In the Lone and Level Sands (83 page)

“Max,” Ortiz said.

“Don’t talk.”

“You were right. There’s always
tomorrow.”

He reached his hand up, put it on Max’s
face. Johns was getting some gauze out of a pack on Ortiz’s belt.
Lou flicked his cigarette into the grass and dragged himself to
Ortiz’s side.

“Quit talking like that,” Max said. He could
feel himself beginning to choke. He put his hand on Ortiz’s
shoulder.

“This is gonna hurt like hell,” Johns said.
With a loud
snap!
he set Ortiz’s leg. Ortiz recoiled, but
made no sound. Johns wrapped his leg the best he could.

“What do we do about his side?” Lou
said.

“There’s nothing
to
do,” Ortiz
said.

“We’re not leaving you behind.”

Max checked the wound. He got a good look at
it for the first time. A thick piece of metal went through Ortiz,
an end of it sticking out on each side. Blood poured out of it and
onto the grass.

“We have to get him back to the Humvee,” Max
said. Ortiz grabbed him and pulled him close. He looked Max in the
eyes and opened his mouth. No words came, so he shook his head.
Tears began to stream down Max’s cheeks. “Don’t—don’t.”

“Look, Max,” Ortiz said. He pointed to the
bright red flare in the sky. It was falling back to earth,
beginning to flicker. “It’s the sun.” His hand dropped back to the
grass, and rested.

Johns closed his eyes, breathed in
heavily.

“No,” Max said. Lou lit up another
cigarette, inhaled deeply, then turned away. He blew a cloud of
smoke. Pooling into the air, the flare turning it red, it looked
like blood. “No, no, no!”

Max screamed. He leaned forward and shook
Ortiz. Ortiz didn’t move. Max wrapped his arms around him, pressed
his face into Ortiz’s chest. He shut his eyes and cried as hard as
he could.

Behind him, in the sky, the last flare
flickered out.

****

Max sat in the middle seat of the Humvee.
Lou and Johns put Ortiz’s body in the back, then got in. They sat
there for a moment, silent. Nothing happened. Lou started the car,
and Johns buckled his seatbelt. They pulled out of the park and
headed down the road, leaving the field of bodies behind.

The streets were empty. Lou looked at the
radio. Max followed his gaze, saw the time. It was nearing
midnight, and though it felt much later, Max thought he’d never
sleep again. He thought of Nikki back at the base; the thought was
the only thing in the world left to comfort him. Lou reached
forward and turned on the radio.

“—this time.”

The Humvee screeched to a halt, the soldiers
lurched forward. Max worried about Ortiz’s body in the back, which
made his heart hurt all over again. He tore his thoughts away from
there, back to the radio.

“Did you hear that?” Lou said.

“Yeah,” Johns replied, his eyes glued to the
radio as though it would get up and dance around. “Yeah, I
did.”

“That was a voice. A human voice. A living,
fucking, human being, on the radio!”

They sat in the silence for a minute, and
then a different voice came on, this one much clearer.

“Yes, you heard right, folks. The radio
waves are up and working again. That was a recording I pushed
through from another station, and believe me, I was just as shocked
as you. I don’t know if anyone is listening to this, but if there
is anyone out there, I’m a local DJ here in South Carolina, and I
just received a broadcast from an AM station. I’ll get more info to
you as it comes, but know that the radio waves are working again,
repeat, the airwaves are clear again.”

The soldiers headed back to the base, their
spirits lifted only somewhat from a great loss by a great, new
hope. The clock struck midnight as the Humvee pulled to a stop
inside the college grounds.

69

In the House in Bellingham

Alan woke up sometime before four a.m. and
decided to write in his notebook. He scratched the pen across the
paper for ten minutes, filling up almost two pages. He wiped his
teary eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, then hovered over the
paper for nearly a half hour.

It was a quarter until five in the morning,
and the rain had long died out. Alan set his notebook and pen aside
and looked out the window. The sun was beginning to come up. He saw
faint silhouettes of trees.

Alan realized he was thirsty. It was as if
there were cotton balls shoved down his throat, filling his mouth.
Alan sighed and went to the kitchen, where he filled a glass with
water. He walked back down the hall, passed Martha’s bedroom and
stopped, then turned back. He thought he’d peek in on her, make
sure she was okay.

When he saw blood, he screamed. It filled
the room, the house. He saw Martha’s neck, the stab wound, the
dried blood on her skin and the bedding. It was all over, and he
saw the broken picture frame, and the bloody glass shard in her
hand. Alan felt like his heart would explode.

Everyone rushed into the room. Alan was
sitting on the bed near Martha, looking down at her. He was crying.
Everyone’s eyes widened.

“What the hell happened?” Billy asked.

“Mom! Wha—” Emily ran over to Martha, and
screamed. Tears fell, and so did she, next to Martha on the bed.
She grasped for the hand that wasn’t splattered in blood and
squeezed it tightly, looking into Martha’s cold, listless eyes.
They stared at the ceiling. The smile on Martha’s face made her cry
even more.

Emily turned to Alan. “What were you doing
in here, Alan?”

Phil looked at Emily with a sour look on his
face. “You aren’t suggesting that… Alan did this?”

“I want to know what the hell he was doing
in here!”

Alan only tilted his head up, watery-eyed.
Emily’s eyebrows rose in anger, and she jumped at him. Billy
lurched forward and grabbed her by the waist.

“Em, stop! What the hell’s gotten into—”

“He was in here! He—”

“Emily! Honey, she took her life. Just look
at the glass shard in her hand.”

“She wouldn’t! She wouldn’t do such a
thing!”

“Mom, I know you don’t want to believe it,”
Francine said, “but it was Grandma, not Alan. There’s no reason for
Alan to do that. He helped us when we needed it.”

“No! No, I can’t handle this.” Emily broke
from Billy and collapsed near the bed, leaning back, her feet drawn
up. She sobbed loudly. Billy sat beside her.

“I’m sorry,” Billy said.

Alan wiped his eyes. “I-I came in to check
on her. That’s all. She was gone when I got here. I can’t believe
it.” He covered his face with his hands. Emily only continued to
sob.

Francine found a washcloth and dampened it
under a faucet, then wiped away as much of Martha’s blood as she
could. Phil and Jesse stripped the bloody sheets in favor of
cleaner ones from the linen closet down the hall. Finally, they
covered Martha with a fresh blanket.

****

It was nearly six in the morning before
everyone returned to their rooms. Most felt too sad to sleep, but
eventually they slept.

Alan was the first to rise. Billy found him
pacing the living room, burning tracks into the floor. “Alan, did
you get enough sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“I woke up a while ago, couldn’t get back to
sleep, so yeah. I’ve got as much sleep as I’m going to get.”

“I want to apologize for Emily.”

“It’s not your obligation.”

“I’m still sorry she jumped to that
conclusion. I’m sure she is, too.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Billy nodded and headed for the kitchen. He
rinsed out the coffee pot and filled the maker with clean, fresh
water. “You drink coffee?”

“I could take some, thanks.”

Within the hour, everyone else had gotten
up. Most of them drank coffee in silence. Soon, Alan got up from
one of the couches and went to his room. When he got there, he
slipped his shoes on, grabbed his car keys, and headed back
out.

“Alan, what’s going on?” Francine asked.
Alan gave no response, and walked into the kitchen. Billy followed
him. Alan filled his coffee cup with some water, then gulped it
down.

“What’s going on?” Billy said. “You have
your car keys. What are you doing?”

“You don’t need to leave us,” Francine
said.

“I’m not,” Alan replied. “There’s a hardware
store in town.”

“What in God’s name do you want to go to a
hardware store for?” Billy said.

“We need to respect the dead. We don’t have
anything suitable to bury Martha in, and there’s wood at a hardware
store. I’m going to get some and build Martha a casket.” When Emily
heard Alan, she looked up. “She deserves to rest in peace.”

“Alan?” Emily said.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for the way I acted. I think it’s
great, what you’re doing. I can’t say how happy it makes me.”

“I’m only doing what needs to be done.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Phil said.

“I don’t want to put anyone at risk.
Besides, I want someone here to hold up the fort.”

“I’ll go with you, Alan. That leaves plenty
of people here if something goes wrong.” Alan stared at Phil for a
few seconds, then nodded.

“I want to go too,” Jesse said.

“I don’t think I want to risk it, Jess.
You’ve been through enough shit as it is.”

Francine raised her hand halfway. “I’ll go,
too.” She saw Emily’s eyes widen. “I’ll be fine, Mom.”

“Just be careful, okay?” Emily said.

“I will.” Francine gave her mother a
hug.

Emily sighed. “I sometimes forget you’re not
a child anymore.”

“Yeah,” Francine said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be
careful.”

Alan, Phil, and Francine gathered some of
the weapons they’d taken from Wal-Mart. The three of them left the
house.

The 26
^th
of June was a cool day
compared to those spent in the stadium. The breeze felt nice as the
trio headed to the car. There weren’t any signs of life on the
hill; it was quiet except for the leaves in the trees. The gentle
rustling was comforting. It made them feel less alone.

****

“We’ll get the lumber, a hammer and some
nails, and then get the hell out,” Alan said. He was driving.
“That’s the plan.”

“Sounds fine,” Phil replied.

Zombies wandered the yards and sidewalks
they passed. Most of them had nothing to do but wander. Others had
meals. None of them tried to follow the car.

Pretty soon a hardware store came into view.
The sign out front was a giant hammer about to pound a nail into a
horizontal board. Overlapping the board were big, green letters
that spelled:

Greg’s Hardware

The sign was inviting, unlike the parking
lot. There were two cars in it when the trio arrived. One was
unharmed, minus some broken windows, dents on the front bumper, and
some dings in the paint. Several meters away, the other car sat,
mostly charred. Bodies were piled around it, charred as well.

“How did that happen?” Francine asked.

“Who knows?” Phil said.

“Let’s get the stuff,” Alan said. Everyone
climbed out of the car, quickly and quietly, and looked around,
weapons in hand. Alan spotted a body on the ground, farther from
the burnt car. It was the body of a policeman, and a gun was still
in its hand. Alan took it, checked for ammo, cocked it, and tucked
it into his pants.

The three of them headed toward the front
doors of the hardware store. Many of the windows were smashed.
Glass was strewn on the white pavement, near a vending machine. The
light in the vending machine was on, which meant there was still
power.

Alan grabbed a cart. He tried to push it
without making noise, but its front right wheel had a mild squeak
to it. “All right. Phil, get us a couple hammers and some nails,
please. Francine and I will start loading the lumber. Meet us back
there?”

“Okay, be right there,” Phil said. He broke
from the group, shovel in hand, and headed into a nearby aisle.
Francine and Alan headed for the lumber at the back of the
store.

“How much do we need?” Francine asked as she
loaded the long, flat cart with wood.

“I’m not sure. But it’s better to be safe
than sorry.”

Phil grabbed a hand basket and started
loading it with hammers and nails. As he was finishing up, a zombie
darted around the corner of the aisle. Phil turned too late, and
the zombie grabbed him. He shouted for Alan and Francine, dropped
his basket, and tried to push the zombie away, but the zombie sank
its teeth into his arm. Phil screamed in pain.

Alan and Francine left the cart and ran to
Phil. Francine readied her hoe. When they came to a stop in the
hammer aisle, Phil was already losing blood, and he almost fell as
the zombie tried to bite him again.

“Hold on, Phil!” Alan said. He pointed his
gun at the zombie and pulled the trigger. Blood and brain matter
splattered on the shelves, and the zombie fell to the ground,
motionless. Phil fell to his knees, and Alan knelt by his side.

“There’s more coming!” Francine said.

“I know!” Alan replied. He ripped off part
of his shirt and wrapped it tightly around Phil’s arm.

“Oh… Jesse…” Phil said. “What is he going to
do without his parents?”

“Phil, don’t talk like that,” Alan said.
Another zombie rounded the corner. It was smaller and faster, but
no match for Alan’s gun. Another zombie came from the other side of
the aisle, and Francine slammed her hoe into its head.

“I’m going to be one of those… Those fucking
things. Jesse can’t see me like that.” Phil’s eyes watered.

Francine bashed another zombie that had come
her way. “Alan, we need to get the hell out of here!”

“Yeah, I know!”

“Tell Jesse I love him,” Phil said. “Tell
him his father loves him very much.”