Even if the undead tore him limb from limb—and for some reason they weren’t doing it yet—falling to the zombies was acceptable, because Milt had won. He was smarter than that meathead, the failed squire, and those stupid girls. He had shown them, Milt knew. He had especially shown the boy and the cigarette-clutching anorexic.
Oh yes, and he knew something else...something the idiots in the mall would die to know. He knew what was causing it—the contagion. He knew why the zombies had come. Sven and those other idiots would be dead soon, and they would never know—they would be dead
because
they didn’t know. They wouldn’t last a day on their own. They were ignorant hacks, but Milt was a genius. He was
the
genius—the genius of the world. He was the master of the univ—
Milt gasped as he felt the nibble, and his attention shifted from his loathing for Sven and his crew to the multitude of groping, rotten hands, and the terribly odd nibble…so dry and scratchy…then…was that a bite?
The colors of the world seemed to shift at once, as if the surroundings were reeling backward, and then forward, and then backward again. The hues around him changed places with each other and danced a carefree, iridescent waltz.
Milt was dimly aware that he was moving away from a big building. The zombies were carrying him away. Zombies?
There is no such thing as zombies, Milt thought, and chuckled.
It was a dream, of course it was. Zombies carrying him through the night as they munched on his flesh...a wonderfully strange dream. Wonderful because the smell of them was so profoundly sweet! So joyfully pleasing, so rapturous…so—
110
Lorie was pulling at his hand, punching him in the back, tugging at his duck pants, pulling at his shin. But he wouldn’t move. He just stood there a few feet back from the edge of the roof, like he was hypnotized.
“Sven! Sven!” She could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Wake up! Come back in, he’s gone.”
She was scared—so scared—because he looked like he was about to jump off the roof, to make sure that the zombies finished their job of Milt.
Of course Milt deserved to be thrown off the roof to the zombies after what he had done to Evan and Randy...and who knew what else he’d been planning for the rest of them?
Lorie felt no sympathy for Milt, but she was still surprised at how Sven had disposed of him. She was impressed in a way, and felt pride at being on a team led by someone who could be so ruthless. And yet Sven seemed so unassuming most of the time, it was certainly out of character.
Then again, Lorie thought, which one of us isn’t out of character now? The world’s overrun by zombies, you have to change to survive.
“Yeah,” Sven finally said. “Yeah.”
“Come on, let’s go back inside. You need some rest.”
“I think I tore something in my shoulder,” Sven said. His voice was uncharacteristically deadpan, not at all the way someone who had just torn something in his shoulder would communicate that statement.
“Well,” Lorie said, feeling more concerned, “let’s get you inside and we can patch you up.”
She wasn’t sure how they could, if Sven really had torn something in his shoulder, but she knew there would at least be painkillers downstairs to give to Sven, and maybe even a sleeping pill. The man looked like he needed rest very badly. His face was so pallid that it seemed out of place on his lightly-tanned body.
She pulled on his arm, leading him back to the stairs that led from the roof.
She stopped abruptly, realizing she might be pulling on his hurt arm. “Is that the shoulder?” Lorie asked, pointing to the shoulder connected to the arm she was pulling.
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me to stop pulling on your arm then?”
Sven shrugged and looked at Lorie blankly.
Lorie, now beginning to feel frightened, collected herself and set her jaw. She looked Sven directly in the eyes. “Will you follow me in already?”
He nodded again.
Lorie made for the stairs and walked down into the Wegmans, looking back every few seconds to make sure Sven was plodding in after her.
She led him back to their communal camping spot.
“Will you try to get some rest?” Lorie asked.
Sven nodded again, the blank look still on his face.
She set up a sleeping bag for him and pointed to it, but he just stood where he was, looking past her, apparently at nothing.
Now it was just her, Jane, Brian, and Sven…but was Sven still with them? Lorie hoped he just needed some sleep.
“You have to lie down,” Lorie said, bending down and shaking the sleeping bag this time.
He nodded again, and stiffly bent at the knees and waist until he was lying face down, on top of the sleeping bag.
Lorie looked up to see that Jane was watching the sleeping bag debacle. Lorie shrugged, and left Sven in his obviously uncomfortable position. He was lying on top of his knives, but Lorie decided it was best not to pester him about it.
She walked over to Jane and looked up at her somber face. “You gonna try to rest up too?”
“Yeah, we all should. Brian will keep watch for the next few hours. I trust him…he won’t let anything happen to us.”
Lorie wondered if Jane was really going to sleep, or if she was just trying to be comforting.
Lorie didn’t plan on sleeping. She might pillage some fruit and cookies, but she wasn’t going to sleep. Maybe she would give the magazine aisle another visit, and maybe she would keep her own watch, simultaneously with that of Brian.
Two sets of eyes, she knew, were better than one.
111
Ivan smelled the breach at once. The air in the new enclosure suddenly turned stale. Then the air putrefied before Ivan could load up even a short hiss in his throat. He leapt into action. He had to find the breach. He had to find any of his friends that were close to it. He had to tell them. They never saw the bad people coming soon enough. Ivan ran, skittering and sliding at sharp corners. He ran and slid and ran. Then he knew exactly where the foul people were getting in. There was another smell in the air. It was Sven’s friend. Sven’s friend was close. Ivan leapt into action once more. Then he was next to Sven’s friend with the wood in his hands. Ivan hissed. Sven’s friend looked at Ivan and made a silly noise. Ivan hissed again. Sven’s friend made another silly noise. Ivan tried to make Sven’s friend follow. Ivan tried to lead Sven’s friend away from the rotten people. Sven’s friend wouldn’t follow. Sven’s friend wouldn’t—the rotten people were close now. They were too close. Ivan hissed once more. He had to find Sven. Ivan tried to lead Sven’s friend away again. When Sven’s friend wouldn’t come, Ivan ran off. Ivan had to find Sven now. Ivan had to tell Sven.
112
Sven had slept some after the encounter with Milt. Now it was late in the morning, and they were all still alive.
He was trying to force down a banana when Ivan came running at him. Ivan looked wild, and ran straight at Sven with no sign of slowing.
Sven backed up, bewildered, and dropped a bite-sized piece of the banana that Lorie was insisting he eat. He almost felt relieved at having an excuse not to eat the thing, to go on avoiding food.
Ivan attacked Sven, scratching at the mallard pants, meowing frantically.
Sven’s thoughts began to turn dark. “What? What is it?”
Ivan began padding away, then turned around to Sven.
Sven got the idea.
“What’s wrong?” Lorie asked, looking up from the green apple she was munching. Jane looked over too.
“I don’t know.”
Sven began to follow Ivan, with Lorie and Jane following behind him. He wished he could be back home, with Ivan leading the way to his bowl.
He didn’t have to look at the amount of food left in Ivan’s new bowls to know that wherever Ivan was now leading him, food was not the issue.
113
Brian wondered what had Ivan so spooked.
He decided that the cat could smell the remnants of the zombies and zombie parts that he and Sven had painstakingly carted out.
Brian had met Ivan before, on his many trips over to Sven’s house. Brian usually went over when Sven called and said that the protein supplies were dwindling rapidly, and that time was of the essence.
This was often right before one of Sven’s shows or before a training session with a client that Sven was particularly keen on impressing. Brian shrugged, remembering the good old days, and figured all of that was over now. Nothing left now but survival…cold survival.
He was glad that Ivan was there. He knew that caring for animals was one of humanity’s few redeeming characteristics, and Ivan could help to bring out the best in all of them while they struggled through the outbreak.
In addition, he realized, Ivan could also ferret out the mean ones like Milt. It seemed to confirm Brian’s suspicion about people that hated animals.
If they hate animals, Brian said to himself, they’re not to be trusted.
He swung the baseball bat back and forth as he walked to the end of the aisle of international foods. There were some interesting, unfamiliar delicacies there. Some of them caught Brian’s eye, and though he was curious to inspect them, he had a job to do.
He was there to patrol the place and sound the alarm if anything went wrong, and he was going to discharge his duty precisely. Their collective survival depended on vigilance. It was a task to be taken seriously.
What was bothering Ivan so much? The question now burned in Brian’s mind. Did Ivan hate him all of a sudden?
Brian exited the aisle of international foods and stopped in the back of the supermarket. He looked left, then right, like someone about to cross the street, then he strode toward the doors to the stockroom. It was worth a quick check.
The doors to the stockroom were metallic, and fashioned in the style of a saloon entrance, except that the doors spanned the full length of their frame. Each door had a small looking window at about Brian’s eye level, but he couldn’t see through either window unless he walked closer.
Brian heard a noise and spun around.
Nothing.
Brian turned back to the stockroom doors.
The noise came again, like a shuffling exhalation.
He spun around again.
Nothing.
Shaking his head and chastising himself, Brian began a forceful turn back to the stockroom doors to peer through their looking windows.
As he turned, springing toward the stockroom, the doors swung out violently and—
Brian was moving too fast to stop himself.
He ended up in their grasping arms, facing a horde of hungry, gaping, undead mouths.