Forget The Zombies (Book 2): Forget Texas (6 page)

“Joni, we’ve got to go,” I said.

“But, Mack…,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “And Bill.” Again she trailed off.

“There’s no time,” I said. “They’ll be on us if we don’t move.”

She wasn’t the only one crying. Through the canvas, I could hear Freda’s sobs.

Then I heard three gunshots which trumped the crying. The shots came from the back of the truck. When I looked behind us, I saw two zombies lying in the road. More were coming.

“Grant, there’s more,” Sammy shouted from the back of the truck.

I did what I had to do, opening the door, and as gently as I could, I pulled Mack out of the cab, and collapsed in the road as the full weight of his body overwhelmed me. Still, I did everything I could prevent any further insult to his body. It took some effort, but I was able to climb out from under him and dragged his body to the side of the road. It was a shitty thing to do, leaving him beside the road like that, but there was no time for anything else. I looked up into the sky and saw the twinkling of the stars above and cursed the heavens for not letting Mack live and for letting the zombies kill so many people. There was no response so I sulked back to truck.

When I climbed back up to look into through the open driver’s door, I saw Joni, wiping away her tears. She looked to me and asked, “What about Bill?”

“Push him out the door,” I said.

“I can’t do that,” she said.

“He killed Mack.”

“I know, but he was still upset about Eric.”

“It doesn’t matter. He still killed Mack.”

I leapt off the truck and stormed around the front of the truck and ripped the passenger side door open. Bill’s body fell out the door unceremoniously and I did nothing to stop its fall. It thudded against the ground, bringing up a small cloud of dust. In my anger, I pulled back a foot, preparing to kick him, but caught a movement out of the corner of my eye.

A dark figure came down the side of the truck, holding on to it for balance. I reached for my gun, but when the figure came out of the shadows and I saw that it was Carla, Bill’s daughter.

“Daddy,” she said and ran and fell by his side.

Any anger I had experienced quickly dissolved and if I could have felt any worse, I didn’t know how.

Joni climbed from the cab and knelt down by the girl, putting a comforting arm around her. Carla rocked back and forth over the body of her father. I wanted to turn away, but didn’t feel like I deserved the right since I had just killed him and watched the scene as my heart sank.

“Carla,” Joni said, “I’m so, so sorry. Your father…he was troubled. He couldn’t get over losing Eric.”

“I know, I know,” Carla said, her voice thick with emotion.

“Grant had to do something,” Joni said. “Your father shot Mack.”

“I know. He never forgave Grant.” The girl looked up to me. “I know you did everything you could to save Eric, but he couldn’t see it.”

She was trying to get me off the hook, but I just couldn’t seem to let go.

“Carla!” A voice came from the direction of the back of the truck.

I looked back and saw Freda coming towards us. Her face was locked in a grimace so fierce that it hurt me to look at it.

“Get away from that man,” she said staring directly at me. “Getting Eric killed wasn’t enough? You had to kill Bill, too?”

“Mom, Dad shot Mack,” Carla said.

“Why are you defending him?” Freda screamed. Hate can be that way, blinding people, but I knew I would probably hate the person who shot and killed my spouse, too. The reality was that Bill and Freda’s hate started when soldiers had gunned down their son after he proved to be infected. Why they blamed me, no one could tell, but grief had driven them out of their minds. I had just become the outlet for it and the grief had turned itself inside out and turned to hate.

Something moved off in the brush behind Freda and I brought up my gun to track it.

“Don’t shoot my mom,” Carla said jumping to her feet.

The shadow came into the dim light and turned out to be a zombie shambling out of the bush. I tracked it for another second and shot it dead, as Freda cowered.

“You see what I’m saying?” Freda bellowed. “He’s crazy and wants to kill us all.”

“It was a zombie,” I said.

Freda and Carla both looked and saw a female zombie in a blood stained white dress lying on the side of the road. All our commotion brought Sammy and several others out of the back of the truck. They cautiously moved toward us, unsure what was going on.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Freda said. “You’re still a dangerous man.”

“There’s no time for this,” I said. “We’ve got to get moving.” Refugees had spotted the truck and were headed in our direction. Zombies would not be far behind.

“Well, we’re not going anywhere with him,” Freda said stalking over to Carla and clutching her tightly while holding me in a death stare. A part of me wished her stare could kill me. It would put me out of my misery. Of course, things don’t work that way.

“What do you mean?” Rosalita asked. “Mr. Grant is a good man. He saved us.”

“No, he’s not.” Freda shouted. “He’s a selfish bastard who got my boy killed and shot Bill.”

“Bill shot and killed Mack,” Joni said to the group.

“Dios mios,” Rosalita said.

Most of the others had shocked looks.

“Listen Freda, you’ve got to go with us,” Joni said. “It’s not safe.”

Rosalita spoke up, “Yes, you must come with us. It is not good to stay here.

“He’s not safe,” Freda said.

“Mom,” Carla said, “we can’t stay here. There’s zombies coming. We don’t have a car or any other way to get away.”

“Don’t you say another word,” Freda said to Carla. “We’re not leaving with him.”

“We don’t want you to stay,” Sammy said.

“You’ll die,” Joni said. “You both will die.”

“Better to die on our own than to have him get us killed like he did with Eric.”

“Mom, he didn’t get Eric killed,” Carla said, her voice hoarse with emotion. “Eric was bit. The soldiers didn’t have a choice.”

“There are always choices,” Freda shouted, spittle flying off her lips.

“Freda, you’re not thinking right,” Joni said, slowly walking toward them with her hands out in front of her.

“I’ve never thought more clearly in my life,” Freda said resolutely.

“Mom, I’m not staying here,” Carla said trying to pull away from Freda, but Freda yanked her back.

“You’re staying with me,” Freda said.

Something in me broke from the dread and the guilt, and just got plain angry. It wasn’t a volcanic anger, but a slow burn. “We don’t have time for this. Stay. Go. I don’t care. If you haven’t seen, we have a horde of undead coming our way. Staying here is suicide.”

“Freda, think of what you’re doing,” Joni said. “If you don’t want to go, let Carla go.”

“No,” Freda said.

“Mom, please, I don’t want to stay here.” Carla said, tears coming down her face. “Let’s go with them.”

“No,” Freda said and this time she sounded petulant and not so much angry.

Something must have snapped inside Joni. Before any of us could react, she had a pistol in her hand and was aiming it at Freda. “I lost my husband in the Outbreak. He was away from me and the kids when the shit hit the fan and was presumed lost. He’s got to be dead or else he’d be with us now. Grant did everything he could for your family. I’m sure the soldiers would have shot Bill had Grant not done what he did, but you just couldn’t see that. Eric was dead as soon as he was bitten. I’ve seen enough death. Freda, if you want to stay here I don’t have the time or the energy to debate you, but your daughter clearly wants to live, so let her go or I will shoot you.”

“Joni…” I started to say.

“Let her go, NOW!” Joni said and fired a shot past Freda’s head.

Freda released her grip on Carla and stumbled backward and fell down into a sitting position in the road.

“Go, Carla,” Joni said. “Get on the truck.”

Powerful, almost irresistible forces pulled at Carla, nearly tearing her apart. The desperate need to survive versus the love for her mother. Each of these warred within her, and it must have been agonizing, but in the end, survival won out, and she broke and ran for the back of the truck.

“Freda, this is your last chance,” Joni said. “We don’t want leave you here.”

The sounds of screams and gunshots filtered on the air from the south. I could see refugees and zombies alike cutting the gap between the camp and us. Either one getting to us meant trouble. We only had so many seats on the truck and if we got swamped by refugees, there was a good chance we’d never make it out of there alive.

Freda crossed her arms and refused to answer.

“That settles it,” Joni said and climbed into the cab and shut the door.

“Everybody, get back on the truck,” I yelled and they all took that as a call to leave.

Freda left us no other choice as she sat in the road with arms crossed in obstinate defiance of logic and reason, refusing even to look at us at all. I shook my head and got into the truck and found Joni behind the wheel.

“You can drive this thing?” I asked not wanting to discuss what just happened.

“I can drive anything,” she said and hit the gas. Even though I was tempted to check the rearview mirror, I resisted the urge. I wondered if Carla looked?

We drove for good half hour in silence, the horrible sounds for the death and carnage of the camp echoing in our minds. Initially, we had no clear direction, other than north. Our only other decision was to stay off the interstate highways. Those would most likely be clogged with cars if our past experience was worth anything.

After nearly an hour on the road, we had seen almost no one as we traveled along. At least no one living. We did see a lone zombie on a number of occasions and small packs more than once. It seemed that there was some herd mentality going on deep down inside them. Whenever they could congregate, they would. It was when they were in these groups that they were at their deadliest, so we did our best to avoid the packs.

“Dallas should be coming up our right pretty soon,” Joni said.

“It’s your state,” I said. “You know it better than me.”

“I’m a transplant,” she said. “My husband’s company transferred us here from Poughkeepsie three years ago.”

“Oh,” was all I said. I was the real conversationist.

“I didn’t want the transfer, but what could you do in this economy? A job’s a golden commodity. You want to know the truth?” She paused for a moment, the wind whipping through her hair. “I hate this state.”

“Me, too.”

She laughed a little and then so did I. The tension of escaping the camp had weighed down on us like a boulder. A little of it lifted, but our night was far from over.

“Thanks for what you did back there,” she said. “You saved a lot of lives, you know.”

I just shrugged, then said, “I didn’t expect what you did with Freda.”

“I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “We had just lost Mack. Bill was dead. Hundreds of refugees were dying behind us and she just couldn’t get past it. I couldn’t take losing someone else because of her stupidity, but I hated leaving her there. I considered busting her upside the head and dragging her back onto the truck, but we’d face it again.”

“Most likely,” I said.

We drove in silence for another few minutes and I closed my eyes, just resting them. I let myself drift down to a lower state of consciousness for a few minutes and I found myself in a dream. In it, I was in a forest. Initially it was very serene with birds chirping and animals walking about, unafraid of my presence. My soul seemed at peace as I walked along. The forest reminded me of the ones I had roamed in as a kid in northern Wisconsin, thick with tall and lush pines. The rich smell of the pine needles permeated the air, fresh and clean. I made my way deeper into the woods, but as I did, I noticed that animals seemed to be more aware of me, and maybe even afraid. The blue sky above me slowly shifted from blue to dark gray. The animals transitioned from wary to something more sinister as if they may be stalking me. Their eyes burned like embers in the shadows and their teeth shone in a predatory way. The fecund sent of the pines was replaced by something that put me on edge. It smelled like wood smoke. The animals started slowly moving out of the shadows. Hunks of their skin and fur were missing and their teeth were bared. They looked at me hungrily. I wanted to run, but my feet refused to move as if I were stuck in quicksand. I frantically looked for some escape as they closed in on me and then I heard a voice — someone calling my name.

It called to me several times and became more insistent. Then something clasped onto my arm and I jerked awake. Joni clutched my arm like a small vice.