The next morning after breakfast, Riley, Eric and Joanne stood on the porch, staring down at George and a handcuffed Renny.
He stood beside the pickup truck’s open door. The cuffs were a precaution; the man saying how he understood and that he took no offense. He thanked Joanne for her hospitality and the scrumptious food.
“And who knows,” Renny said. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again someday.”
Riley cringed, the man’s words sounding more like a threat than a hopeful statement. Again, thoughts of murder entered her mind. She could follow them, stalking through the woods like a hunter tracking prey. She’d work her way farther up the road and wait. Once Renny came traveling along, she’d shoot him through the car’s window, making sure he never returned.
“See you guys in a little bit,” George said, breaking Riley’s morbid thoughts. She watched as the men climbed into the truck and disappeared down the driveway.
“I’m glad he’s gone,” Riley said, arms crossed over her chest.
“Why?” Joanne asked. “I mean, I had my doubts, but he seemed like a nice fellow.”
“I thought he was cool,” Eric said.
“He wasn’t right,” Riley said. “Seemed to me like he was acting. Too well-behaved.”
“You could be right, Riley,” Joanne said, nodding her head. “I’ll admit he did look a little rough and smelled funky, but remember the world we live in.” She wrapped her arms around Eric and Riley’s shoulders, pulling them in for a hug. “And as the old saying goes…”
Riley rolled her eyes, the glass-half-empty attitude showing itself. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Sometimes you can,” Joanne said, “and sometimes you can’t. That’s why, even in today’s world, we don’t judge. We use what we’ve learned and stay cautious. It’s important to remember, especially during these troubled times, that we keep our compassion. We’ve come a long way as a species and we can’t let the zombies drag us back to the Stone Age.”
Later that afternoon, Riley decided to go fishing alone. She wanted the time for herself. She told Joanne she’d be careful and was just going to the river.
She walked along the lengthy trail, listening to the birds sing, and smelling the fresh scent of pine. She spotted squirrels, ants, spiders and butterflies. It still amazed her how nature, minus the people, had stayed the same, seemingly unaffected by the zombie epidemic. She wondered if it had something to do with souls. Did animals not have them? Was it simply that they weren’t infected? Did they have a built-in immunity to the problem? Zombies never went after wildlife. She thought back to her time on the road with her father. She’d seen a zombie hobble right past a dog, the animal only barking at it, refusing to attack.
She continued with curious thoughts, thinking about life before the Milners—her father, the cabin and Jack. She had the feeling Jack wouldn’t have stayed if he’d come to the Milners with her. He didn’t seem like the type to stay and make a home, become part of a family. Even though she was young, she had begun to wonder the same thing. Had she been ruined by the harsh things she’d been through? If she’d stayed on her own, having to survive in the harshness of the world, would she become a different person?—mean and deceptive? Only out for herself? Like the men that attacked her in the cabin? Whatever the answers may be, they didn’t matter. She did find the Milners, and she was now living with a loving family. Life had become as normal as it was going to get and she was fine with it staying the way it was forever.
Upon reaching the river, she set up her fishing pole and tossed the lure in. She plopped down, feeling free, almost weightless. It felt good to be away from the house and away from Renny. The minute he left she’d felt as if a great pressure had left her body, only to be replaced by concern for George. The man was incredibly self-sufficient and able to take care of himself. She knew she didn’t have to worry about him, but did anyway. Getting away from the house and fishing was a way of removing herself and letting time pass without staring at the walls waiting for George to come home.
Around the time the sun started its descent onto the other side of noon, Riley headed home. She’d come to the realization that she’d had so much happen to her in her young life. She was able to spend some of her alone time thinking about the past and the people in it. She needed more than to just be able to think about them and the things she went through, she needed another outlet.
On her walk back to the house, she had a revelation, however small it might be. A solution that might aid in her troubles in dealing with life, and a rather easy one at that. One she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of sooner. She would start keeping a journal. Not daily or weekly, but a journal for whenever the need arose to write. Simply thinking of the idea had brightened her outlook on the days ahead. It would be the therapy that would help her gauge her days and relive her past without the messiness of fading images and lost scenes.
She reached the edge of the forest and crossed into the yard when a gut-wrenching scream froze her in place. It had come from inside the house. She dropped her things, ignoring the bucket of fish as it fell over. With the rifle slung over her shoulder, she ran.
As she sprinted toward the house a million images flooded her mind like a burst damn. Had someone been hurt? Was Renny back? Had George been injured? Was Eric okay?
She needed to think, to stick to the contingency plan that George had set up for his family to follow in case of an emergency. Another scream erupted and Riley new it was Joanne’s. Goosebumps popped over her flesh like some alien disease. The scream was filled with anguish. Joanne was in trouble.
Fighting the urge to run straight into the house, she went to the feed trunk under the back porch. One of the keys was kept nearby under a rock. She grabbed the key and undid the lock. She lifted the lid, removed the dummy bags of grain, and revealed rifles, handguns and ammo.
She grabbed a Glock 19 and two fifteen-round clips. Riley found the gun easy to shoot, its frame small, and the recoil slight compared to her .38, which was heavy and powerful. She tucked the gun into the back of her pants and fished out a set of keys from a hook inside the bin.
The basement was kept locked, but the set of keys she now had were backups for the house. Before opening the basement door, she closed and locked the bin’s lid.
With slightly shaking hands, she slid the key into the lock and turned it slowly. The mechanism clanged loudly, making her wince. Pulling the door open, she looked into pitch blackness with only a sliver of light slicing into the gloom.
As she stepped into the basement, her pulse only quickened. Sweat dotted her skin as if she’d spent time in a sauna, her clothes glued to her body. She’d been in the basement numerous times and knew the layout. Going in blind was a different thing, but she felt confident she could maneuver well enough without causing herself injury. She’d left the door open a crack, but with the deck overhead, not much direct sunlight came through. Realizing an open door might give her away, she closed it. What little light she had was now gone, leaving her in a world of complete darkness. She needed illumination of some kind.
Along the wall to the right, in the far corner, was George’s workbench. Hanging on hooks, amongst other items, were flashlights.
Using her hands as guides, Riley crept along the cool, but abrasive cinder block wall. She moved slowly, not wanting to knock anything over, and shuffled her feet inches at a time. About halfway across the room, she stopped upon hearing a moan. She squinted foolishly, not seeing a thing in the dark. The moaning came again from somewhere in the gloom. Something was in the basement with her. Was someone tied up? Dazed? Then the image of what accompanied moaning entered her mind as clear as if a spotlight had shown upon it—the undead.
Had zombies entered the house, one making its way into the basement? Maybe George had tossed it down there until he had time to deal with it. Or maybe someone was tied up, the others upstairs taken hostage?
“George?” she whispered. “Is that you?” The moaning only seemed to grow louder. Riley’s fears increased with her pulse. “Joanne? Eric?”
The sound of shoes clomping against the concrete floor began to emanate from within the gloom. She needed that flashlight. Whoever it was wasn’t bound and they were getting closer. The moaning was hurried now, as if the thing or person were eager. It couldn’t be a zombie, could it? She tried to calm herself, inhaling deep breaths through her nostrils and trying to pick up the odor of death. She smelled nothing out of the ordinary except the familiar odor of basement.
She began walking again, her pace quickening. The unknown thing’s footsteps grew more rapid, the moaning at its highest octave now. She banged her knee into something hard and metal. She bit down, clenching her teeth together to avoid crying out in pain. Feeling around the object, she realized it was a tool chest with drawers. Riley’s heart jumped. She remembered seeing a small yellow flashlight in one of the drawers, she just couldn’t remember which one. She wouldn’t need to reach the workbench. Using her shaky hands, she felt for the drawer handles, pulling one open. The footsteps had stopped, but the moaning remained as incessant as ever.
Riley felt around inside the first drawer. Her fingers came into contact with multiple steel items, like cold phalanges, making her want to yank her hand away. She discarded the thought like expired meat, picturing the tools for what they were, metal instruments.
Feeling around in the second drawer, she cried out, jerking her hand back. Something had stung her. Needing the flashlight, she began searching through the drawer again, finding what had bit her—a hacksaw blade. Continuing on, she finally felt something hard and made of plastic. One end was larger than the rest.
She grabbed the item, feeling for the switch along the handle and found it, hesitating. The basement had grown quiet, the moaning ceased. Holding the flashlight in her right hand, she slid the switch forward with her thumb. Blinding light shot forth, illuminating the red tool chest. Then from what sounded to be a few feet to her left, came the moaning again, loud as ever. Her nostrils filled with the metallic odor of copper. She held back the urge to gag, knowing well the smell of fresh blood.
Panning the flashlight to the left, its beam came into contact with George’s face. “George,” she said, her voice filled with joy. She felt a wave of relief, like a refreshing breeze, fall over her.
George stood still, his mouth agape. He had no reaction to Riley calling him. The man didn’t shield his eyes from the light either, hadn’t blinked. Upon closer examination, Riley noticed his eyes seemed to glow. As if smacked upside her head, she began backing away, head shaking. “No,” she mumbled. “No.” His skin was pale, too pale to have life within it. She brought the light down to George’s chest and saw a large, gaping hole where flesh should’ve been. He’d been shot, up close, with a shotgun, a 12 gauge from the looks of the damage.
The zombie reached out, his face grimacing into a snarl of anger. Her brain was misfiring, stuck. She didn’t want to comprehend what her heart already knew: George had fallen and was now a member of the undead. His hand brushed her cheek, landing on her shoulder. She screamed at the top of her lungs and jumped back, slamming into the wall.
Although it had been awhile, Riley, like a trained attack dog, went into survival mode, the means by which had kept her alive for so long during her time in the cabin and on the road. She no longer associated the zombie with George. The man she had grown to know as a father was dead. She brought her leg up and kicked out using the wall as leverage. She hit the zombie in the stomach and knocked it back a few feet. The corpse acted as if nothing had happened and came forward, ready for its meal.
She dove sideways as the zombie reached for her. She hit the floor, her rifle sliding off her shoulder and clattering against cement. She turned, aiming the flashlight up and finding the zombie’s head while pulling the Glock out from behind her. Riley, ambidextrous, held the gun in her left hand. She lined up the gun with the zombie’s head and pulled the trigger. She hardly noticed the loud bang, as if she’d gone somewhat deaf. The only thing she concentrated on was the small dot that appeared in the thing’s forehead, directly between its eyes. Gore exploded from the back of its head and she saw the glow leave its eyes. Breathing heavy, her insides running the gamut of emotions, she watched as the undead George fell out of the flashlight’s beam.
She closed her eyes, not for the need to be in darkness, for she already was, but for the need to leave the outside world if only for a moment. George’s face came to the forefront of her mind before quickly becoming pale, gaunt and zombie-like. Using the muscles around her already shut eyes, she squeezed them tighter hoping to remove the ghastly image of undead George. She opened her mouth, letting out a shaky breath, and kept her eyes closed until her mind was clear. In and out—deep, long breaths like when she had to take a distance shot.