Dove: A Zombie Tale (Byron: A Zombie Tale Book 2) (11 page)

I nodded, a slight movement, which with all hope went unnoticed by Dove sitting next to me.

We recognize your acknowledgment and understand you do not wish to scare the human woman. We also see your hormone levels are elevated. You wish to breed with her?

My eyes flashed open wide. I didn’t move my head.

We register your response as one of shock. Your heartbeat is increasing, sweat is breaking on your brow, and your adrenal gland is excreting into your system. We will accept that response as an affirmative to our question.

I cursed under my breath.

“What’s wrong?” Dove’s voice filled with concern.

Remember, we are within you and keep you alive. We need each other.

“Nothing,” I responded. “Just reflecting on everything to date. It’s been one hell of an interesting amusement ride so far.”

She nodded. “It has.”

We followed Route 13 to Market Street. Cars lined the roads, but the city sat in eerie silence. None of them moved. No pedestrians bustled about. The only occasional soul we saw belonged to the damned.

In center-city, Market Street brought us to Philadelphia City Hall. Skyscrapers towered around us. I didn’t dare think how many Goners peered out the innumerable windows down at our lone car passing through the desolate city streets, salivating at the thought of sinking their teeth into us. We turned south and continued east on Chestnut. “There’s 9th street,” Dove called. “Follow that south.”

“But it’s a one-way!” I groaned. “Right. Zombie apocalypse. No police. No courts. Nevermind.”

She shot me a broad grin. I had to admit, if circumstances were different, I could see a long-term thing with her. A little off. A unique sense of style. I mean, her hair alone spoke volumes—shaved on the left side of her head and dyed a strong neon purple while the rest of her whitened hair remained shoulder-length. Eye shadow in complementing shades of silver and grey, dark eyeliner. Most of all, her ruby lips. She even dressed kind of punk, and kind of utilitarian at the same time. High boots, cargo pants, Misfits shirt, and a cargo vest. The headband with the camera was my favorite touch. Overall, the look worked for her. But given that we found ourselves neck deep in the zombie apocalypse, the likelihood of either one of us surviving for long diminished with each waking moment. But that didn’t change the fact that I would make the most of the time I had with her. So I soaked her in.

“Hey, watch the road! Not me.”

I grinned. “What? It’s not like a cop’s gonna flash the blue-lights.”

“No. But I also don’t want to end up road pizza. You can recover from serious injuries. I’m still a little on the fragile side.”

I nodded and turned back to the road. Memories drifted into my mind. Memories of my friends—Tim, Pam. Memories of Elise. The three of them had turned, like me. I had turned them. I recreated the circumstances of my own demise with the hopes they would retain their humanity, their identities, and not be lost to the microogragnisms like the other Goners. But they didn’t survive. Tim had changed into something horrible and killed the others. It had been a while now since I had killed him on the Tacony/Palmyra bridge.

I stared at Dove again, but for an instant. “Fragile you are. And fragile shall you remain.” I spoke the words out loud in my best Yoda impersonation, but directed them more to myself than to her.

“What? Did you say something?” She didn’t seem to have heard.

I raised my eyebrows, trying to put it behind us. “Hmm?”

“Never mind. I thought you said something.”

I turned my attention back to the road ahead. We passed a hospital and some early nineteenth century row houses situated in a strange juxtaposition of old and new age. A little further down we passed the pinnacle of 1960s to 1970s architecture, and 1990s interpretations of nineteenth century style. The amalgam of buildings seemed out of place, like a hodge-podge jumbled together.

We passed another hospital a few blocks down, and a ball field still further. We stayed on 9th Street for what seemed like an eternity, passing block after block and not bothering to stop at any intersections.

“That’s Oregon Ave up ahead,” Dove said, pointing. “We need to cross toward the left. We’re almost there.”

I nodded as I goosed the throttle across the wide thoroughfare. We passed a school on the right. Another school backed up to it. Images of little zombie children attacking unsuspecting teachers came to mind as we rocketed across the next narrow cross street.

“Slow down!” Dove shouted.

I slammed on the brakes and the Land Rover slid diagonally across the road screeching like a tortured beast and rocking to a halt against the curb on the left side of the road. She had the door open before I could say anything.

“Dove! Wait.” I whipped from the car, closed both doors, and caught up to her. “Which one is it?”

She pointed to the purple door rising two steps up before her.

“Is her car here?”

She shook her head. “I own the only car between us.”

I sighed deep, not wanting to ask the question. “Are you sure you want to do this? There’s a chance that—” I didn’t want to finish the thought, so I let it trail off.

She swallowed hard, hung her head, and studied her shoes. She nodded. “I have to do this, Byron. I have to. She’s the only family I have left.”

“Okay, but let me go first.” I slipped the swords from their sheaths and scanned up and down the street. I stepped toward the door and lifted my leg in front of me, ready to kick the door in.

“Wait! You can go first,” she said pulling a key ring from her pocket. “Just let me unlock the door. We may need to close it behind us in case of emergency.”

I gave her a sheepish grin. “Yeah. Good thinking.”

She turned the handle, leaving the keys in the door lock and the purple portal swung open.

~ ~ ~

He crossed the threshold before me, swords held in defensive positions. I gasped and he spun toward me, the swords raised to strike. “What’s wrong?”

“I left my baseball bat at Jake’s house.”

He frowned, relaxing his posture. “Is there anything here you can use?”

“Yeah. There are some weapons upstairs. My aunt’s a big Uma Thurman fan and got into Samurai swords after that movie she did. They’re upstairs in her bedroom.”

“Your aunt doesn’t own a gun, does she?”

“Not that I know of.”

He grimaced at my response. I ignored the expression and pushed past him into the living room. Nothing seemed out of place. The leather couches, cluttered coffee table, rat’s nest of television wires. Even the scuff marks on the carpet were typical. A thick layer of dust coated the television stand. With both of us working odd schedules, neither of us had much time for vacuuming or cleaning.

“Looks like there hasn’t been anybody here in a while,” Byron whispered, stalking toward the hallway leading toward the back.

“No. This is normal. We’re just pigs.” My face felt warm as I said it. The urge to straighten up washed over me and I reached for the magazines and cups sitting on the table.

He studied me. “What are you doing?”

I stared at him, unblinking. “Cleaning up. What’s it look like? This place is a sty!”

He grinned. “It doesn’t really matter. We’re just here to find your aunt and bring her to the prison, remember?”

My face felt flushed. “Oh yeah. Old habit.” I put the cups down. He chuckled and turned away.

“What’s back here?”

“The dining room, then the kitchen.”

“Is there a bathroom on this floor?”

I nodded, pointing to a door off to his left. “Under the stairs, right there.”

He stepped over to it and sniffed at it, wrinkling his nose. Concern filled his eyes as he turned back toward me. Without warning, he thrust both swords through the closed bathroom door, one high and one low. They scraped as he drew them back out, the blades clean. He nodded at the door handle.

Standing to one side, I flicked the handle and shoved the door open.

Empty.

He stepped inside, gazed into the toilet, and made a strange face. He exited, calling over his shoulder, “You gotta clean that thing! I could almost smell it from the street.”

Dirty dishes covered the dining room table—the ones I had left there this morning before heading off to the church. The stench of old milk stung my nose.

“Couldn’t put your dishes in the sink?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“Hey, I left in a bit of a rush this morning. At four-thirty.”

“How did you not notice everything falling to pieces around you?”

I gave him a hard glare. “Really? Did you see the neighborhood I live in? Everything is in pieces? We don’t watch the news. I spend my days glued to the computer because that’s how I make my money. A nuclear bomb could have detonated and it wouldn’t look much different around here.”

He shrugged. “True. It is a bit of a hole. But not even a Yahoo article about zombies invading?” He put strong emphasis on the last two words.

“Who has time for Yahoo articles? Last thing I need is clickbait. You know how exhausting it is to edit hours of digital footage into a cohesive film? And as for this neighborhood—we’re a half-step above the projects here. You know how often we hear gunfire? Nightly. Gang shootings. Armed robberies. Drugs. You name it, we got it in our ‘hood.”

Byron sniffed hard at the air. “You have rats. I can smell them—I hear them in your cabinets.”

“I know. Don’t remind me.” The warmth of embarrassment returned to my face.

He looked at me with a broad, goofy grin. “Got a toolbox? I could use a road snack.”

My stomach turned and I wanted to retch. We stepped into the kitchen. The sink overflowed with dishes and dirty pots littered the stove. “Yeah. My aunt is a bit of a hoarder.” Roaches scurried about the counter. “I can’t wait to get my own place.”

Byron stopped in his tracks.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He brushed the vertical blinds away from the rear sliding door. The half-rotted bodies of Goners shuffled about in the yards. A wave of relief washed over me as I recognized that none of them resembled my aunt.

“Seriously, how did you not notice?” His eyes pleaded for an answer.

“Can we focus, here. I’m oblivious, okay. It’s by sheer, dumb luck that I have survived life this far. So, let’s not tempt fate any more than it already has been. Let’s find my aunt and get the hell out of here.”

He nodded and let the blinds flop back into place. Soft moans resonated through the double-pane glass.

“Let’s check upstairs.” He walked much faster toward the front, back to the main stairway, stopping to peek out the front window as he went. “Coast is clear so far.”

When I turned, Byron stood a few steps up the stairs already, scanning the doorways.

“I don’t see any movement in the rooms up here,” he called back. “Are you sure you got the right house?”

“Jerk.” I called back to him. “Yes. I am sure this is where I live. This is my squalor and filth.”

He hopped up the rest of the steps two at a time, slipping one of the swords back into its sheath. “Well, she ain’t here.”

He opened all the doors along the corridor as I crested the top of the stairway. The two bedrooms stood empty, as did the bathroom. I made my way to my aunt’s bedroom. There were no notes, or any indications of a struggle anywhere. It didn’t even look like she had packed herself a bag and bugged out. Her paired Samurai swords stood in their rack on her dresser. I grabbed them both and ran across the hall to my bedroom. Using a belt from my closet, I strapped them around my waist like a Japanese warrior.

“Attractive,” Byron called from the corridor. “So this is your room?” I had my head buried in my closet looking for a spare backpack. “What’s in here?” I leaned back, and watched as he riffled through my dresser.

“Hey, creeper, stay out of my underwear drawer.”

He drew his hand back in reverence, like he had just been about to touch the Holy Grail, or the Ark of the Covenant.

“Lo, I have seen the top of the mountain. And it is good.”

I slapped him on the shoulder and shoved him out of the way as I threw some things into the backpack. “No sense in wearing the same clothes for the rest of eternity.”

He had already stalked out to the corridor. “So where in the world could your aunt be?”

I closed the top flap on the bag and stepped out into the corridor with him. “She has no social life,” I said with no humor. “If she’s not here, then she’s either at work. Or…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words in my mind.

He nodded. “So where does she work?”

~ ~ ~

Dove threw her knapsack into the back of the truck. We needed to get moving to find her aunt’s workplace. The sun had already reached its zenith and began its decline toward evening.

“Where are we headed?” I asked.

“Passayunk Avenue. She works as a waitress in a trendy little restaurant there.”

“You ever think of that line of work? Would be safer than crawling over rusted nails, broken beer bottles, and hypodermic needles. Not to mention less homeless to contend with.”