Tired with fever and soaked to the bone, she lay down on an old, torn mattress on the first floor and fell asleep.
She dreamt of her father, seeing him at the bedside of her mother who’d died while giving birth to her. She was full-sized but had just come out of her mother’s womb, the doctor holding her. The sounds of alarms and beeping machines filled her ears. She was tossed over the doctor’s shoulder like a discarded piece of trash. Her father, standing behind the doctor, caught her, cradling her in his arms. His face was grim, eyes open and staring back and forth from Riley to where her mother lay dying in the hospital bed. There was no saving her mother. The doctor lowered his head.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester. We did all that we could,” the doctor said.
“No!” her father screamed, hugging Riley to his chest so tightly that she felt as if she would burst. The doctors and nurses left the room, leaving her, her dad and dead mother alone.
Riley heard a moaning sound from behind. Her father’s face lit up with joy. He lowered her to the floor. She stood, turning around. Her mother’s face was pale, bloodless and had lifeless eyes like a doll’s, yet she was reaching out for Riley’s father.
“Jenny,” he said, his voice full of joy. “You’re alive. You’re okay.”
Riley screamed, grabbing her father’s arm. “No Dad! She’s not alive. She’s a zombie!” Her father turned to her, his face becoming a twisted picture of rage. He raised his arm and backhanded her, sending her falling to the hard, cold tile floor.
Riley’s father ran to his wife, embracing her. Riley watched as her undead mother sunk her fingers and teeth into his flesh, tearing him apart as he screamed. Riley began screaming and then woke up.
Her body ached all over as if she’d broken every one of her bones. A throbbing, hammering pain filled her head. The room was out of focus, spinning. Reaching for her bag, she grabbed some pain killers, took four—chewing them, the taste like bitter chalk—and lay back down before passing out again.
This time she dreamt of a happier time. A time before the undead rose up and ruined everything for everybody.
Riley had had a dog once. A Jack Russell terrier named Smiley. She hadn’t named the canine; that was her mother’s idea because everyone who’d ever seen the dog said it was always smiling.
Smiley was prancing through beautiful green fields of freshly cut grass. Daisies and lilac bushes dotted the hillside. Riley, her mother and father sat below a huge maple tree eating a picnic lunch.
Her mother was laughing and her stomach was large and round, pregnant. She was carrying Riley’s baby brother. Riley’s father was sipping wine from a wineglass.
Together they watched Smiley run around, chasing beetles and crickets as they bounced into the air. Everyone was jovial, laughing and having fun, feeling the warmth of family envelop them like a numinous spell. This was how life should’ve been, but as she looked up, dark ominous clouds rolled in like gigantic angry ghosts. The sun’s shiny rays were extinguished. The gentle afternoon breezes became fierce, hurricane-like gusts of wind.
Riley saw her mother’s face turn grim—eyebrows raised, mouth agape. The woman cried out to her husband. Riley looked around. Where was her father? He was just here. She stood up, her heart beating faster. Off in the distance she saw a tornado approaching. Her mother’s face became a scowl, both hands on her stomach. She cried out, arms outstretched for her daughter. “Help me,” she pleaded as her eyes filled with tears. Riley tried to get up, but a pair of arms shot up from the ground. Powerful fingers, bony and rotten, wrapped around Riley’s ankles, keeping her in place.
“Mommy!” she cried out.
Her mother withered in agony. Something was wrong with the baby. Where was her father? Riley’s mother lifted her dress up, revealing the bulbous lump of white skin. Slits began to show themselves, blood spewing out of them like a dam bursting. Her mother continued to scream as the slits became tears. Tiny fingers emerged from the rips before the flesh was completely torn open, her undead brother crawling out.
Riley awoke screaming, kicking her arms and legs wildly. A hand was resting on her chest.
“Shush, child,” a soft male voice told her.
Confused, she opened her eyes and tried sitting up. She took a deep breath, and began coughing uncontrollably, each hack burning her raw and swollen throat.
“Lay still,” the voice said again. She was able to make out a man and a woman crouching on either side of her. A cool cloth pressed against her forehead, sending chills throughout her body. Her teeth began to chatter, but she quickly fell back into blackness.
A week since falling unconscious, she was awake. Opening her eyes, she saw that she was on a soft bed with fluffy blankets and cottony soft pillows. The last thing she remembered was walking into a dilapidated house and passing out. She was definitely somewhere else.
Sitting up, she looked around. She felt better, much better. Her throat no longer hurt and her head felt clear. She was in a bedroom. The walls were painted a bright white and were spotless. Framed pictures of horses and flowers hung from the walls. There was a dresser with a glass of clear liquid—probably water, a bowl and a small mauve-colored washcloth.
A long mirror hung on the back of a closet door. She took a deep breath in through her nostrils. The air was fresh, not musty or mildewy like so many of the houses she’d been in. Grabbing a handful of comforter, she brought it to her face. The heavy blanket smelled clean, like the air. Had she gone to heaven?
Her stomach began rumbling, the odor of cooked eggs and potatoes
entering her nose. She could see the images in her mind as if she were looking at them. Her mouth was watering, causing her to have to swallow—the salivary ducts working overtime.
Lifting the covers off and flinging them to the side, Riley slipped out of bed. The wood floor was cool; her body toasty from the layers of blankets. She was wearing pajamas—not her own. Running a hand over her stomach, the fabric felt soft and washed. Someone had been taking care of her. She vaguely remembered a man and a woman back at the house. They must have taken her with them. Survival instinct kicking in, she began looking for a weapon. She heard footsteps. Someone was approaching.
She felt naked, scared. Looking for a place to hide, she froze, her mind unable to decipher where to go. A figure came into view from the hallway and she began to back away, feeling like cornered prey. The figure was a man.
“You’re up,” he said enthusiastically. The man was tall, built and had thick wavy black hair. “Don’t be frightened.” He held his hands out and in front of him, a physical act of reassurance. “You’re safe here.”
Riley didn’t speak. Her mind was too busy racing with thoughts. Who was this man? Where was the woman? How did she get here?
“We’ve got food downstairs. Eggs, milk and fruit,” he said.
Her stomach rumbled again. Food! She really wanted to eat and the smell was driving her crazy. The need to trust this man seemed overwhelming. Nothing else seemed to matter but food. She heard more footsteps approaching. It was the female. She had long, blonde hair, alabaster skin and a warm smile. Riley liked her immediately.
“Would it be okay if we talked, sweetie?” the woman asked. Riley nodded. “My name’s Joanne and this is my husband, George.”
“Hello,” George said, waving his hand through the air.
“I’m Riley,” she said, flatly. “Riley Winchester.”
Riley sat on the bed, her feet dangling off the side. The husband and wife talked to her, explaining who they were and how they found her.
Riley had had a fever of one-hundred and four degrees. Joanne, George and their nine-year old boy, Eric, had been out on a scavenging mission up north, a good two hours from home, when they entered the house and found her. They told her at first they thought she was dead, but found a pulse. The scavenging mission was cut short as they sped home, Riley cradled in dry blankets and Joanne’s arms, where she was nursed back to health.
George and Joanne headed down to breakfast when they were finished talking with her. “Come down when you’re ready, sweetie. No rush,” Joanne told her.
Left alone in the room, Riley sat on the bed, letting her mind absorb a little of what she was told. The other memories, the three that she thought about daily—her father, having to leave the cabin, and Jack’s death, were kept locked away. She didn’t want to think about them for a while. They had haunted her relentlessly during her time on the road, especially when she had the fever. But it appeared she was in a better place now and she wanted to make the best of it. She felt as if this could be the beginning of something good. A fresh new start possibly. One day at a time would be her new credo, at least for now. These new people seemed nice, genuine, and they had a kid. She’d heard him call to his parents while they were speaking with her. Riley was tired from all that she’d been through and just wanted to be able to relax, feel safe.
She hopped off the bed, turned to look at the lovely room and smiled before heading down to join the others for breakfast.
Chapter Seven
Love and Trust
Over the next couple of months, Riley grew more and more accustomed to life with the Milners. Trust had always been an issue for her, but the Milners proved to be good people and she was able to relax physically as well as mentally. Allowing herself to open up was a novel and difficult venture.
She’d spent numerous nights alone in her new room, weeping quietly, making sure no one ever heard her. It was a pride thing, but also a self-taught defense mechanism. She needed to remain hardened, emotionally solid, never allowing prolonged bouts of sadness to seep into her bones like a poison. In order to survive, she’d needed to detach herself from her feelings and keep her killer instinct sharp.
The Milners proved different than the rest of the world. They were a tough family—strong physically and spiritually with the need to not only survive, but to live. They’d kept their humanity and love for each other alive even in a world that had fallen apart. Riley wanted to be a part of that love, that bond, finding it difficult to truly believe in, until one day when she let it all out, crying hysterically onto Joanne’s shoulder. The pent-up emotions, multiple layers of sadness, dread and guilt were shed from her soul like an old skin. Through conversation and with some time she’d learned that opening one’s self up to others wasn’t a weakness, but a strength that would keep her balanced, keep her human.
For years, even when her father was alive, she had given up hope that she’d ever find people that could live normal lives. People that were capable of bringing joy and happiness to others around them. The world, as she had known it to become, was a wasteland of self-preserving mutants. Jack had rekindled her feelings of hope in people, that not all of them were wicked. But Jack’s acts of kindness had ultimately led to his death. Why weren’t the good people rewarded?
Now, living amongst the Milners, Riley had learned to trust again, to love again. George and Joanne had become her adopted parents. They showed nothing but compassion and love, always looking out for her and Eric’s well-being.
The family life that she had only heard or read about, the stuff of fiction, was now a real part of the world in which she lived. Every day she was able to wake with a smile, knowing how lucky she truly was and that her father and Jack, with their sacrifices, allowed her to be where she was today.
A year had passed since the day she arrived at the Milners house. They celebrated her fourteenth birthday, giving her a cake made from goat milk, stale but viable Twinkies, cinnamon and honey. It was something at one time she might have considered a child’s concoction, but now a delicious treat. She was grateful for what it represented and where it had come from.
The house was a log cabin built by George Milner before the Zombie Apocalypse. It was a large cabin with two floors and a basement. A wood stove sat at either end of the abode, keeping the house warm throughout the wintry months.
They had chickens in a coop and goats which they used for milk. The animals were easy to keep as they fed naturally off the land.
A nearby river supplied loads of fresh fish as well as a few nearby lakes. The Hudson River wasn’t too far off, easily gotten to by car, but the Milners almost never traveled toward the city of Poughkeepsie—known for its gangs, zombies and crazy people. When they traveled for a scouting supply mission, it was usually north into unpopulated regions.
The log cabin was set back a quarter-mile from the road and well hidden, especially during the summer months, by the heavily wooded forest. The wood stove burned cinders and twigs during the daylight hours, keeping the heavy burning at night to avoid being seen from afar. George had told Riley that no breathing, talking human had ever come around. On occasion a member of the undead would wander into the area—one making it all the way to the house’s front steps—but George or his wife would take care of the things, usually with a single shot to the head to destroy the eye/brain connection. The log cabin was a safe haven from the wilds of the world. It had taken Riley a couple months before she was able to relax and let her guard down somewhat, but never completely.