Authors: Jeremy Laszlo
I shake my head. “Honestly, I haven’t really looked too hard. I’m exhausted.”
“We all are,” he says rather matter–of-factly. “I’m going to go see if there’s anything we can salvage.”
“Okay,” I mutter meekly, hating the way I sound before the words even escape my lips. I watch him walk away, the rifle still in his hands. Why does he need his rifle ready while searching a house? That’s the kind of thing you want a pistol for. I shake it off, he’s just making me angry. There’s something about him that’s always made me uncomfortable.
The room is coated with dirt and dust that’s blown in over the months through the broken windows. I wonder who decided that it would be worthwhile shattering every window in the town. I look at the bed and slowly sink down onto it, feeling the musty embrace of the mattress beneath me. I look at the ceiling where the girl has posted pictures of bands that I never got into, the paper having been soaked and dried so that it’s all wavy and curled. The thumbtacks are still holding, but I doubt they will be for much longer. Whoever was staying in this house didn’t touch this room a whole lot, probably because it looked out over the street. I imagine if I watched my town wither and die, I wouldn’t want to see the street either.
I close my eyes, feeling the embrace of sleep wrapping its loving arms around me as I curl up in the corner of the bed, feeling the cold of the walls behind my back. I miss my bed. I miss all of my beds from back over the years. As I lie there, thinking about sleep, I can hear the others moving throughout the house, whispering to one another, careful not to be heard by the flesh-eaters on the street outside. I worry that Lexi won’t know what to do with my nephew, but I’m sure she’ll figure something out. It’s not going to be too hard for her. I know Lexi, she’s cunning and brilliant, if anything at all. I’m not afraid of her getting stumped by a baby. I tell myself that as long as she can still breastfeed, we’re sailing on smooth waters and we’re going to be just fine.
Greg is dragging something heavy, probably a bookshelf, underneath me. I can only assume that he’s fortifying where we snuck into the house, not wanting the flesh-eaters to get in and kill us while we hide out here and figure out what it is we’re going to do. To me, that’s a distant worry. All I need is sleep. After all, I’ve had to stand the first watch on my own before all of this happened. At least they all got some sleep before this madness began.
Chapter Seven
It’s hard to sleep through voices arguing, particularly those attempting to be quiet for fear of being heard and bringing attention to themselves. The hushed sounds of the argument travel through the wood and brick of the house, crawling up through tiny vibrations until I open my eyes and realize that I’m curled up in the little girl’s comforter and that it’s absolutely freezing in this room. I blink and resist the urge to stretch and groan. Everything beyond the window is swirling darkness and as I toss the blanket off of me, I stand up and listen to the amplified sound of my boots hitting the carpet. It sounds so loud to me that I cringe. Beneath me, the voices keep aggressively whispering.
Night claims the world beyond the window, and as I look down in the darkness that is barely illuminated by a veiled moon, I can see the lingering flesh-eaters who are still circling the bodies of the dead, looking at them like ravenous wolves. They’ve picked the bones clean, consumed the bloody clothes, and licked the dusty road. All that is left of the four dead fanatics are the cracked and cleaned bones. It’s like looking at the remains of a wolf feeding. The pack has evaporated while I’ve slept, into just a dozen remaining stragglers. They don’t linger as much in the night, but this dozen still out there are trying to look for anything else to eat. They glance around with wide eyes, some of which look milky from cataracts. I wonder if they truly are blind or if that’s just the creepy appearance that they give off. The world is full of these things. What are the odds of finding them in Jacksonville and here as well or in Tifton? Whatever has happened to them, it’s a global incident.
Turning away from the window, I go downstairs, hearing the voices louder and louder as I walk over the threshold and make my way toward the top of the stairs. I’m still hanging in this fog of sleepiness, rubbing my eyes and trying to understand what they’re saying downstairs. With each step, they get clearer and clearer. There’s a lot of tension in the room and I feel like I’m walking down into the perfect storm. Their voices are heated and angry. When I step into the light, there’s something about my presence that makes them stop what they’re talking about, and look at me.
“You’re up,” Noah says in a tone that makes it sound like I fell asleep at my post. I want to snap at him, but I’m barely working out the walking part. They’re huddled around a lantern that is hidden from the window, eating their MREs. As I walk toward them, I’m instantly very aware that my nephew isn’t around.
“Where’s my nephew?” I ask the huddled group.
Lexi turns around from where she’s slumped over her own bag of warm goodness. “He’s asleep,” Lexi tells me.
“Has he been eating?” I ask her.
“Can we please get back to the subject at hand?” Noah cuts me off. Everyone looks at him, leaning on Henry’s hunting rifle like it’s become an inseparable part of him. He looks away from me to Greg and Lexi. I’m pretty certain that there’s a coup taking place right now and my grip on the seat of leader is slipping away right before my eyes. “We need to find out what our next move is,” Noah says, bringing me into the fold. “What are we going to do about the truck?”
“It’s not going to drive again,” Greg says with a definitive tone. “There’s nothing we can do about it. We don’t have the tools or the parts or the knowledge to fix this. We’re going to have to find something else to get us to Dayton.”
“So we’re still going to Dayton?” Noah demands quietly.
I can’t believe this. Noah is already giving up on the idea that Dayton is where we need to go. Dayton is the place we need to go. There’s no hope for any of us if we stick around here. There isn’t even anything for us to scavenge here. The buildings are all broken into and the place is infested with those skulking things looking to eat us. What could Noah possibly expect to find here to keep us alive? Even with the supplies from the truck, we can’t survive in this world. There are fanatics to the south of us, but for all any of us knows, nothing else dangerous lies between us and Dayton. We need to get to Dayton so that we can survive all of this. That’s where salvation is. My father believed it so I believe it.
“Of course we’re still going to Dayton,” I say bluntly.
Noah’s attention is now drawn to me. I look at him and meet his gaze. “How are we supposed to do that? We’ve been away from the beach house for what? Thirty hours? Already we’ve lost Henry, nearly been killed multiple times, and let’s not even begin to discuss what happened to Marko. Everything has gone to hell, Val. The farther we drive, the worse off it gets. We don’t even have a car right now and there are legions of those things out there. For Christ’s sake, this is a small town even. If we have to deal with all of those things in just this small of a town, then how are we supposed to deal with what we find in a city?”
I stare at him and can’t help but feel like I’m dealing with the world’s largest coward right now. Why would he even come on this adventure with us if he was going to freak out and get terrified at the first collision with death and danger? If he was going to chicken out this easily, he should have stayed at home. This isn’t even making light of the situation. I know what’s at stake. I know what we’ve lost, but we’ve come too far. We passed the point of no return a long time ago and I’m not going to even entertain ideas of us going back.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. I’m not the person with all the answers, but I do know what needs to be done. I’m making this up as I go just like the rest of them and it scares me, but I’m not the kind of person to burrow into a hole and wait for someone to come rescue me. No, I’m the one here who is going to put her nose to the grindstone and get us out of here. I’m not like Noah and I thank God for that. “I don’t know if you’ve had a thorough sweep of this house, but there’s nothing here. Whoever was here before us has moved on. I’m sure the rest of the town is just like this house too.”
“We don’t know that,” Noah says bitterly. “We could search each one for supplies, fortify and wait for the inevitable.”
“What’s inevitable?” I ask him, left out of the loop on that one.
“The religious nut jobs will come looking for us,” Lexi jumps in before this turns into an argument between me and Noah. I look at her, stunned that this is what she is deciding to defend, after the passionate quarrel she set up back at the beach house to get out of there. This is how she’s going to repay that? She turns her back on me and looks out the sliding window doors in the dining room where the access to the small back yard is. The windows are still intact, but I can imagine those things outside coming through them at any moment.
“If those two survivors are even still in the town,” I shake my head, “then by not doing anything, we’re inviting them to come kill us. Now, if we are the ones who want to move around, then we might have a chance at either finding them or finding a way to get out of here before they get the drop on us, but I doubt that’s going to happen.”
“Why?” Noah stands up from his perch on the stone hearth around the fireplace. He looks at me with his hunting rifle in his hands, like he’s ready to fight me for rights to talk.
“Because they’re probably on their way back to Tifton for backup,” I tell him bluntly. “They’re outnumbered and they have nothing to gain by this. We broke open their weird little corral for the flesh-eaters and killed a lot of their fighters. They’re weakened by this and they don’t have the strength to put up a fight against us. If anything, they’ve probably given up and are heading home to nurse their wounds. It’s what any rational person would do.”
“They’re not rational.” Noah shakes his head in disgust.
“No, they’re living under an illusion,” I tell him, “but they have reasons for it and they have intelligence, which means that they’re probably smart enough to realize they’re outnumbered, out-gunned, and undersupplied. Everything is in our favor, whether you want to admit it or not, so we need to push the advantage.”
“Fine,” Greg says, putting an end to the argument. “Clearly, you’re not up for sticking around, which means that we’re going to need a new vehicle. So we need to get out there and find it before those psychos show up again. I’m going to be the one who goes looking for it.”
“I’ll go with you,” Noah says definitively.
“No,” I cut him off and he looks at me with fiery eyes, even in the dark haze of the room. “You’re a decent shot with the rifle. You need to stay up in that little girl’s room with Lexi and the baby. You guys can keep watch from that window and make sure that nothing gets into the truck or steals anything.” I take a deep breath, fearful of what I’m about to say. “I’ll go out there and search with Greg.”
“Fine by me,” Greg says, after a moment of staring at me. “Get your stuff, we should leave now.”
I don’t have stuff. I don’t have a pack or anything. It’s all still out in the truck bed where there are four or five flesh-eating maniacs lingering between us. Behind my back, my Sig is resting patiently. I don’t know how I fell asleep in that child’s room, fully dressed and with a pistol in my pants, without blowing my butt off. But I’ll consider it some well-deserved luck. Greg slings his pack over his shoulder and makes his way toward the sliding glass doors. Crossing the room, I catch a glimpse of my nephew sleeping peacefully in a drawer that has been converted into a little bassinet. I smile at the sight of him. It’s instinctual. I don’t bother saying goodbye to Lexi or Noah. They’re clearly not happy with the way things are going and I’m not interested in making it worse. Maybe while I’m gone they’ll have a family meeting and decide what’s best for them. All I know is that I’m heading to Dayton and Greg is probably coming with me.
The air outside is cold. It’s amazing how quickly the nights get cold. I yawn, still trying to shake off the cold as Greg slides the door shut behind me. Out in the street, beyond the border of wooden planks shielding us from the lingering monsters, grunts and wheezing breaths fill the night silence. Greg leads the way to the back of the tiny patio and few feet of what was once grass that the owners could mow in three minutes tops. Greg, being as athletic as a panther, even now, jumps and hurls himself over the wooden fence into the small access street on the other side of the fence. I grab the top of the fence and roll myself over before landing gracelessly on the pavement. We’re surrounded by garage doors on all sides, but there’s no sign of the shuffling, nearly dead.
“We need a truck,” Greg whispers to me. “Maybe a fifteen-passenger van if we can find it, but a truck would be best. Your dad off-roaded it for a while on the map and I’m guessing that’s because he had to deal with all the crazy people still out there. I think it’d be wise to follow his lead.”
“Okay,” I say to him with a determined look on my face. “I’ll cover you.”
“Good,” Greg grins at me.
The town is still charming after the end of the world, but the access street is littered with tipped-over garbage cans, and a dumpster blocks our access onto one of the main streets. In fact, if my gut feelings are right, we’re right near to the main street through the center of town. As we walk toward it, the clouds part and the moon peeks out from hiding and shines down on us, illuminating the world in ghostly light. We take advantage of it.
Slipping along the fringe of the main street, we stick to alleys and try to find any visual of the street that might give us a glimpse of what it has to offer. So far, there’s nothing but block after block of abandoned homes, litter, and dust. This town is nearly completely deserted except for the few cars we do spot, rammed into each other out in intersections. There are a few cars parked on the side of the road, but over all, it’s as if someone in this town had the big idea to perform a mass exodus. I shake my head, maybe they’re in some safe haven right now while we’re out here, skulking about with the monsters.
At the edge of town, we spot what we’re looking for. On the far side of another bridge, a used car dealership sits by the road, welcoming us to come have a look at their wares. I shoot a glance at Greg, whose eyes immediately light up at the sight of something more than the few station wagons and coupes that we’ve found thus far in the forgotten little town. Wherever the lurking horde of creatures is hiding, they’re not out on the streets here. Why they’re so shy of the night is beyond me, but it might have something to do with their new living schedule.
We cross the bridge, feeling naked without buildings around us. I glance about cautiously as the river sings to us in its lazy, slow tune. I look down at the black waters, wondering if they’re infested or putrid like the ocean had become. The river appears to be widening, being eroded away by the lack of plants or maintenance. Everything is going to be washed away eventually, if it isn’t eroded first by the sand and dust storms. Looking back to the car dealership, I see the sign for Arnold’s Premium Cars is tilted, probably from the relentless wind or someone hitting it. As we approach the building, I take in the sight of a hundred dusty cars. The dealership’s glass-plated exterior has been shattered in every possible spot. There’s hardly a window left in the place and it looks like a giant, strange piece of Swiss cheese.
“I think we hit the jackpot,” Greg whispers to me as we cross the dead lawn toward the parking lot.
Like it’s a monolith from the heavens, we’re drawn toward a gray Dodge crew cab that is undoubtedly a four-wheel drive. It was someone’s prized possession at one point, because whoever owned it before Arnold took care of it. I’ve seen enough boys with their trucks to know a good one when I see it, and this one looks like the Ark that is going to carry us through. Greg picks up his pace as he approaches the truck. Instinctively, he tries the handle when he reaches it, but all the doors are locked. The top of the wheel-well comes up to my ribs and I feel like I’m looking at the perfect redneck vessel. I have to admit though, it’s pretty impressive.