but I don’t want us to be living needles in a zombie haystack.” He climbs over me. I catch a whiff of leather and sweat.

  Starting the truck with a key from his pocket, we drive off. The truck being tall, and having nothing to grab, the famished are easily knocked abroad. I’m relieved we got away, but ashamed he had to pick me up and carry me.

  I stare out of the window, and have no idea where we’re going. It’s crowded in the cab with my boxes. I find a comfortable place for my legs as my body aches in waves.

  “You okay?” he asks, when his blood pressure presumably returns to normal.

  I shake my head, laying it against the seat.

  “I’m sorry.” He pulls off his bandana to run a hand through his hair. “If we would have waited five minutes, I would have seen them headed into the woods from the windows.”

  My head shifts on the seat to look at him. “Then we would have been stuck in that warehouse for God only knows how long. Besides, I’d rather face hundreds of zombies than the stench of piss and mold.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts, revealing a dimple.

  ***

  At some point, I fall asleep, and when I wake up, my body’s worse. Dragging, now I know my original recovery time is extended. After Rudy inquires about food, I eat what he gives me without tasting it. We’re in some kind of parking lot at an old gas station off the highway. I can’t believe how bad I feel – normally, I would feel the need to pinpoint our exact location.

  I take another short nap, this time in the vault. Rudy can tell I’m not feeling great, and doesn’t talk to me so I can rest.

  When I wake, the sky’s darkening and the air’s chilly.

  “I don’t think we should leave right now,” I suggest as I open food, willing myself to be better. “We don’t really have a plan.”

  “Yeah. You might be right. About a plan, I’ve been thinking there might be a way I can get some people to help.” He hands me some Advil, and I take it gratefully. “I can tell that you don’t feel very well. I know that’s why you faltered back there. You need to sleep some more, and we can worry about the rest later.” He’s shaking his head at me.

  “Yeah, sure.” I smile and lift a can of beans for him. I don’t know what to think about getting help, so I don’t say anything. I really just want to feel better. My head’s starting to hurt. “Thanks. For helping me.”

  He shrugs. “I’ll just add it to your debt.” He smiles and I see a flash of something that evaporates quickly. He takes the beans and clears his throat, “I don’t know how we can pull this off.”

  “Hey, I’m resourceful when I need to be.” I shrug as I eat my own beans, feeling suddenly dirty. Maybe it’ll make me feel better to bathe. I sigh, knowing my days of hot baths are over. My thoughts turn to my bunker and wonder if it made it through the fire. I haven’t been alone in two days, but I’m having much better luck than I first thought. I realize with a start that I never expected to survive this long, and my leisurely time at the creek was a way to procrastinate going to my death.

  “Where are we?” I ask him to make conversation. Maybe I can go and wash up somewhere.

  He finishes his beans and studies me. “Outside of the dead zone, close to Nashville,
not as many famished in the city as you would expect. Most people evacuated from there during the outbreak.”

  I nod, eyeing the bench thinking of sleeping arrangements. He laughs guessing what I’m thinking. “You’re that uncomfortable sharing a bed?” Yes, but I just shrug.

  I grab my pack, and step outside for a little privacy. I quickly change into something cleaner, less stale from sweat, opting for a faded orange T-shirt. It’s soft from being worn and washed for years. My thoughts travel back to before. Living on my own, I was able to wash clothes and change as many times as needed. The water pump will be missed. No wonder the Lollipop Gang tried to take over my place. They could easily use a neighbor’s house, and still have use of the pump. They could rebuild there if they really wanted. Maybe one day, I’ll get the chance to go back to the neighborhood. I pull on two pair of socks with my boots and my fleece jacket, and hope this will keep me from getting cuddly.

  Feeling better in clean clothing, I climb back in the truck. Rudy’s reclining on the bench with his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, pulling the guitar from its case. I smile and crawl under blankets on the mattress, too tired to care about sharing it. I turn on my side so I can watch him. He changed shirts too, opting for a gray cotton crew neck. He begins playing the same song as last night, only something is different. I don’t know much about guitars, but he changed something in it. It’s better. “Did you write this?”

  He pauses with his eyes half closed, “Yeah. You like it?”

  “It’s great.” I close my eyes as he continues to play, making me sleepy. He has a knack for it because I don’t remember falling asleep.

  Chapter 13

  When I wake, the air is chilly because the doors are wide open. Rudy has a steel bar across the top of them doing pull-ups with the cloudy sky in the background. I hear my own breath catch at the sight of him. His back is to me as the muscles work hard, showing all grooves and contours. I roll my eyes. Why can’t he wear a damned shirt? His breath comes out in short pants as he rises and falls effortlessly. Squeezing my eyes shut, I roll over until he stops. If he went on for much longer, I would have started counting for him.