In the Lone and Level Sands (66 page)

“Like I said, I’m not sure. There’s an
abundance of food, and there’s plenty of fuel for fires. The
zombies adore the flames, you know. They’re drawn to them.”

“I didn’t know that,” Martha said.

“It’s true, ma’am.”

“Why would you risk setting fires around
here?” Emily said. “This is a gas station, you could blow yourself
to bits!”

“I’m careful enough,” the man said.

A small girl’s voice came from the supply
closet. “Jerry! Who’s out there?”

Why is he keeping this child in a
closet?
Martha thought.

“Chloe, it’s all right,” the man said. “I
think they’re friends. Just stay safe in there, honey.”

“Who is that back there?” Phil asked.

“Chloe… is my neighbor. Well, she was, when
we lived in our neighborhood. I’ve been taking care of her since
this began.”

Francine looked at Jerry, and with a hint of
sadness in her voice, asked, “Where are her parents? Are they…”

Jerry nodded. “They’re both gone.”

“That’s so sad,” Martha said.

“It is. If you don’t mind me asking, what
brings you here?”

“Just need some food to get us along the
way. We were pretty low on gas, too.”

“I see,” Jerry said. “Not much different
than us, then.”

“You should really find someplace safer than
this, you know, for Chloe’s sake,” Billy said.

“Yeah. I just don’t know if that’ll matter
anymore.” Jerry turned away and looked at Alan as he was moving to
fill Francine’s car with gas. In the distance, a few zombies
wandered around the cars along the side of the road.

“What’s that mean?” Jesse said.

Jerry sighed.

“She was bitten, wasn’t she?” Emily
said.

“I’ve done everything I could do for her,
but I still failed to protect her.”

“I’m sure it was unavoidable,” Martha
said.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Jerry shook
his head, then smiled. It was as if he had shaken the sadness away.
“So, where did you folks come from?”

“The football stadium in Lynnwood,” Billy
said.

“That didn’t work out?”

“So many people died there,” Phil said.

“My mom was one of them,” Jesse added.

“I’m very sorry,” Jerry replied.

“Don’t be.”

“Angela was shot, at least she didn’t suffer
long,” Phil said.

“Fucking long enough.”

“Would you rather have her been eaten alive,
like all the people who didn’t make it out?”

“What I want isn’t really an option, so just
forget it,” Jesse said.

Everyone’s attention was drawn back to the
girl in the closet. She had begun to cry. Her small form poked out
of the door. She came out and slowly walked toward the others.

“Chloe, what’s wrong?” Jerry said. The sight
of the little girl and the sadness in Jerry’s voice brought a tear
to Martha’s eye. “Come here.” He opened his arms. “I know you’re
scared. This will all be over soon. Come here, Chloe.”

Martha and the other survivors watched as
the two hugged.

“Please, Jerry,” Chloe said. “I want to go
home. I want to go home to Mommy and Daddy.” She looked at Jerry
with big teary eyes. Wisps of brown hair were matted to her
cheeks.

“Honey, you know we can’t go back there.”
Jerry let out one sob but kept others within. Chloe buried her face
in Jerry’s chest.

“I want to go home. Please! Let me go.”

Martha jumped as a car alarm went off. The
others hurried to the window, minus Jerry, whose attention still
belonged to Chloe.

“Shit,” Francine said.

Alan had finished with the cars and was
working on the second gas can when the car alarm went off. He saw
the small cluster of zombies near the cars in the road, and one car
with flashing head and tail lights. The zombies along the street
were drawn by the noise, and many of them finally noticed Alan
nearby, and started for him. Alan rushed to the car door, opened
it, and grabbed a shovel. Several zombies were coming close. He
swung the shovel and knocked one down, and then made his way to the
gas station.

Jerry turned to the window and rose to his
feet. Zombies flocked from across the street and all around, dozens
of them. Suddenly, Jerry felt a small pair of hands on his ankle.
They moved his pants up slightly.

“Euuuuurrrr,” Chloe said. Her teeth clamped
down on Jerry’s ankle, and he screamed in pain. Without thinking,
Jerry flipped around and kicked Chloe. The toe of his shoe
connected with her nose. She fell back.

Phil rushed over and restrained Chloe. She
growled and tried to bite him. Martha rummaged through some first
aid supplies on a shelf nearby and found some gauze. Emily and
Jesse got some of it wrapped around Jerry’s ankle.

Billy hurried to the door and opened it for
Alan. Alan rushed inside, panting heavily. Billy locked the door
behind him, but more zombies were coming. When they got to the
doors, they began scratching and pounding at them, moaning and
growling.

“Why are you holding that thing?” Alan
said.

“That’s Chloe,” Jerry said. “I don’t want
her to be like this. She deserves to rest in peace.”

“We don’t have any guns,” Phil said. He held
Chloe’s arms back.

“That man’s shovel, then,” Jerry said. “…I
should do it. Please, let me set her free.”

Alan handed Jerry the shovel, and Phil laid
Chloe out on the floor. She squirmed, but it wasn’t hard to
restrain her.

Jerry stood above Chloe with tears running
down his cheeks. He saw her flailing around, growling up at him,
gnashing her teeth. Finally, he raised the shovel up in the air and
brought it down on her throat. She went quiet and still.

Phil let go of her. Jerry gave Alan his
shovel back and, without a word, went to the opposite side of the
store. He appeared to be looking for something.

“What are you doing?” Francine asked.

“You should all get out of here,” Jerry
said.

“How are we supposed to get out?” Billy
replied. “The only exit is the one with all those fuckers outside
it!”

Jerry returned with a bottle of motor oil
and a box of matches. “I told you before, they adore fire. They’ll
pass people by for the flames. I’ll light a fire in here, and you
open the doors, let them in, then get out.”

“Are you sure they’ll all be more interested
in the fire?” Emily said.

“Trust me, I know.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Martha
said.

“It’s all I
have
to do. Just look at
me. Look at Chloe. She deserves a better send-off than that.” Jerry
moved to Chloe’s body and poured almost half of the motor oil over
it. Martha and the others moved to either side of the doors. “Are
you ready? You’ll all have to move quickly.” Jerry drew a trail of
oil from Chloe’s body through the narrow aisles. Oil spattered on
the ground until Jerry squeezed out the last bit in the center of
the floor almost ten feet from the doors.

The group exchanged looks and then
nodded.

Jerry struck a match, dropped it on Chloe’s
doused body, and jumped away as flames rose high and burned bright,
slowly eating her corpse. They ran along the trail, and the big
puddle in the middle began to blaze. The zombies outside groaned
and pounded on the doors harder than before. Their eyes begged the
survivors to let them bathe in the fire.

“Open the doors,” Jerry said. “Let them in!”
The flames leapt higher, catching merchandise on fire.

Alan opened the doors. Zombies rushed in,
but none of them paid any attention to the other survivors. They
all stampeded toward the fire. When there were no more zombies
outside and the ones within had passed the door, the survivors made
their way out, trying to ignore Jerry’s screams.

They ran to their cars. Alan grabbed the gas
cans and put them in the trunk of his. Francine climbed into hers
along with Phil and Jesse. Martha and the others climbed into
Alan’s car. As promised, Billy took the wheel this time. Alan sat
in the back with Emily. They drove out of the parking lot, none of
them looking once at the fiery grave of Jerry and Chloe. It was too
painful.

****

It was starting to rain. Billy looked at
Martha as he drove down the road. Martha was looking at her
picture.

“Are you all right?” he said.

“I’m fine, dear.”

“Are you sure?

“Billy, I am just fine.”

“Okay, then.”

Alan held his notebook in his lap, pen in
hand. He scrawled ferociously in the college-ruled pages for most
of the ride. It was nearly one unbroken strand of letters. He
stared almost angrily at the words as they ran down the paper, his
eyes beating back and forth across the page.

What the fuck started this?
Alan
thought.
What the fuck started this, and what the fuck will end
it? Mother, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.

Alan looked up from his notebook, and his
pen stopped moving. He looked at Martha.
I won’t let anything
take you, Martha. I won’t fail you too.

Alan looked at the page he’d been working
on. “Mother” was etched under what he’d been previously writing. He
had, without thought, gone over it a couple dozen times with the
pen. It looked like some sort of graffito, nearly ripped through to
the next sheet.

Alan sighed and looked at the paper for a
moment, then quickly flipped through the next few pages. They all
showed that same word, fading with each turn. He turned until it
was no longer visible. Alan gripped the half-dozen or so pages and
tore them out, then crumpled them up. He tossed them onto the
floorboard and continued scribbling on the new pages.

It wasn’t long before Billy pulled Alan’s
car into a neighborhood somewhere in Bellingham, Washington.
Francine still followed. It was a quiet suburb, and the street they
were on led up a hill. At the top was a large house. Zombies lurked
around the houses on the way, but not many took notice. Those who
did were few, and they didn’t make any attempt to pursue the
cars.

“Why are they not following us?” Billy
asked.

“I’m not sure,” Emily replied.

“They know they can’t keep up,” Alan said.
“I think they may be changing. Evolving, you could say.”

“Evolving?” Billy said. “Fuck.”

“You saw those things at the gas station,
Bill. They’re faster, and they’re getting smarter.”

There were no zombies near the top of the
hill, and the house had a “For Sale” sign in the yard, so the cars
pulled into the driveway and the survivors climbed out.

Martha and the others sauntered up to the
porch and stood under the awning. She reached out and tried the
knob. It turned, and there was a group-wide sigh of relief. They
entered and looked around.

All the furniture was still in the house.
There were boxes in some rooms, most marked clearly with
DISHES
,
LINENS
, and other things. The survivors even
found a mostly filled refrigerator in the kitchen.

“Looks like we got enough food in here for a
few days,” Billy said.

“Do you think this person will come back?”
Jesse said from the couch.

“Who knows?” Phil said. “He’s probably dead,
but if he comes back, hopefully he doesn’t mind some guests.”

Martha sat down on the couch. She looked at
her and Charlie and didn’t say a word.

“Well, we have a place to stay for a little
while, but we shouldn’t stay for long,” Alan said.

****

Late that night, Martha entered the bedroom
she’d chosen to bunk up in. She held a glass of water in her right
hand, taking a sip as she headed for the bed. She lay down but
didn’t cover herself right away, she just looked out the window and
set the water down next to the picture frame she’d carried so
far.

Outside, the thunderstorm was in full swing.
There was nothing but the sound of rain, and Martha’s thoughts. No
matter what raced across her head, it always led to the same thing:
Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. Anger at Charlie for hurting her,
sadness because Charlie was gone, then anger there, too; how could
he leave her behind, leave her alone in a world like this?

How different the night could have been if
Martha had, for even a moment, let in some happiness at ever having
Charlie at all.

Instead, she let the anger wash over her
like a hurricane. Martha raised the glass into the air and threw
it. It busted into a thousand little shards that rained down on the
dresser near the door.

Martha looked at the picture frame. It
seemed to call to her, in Charlie’s voice. She picked it up,
brought it close to her face. Then she flipped it over and beat it
into the corner of the nightstand, breaking the glass into pieces.
One larger shard, the shape of an awkwardly cut slice of pie,
glimmered in the low light. Martha picked it out of the mess of
smaller shards and twirled it in her hands.

It was nearly a quarter until one when she
plunged the glass into her throat.

She lay on the bed, silent and still, with a
small smile spread across her bloody lips. She felt peaceful. Her
body ran cold, and her spirit passed on to wherever spirits go when
their bodies die.

60

In the Car

Zoe watched the faded yellow strips of paint
rush beneath the car, moving so quickly they blurred until they
were almost a continuous line. It was nearing noon, their third day
on the road.

“So, what’s California like?” Zoe asked.

“You’ve never been to California?”

“Nope.”

“It’s great. A beautiful place, really. It
has a certain smell to it, I can’t really describe it. And the
ocean…”

“I’ve never seen the ocean. Well, just in
pictures, on TV, things like that.”

“You’ll have to come see it with us,”
Derrick said. “With me and Mara, I mean. When we find her.”

“Yeah, definitely!” Zoe said. She was far
less excited than she sounded. She wasn’t jealous (she had no
reason to be) but she feared that when they finally found Mara, Zoe
would feel like a third wheel for the rest of their time together.
A thought crossed her mind then: Perhaps she would leave shortly
after Derrick and Mara reunited, go off and be alone again. While
it colored the back of her mind, the thought faded from the
forefront like the lines in the road before them.