Alone (14 page)

Roman circles him, but the zombie spins too. His hands reach out to grab Roman, but Roman ducks out of the way. His face tenses, and his eyes dart over to me. I watch, frozen in terror from my place on the porch as Roman tries to get behind the zombie again. He could stab him in a different location, but with as tall as the decaying man is, it wouldn’t be safe. Only no matter how many times Roman tries to get behind the corpse, it doesn’t work. The thing is too fast and too hungry. Determined.

“I’m gonna need your help,” Roman calls out to me.

I almost pee my pants. “What do you need?” Did I actually say the words out loud, or had I only thought them? I’m not sure.

“I need you to draw him your way so I can get behind him. He’s not giving up.”

I take a deep breath and then force myself to step off the porch. My legs are shaking.

The zombie’s gaze stays focused on Roman.

“You need to make some noise or something,” he calls out to me.

Just then the zombie’s hand grabs him, his fingers closing around Roman’s wrist. The creature’s mouth opens, and he pulls Roman’s arm forward, toward his open mouth.

A scream rips its way out of me, and the monster looks up, momentarily distracted. The decaying basketball player doesn’t let go of Roman’s arm, but he does turn to face me. I can’t be sure, but it almost seems like his eyes narrow, and he definitely tilts his head to the side. As if he’s trying to size me up.

I can’t move. I clutch the box of batteries tightly to my chest as the zombie closes his mouth and studies me. There’s something in his milky eyes that’s so familiar. So human. So—

Roman jams the knife into the zombie’s skull, and the light leaves the dead man’s eyes. The rotten hand falls away from Roman’s wrist, and the thing drops to the ground. Dead. This time for good.

“Did you see that?” I whisper.

Roman rushes toward me, pulling me close. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. That guy was so much more aggressive than any we’ve seen in a long time. He must have been newer.”

His concern snaps me out of it, and I pull back, grabbing his arm. “No, are you okay?” My heart pounds just thinking about how close he came, but he looks okay. “No scratches,” I mutter, studying his wrist. We all know a person can turn just from a scratch…

This was too close. Too scary. Maybe I shouldn’t have left the safety of the fence.

“Hey,” Roman says, forcing me to look up. “I’m okay.”

I nod even though the bigger question remains: what did I just see in that zombie’s eyes?

“Did you see the way he looked at me?” I ask, my gaze moving to the dead man on the ground.

“Like you were lunch?” The humor in Roman’s voice draws my attention to his face, where a little grin has pulled up one side of his mouth. He’s looking at me like he thinks I’m nuts.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It was like he was studying me. Trying to figure me out. He was so fresh. So new…”

Roman’s smile fades. “What are you saying?”

“Just…” I swallow. “What if the virus mutating has changed the zombies? What if the person is still in there? Trapped? I mean, we know people who are infected with the mutated strain turn
before
their heart stops beating, but we’ve always just assumed that the human part of them is gone by then. But what if it isn’t?”

“You mean conscious of what’s going on, but unable to control it?” Roman’s mouth pulls down even more.

I nod, unable to say a word as the horrible thought settles in on me.

“No.” Roman shakes his head. “No way. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

He grabs my hand before he starts walking, pulling me away from the abandoned house and back toward the road. Almost like he can’t stomach the idea of talking about it.

I can’t blame him for that.

When the unsanctioned settlement comes into view, I stop walking.

I had no idea it was going to be like this.

Circling the town is a wall that has to be ten feet high and is made out of every material imaginable. Cement blocks, wooden boards, and sheets of metal. There are even whole sections that look like the outside wall of a house. It’s impressive and looks even more secure than the fence surrounding Coastal Manor. This will definitely keep the zombies out.

The road we’re on leads to a wooden door large enough for cars to drive through, and on each side is a lookout tower where armed men sit, guarding the area. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t anything like this.

“Do the zombies ever get in?” I ask Roman when he pulls me forward.

He waves to the men on lookout, who turn and yell to someone below them. “Not for a long time. It’s been over a year. They have a better record than Coastal Manor, if you can believe it.”

I do, but only because Roman said it.

The heavy door groans as it swings open, making my heart jump. Who knew I’d be this excited to see how these people lived? Not me, that’s for sure. It probably has a lot to do with the things Roman has said, but there’s more to it too. I’m a planner and I always have been, so the idea of living in uncertainty is scary. But it must not be that bad if people choose to do it. Even more, they’re happy. At least according to Roman.

Time to find out if that’s true.

My hand is in Roman’s as we step through the gate, right onto Main Street. Or what used to be Main Street, anyway. Now it’s like something out of a movie. The businesses have been converted into homes, and other makeshift wood shelters have been constructed on the sidewalks—booths where goods can be traded. There are people everywhere. So many more than I’ve ever imagined could be surviving in an unsanctioned area. Old and young, men and women and children. Dozens of children.

Just like Roman said, they aren’t as clean as the people in Coastal Manor. Their clothes are streaked with dirt and covered in holes. Some even have dirt smeared on their faces. The people here look tired, like the last two years are etched in every line of their faces. It’s been hard, and they’ve struggled. Lost almost everything.

But they’ve survived and they’re rebuilding. Even more than that, they’ve thrived, and they’re happy to have done it. Happy to have made it through on their own and to be living here. The kids smile as they run through the streets while the adults stand in groups, talking and joking loudly. They’re worn out, but they’ve managed to forge a new life for themselves. Managed to figure out a way to survive. On their own. They don’t need the government.

No wonder my father is opposed to the unsanctioned settlements. He believes in government. In order. In control.

He craves it.

I turn to find Roman watching me closely. Studying me as I study them.

He grins and pokes me in the side with his elbow as we walk down the street together. “What do you think?”             

“This is amazing.” And it is. It really and truly is.

Roman’s smile grows bigger, and the exhale he lets out is so loud it gives off the impression that he’s been holding his breath for hours. “They’re so free. Almost makes you jealous.”

Only he doesn’t sound like someone who is
almost
jealous. He sounds green with envy. It seeps from his pores as we walk and hangs over us like a thick cloud. An ominous reminder that Roman is not happy in Coastal Manor.

It’s a little hard for me to swallow. It gets stuck in my throat, and the weight of it feels like it’s going to choke me.

People wave as we walk by, and it hits me that not only do they know Roman but they also welcome him. He belongs here in a way that would never be possible in Coastal Manor. Even if his father wasn’t the Regulator and even if their relationship wasn’t so volatile, Roman would never fit in there. He needs something a bit more…wild.

When we pass a group of girls around our age, they flash Roman smiles so dazzling that I find it impossible to notice how threadbare their clothes are. A couple of them throw me dirty looks. A side effect of being with Roman, I guess.

“This is the life you want?” I ask, pointing to three girls, who are giggling and whispering to one another. “You want to live here?”

The corner of Roman’s mouth lifts just a little, and he tilts his head toward the girls. “Naw. Not here. Somewhere further away.”

“You should keep that to yourself. Seems like you’ll break a couple hearts if you admit that.”

He winks. “You jealous?”

Yes.
“No.”

Roman slings his free arm around my shoulder as he leads me toward a store, laughing. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Hank.”

The building we walk into was a tattoo parlor before the virus, and part of it still is. But the other half looks like a trading post of some kind. Dozens of shelves are lined up against the wall, full of items that range from pots and pans to shoes and iPads. What anyone would need with an iPad these days, though, is beyond me. But there they are. Stacks of them.

“Roman! You bring someone else for me ink?” a burly man that I can only assume is Hank yells from across the room.

He’s sitting on a threadbare couch with his arms crossed over his chest and a big smile on his face. He looks like a tattoo artist, or maybe even a trucker or the leader of a motorcycle gang. His arms are covered in brightly colored pictures, and he’s wearing a black leather vest. His jeans are dirty and holey—although that isn’t anything unusual—and his shaggy brown hair goes down to his shoulders.

“This is Jules,” Roman says. “But she doesn’t want a tattoo.” He shoots me a quick look, lifting an eyebrow. “At least I don’t think so.”

I take a step back and shake my head, which makes Roman laugh.

He turns back to Hank, his shoulders still shaking. “Came to talk to Steve about that bike.”

“I’ll get him,” Hank says as gets to his feet. “But he told you bro, he ain’t gonna let go of it unless you bring something big in. I know you’re good at finding things, but I don’t think even you are that good.”

Roman smiles and holds the box out. “We’ll see.”

Hank narrows his eyes on the box before heading into the back of the store. His footsteps get quieter and further away like he’s climbing a set of stairs. Maybe people live up there.

“You think he’ll trade you for the batteries?” I ask when we’re alone.

Roman leans his hip against a display case, his eyes twinkling. “He’ll trade. Steve has a dirty little secret he doesn’t want people to know. But I found out.”

“What’s the secret?”

Roman leans close to me, and his lips brush against my ear. A shiver shoots down my spine. “He has an old Game Boy and he’s seriously addicted to Tetris.”

I have no idea what a Game Boy is. “What’s that?”

Roman’s lips brush my cheek and then move down my jaw and over to my lips. The kiss is soft. Like a feather brushing against my skin.

“An old handheld video game. Before the Nintendo DS or PSP.” His lips brush against mine when he talks, and I shiver again. “It uses batteries.” He kisses his way back across my jaw. “So he can play it without electricity.”

I swallow and try to ignore the inferno in my veins. My face is hot, and my skin crackles and pops under Roman’s lips. I find myself putting my hands on his stomach and reaching up under his shirt to feel his hard body. Roman lets out a little groan, and his mouth covers mine again, this time teasing it open with his tongue.

Footsteps pound against the floor, and a booming voice breaks through the quiet room, saying, “You better have something good, Roman.”

Roman pulls away, and I turn just as a Hispanic man who easily weighs three hundred pounds saunters into the room.

“You lost more weight,” Roman says just as I think,
Looks like the zombie apocalypse hasn’t affected his diet.

I raise an eyebrow involuntarily, and Steve seems to notice. He chuckles as he comes toward us, the floorboards creaking under his feet. His long hair is braided down his back, and he can’t be older than twenty-eight. Young to be so heavy. Then again, this was once America. Before the virus, citizens of this country tried their damnedest to gorge themselves to death on processed and fast foods. Health experts were sure our diet would be the thing that would take us out. Not zombies. Nobody ever suspected zombies.

That would have been insane.