Time of Death Book 2: Asylum (A Zombie Novel) (2 page)

The past two months brought nothing but death
and destruction. We thought we'd found a foothold with an army
platoon at a local Target, but that illusion of safety shattered
when a soldier, Sanchez, returned with a bite and hid it from the
group. When we first arrived at Target we were sixty strong. The
day our refuge fell, only eight of us made it onto the helicopter,
nine if you include my pooch, Daphne. Jake was not among the group;
he and more than fifteen men hadn’t returned from a fuel run. I
never gave up hope, and I remember thinking he’s out there. But I
knew he'd move heaven and earth to find me.

During our escape from Target, the zombies
brought out the best, and worst, in people. Kind, old, Margie
sacrificed her own life so the rest of us could live. Not a day
goes by that I don't think of that woman and her selfless act of
bravery—not getting into the helicopter, so that we wouldn’t
surpass the weight requirement for liftoff. Sometimes, though, I
wonder if it really was bravery or resignation to an inevitable
fate.

I don't know what drives me to continue on,
to not just walk into the road and shout I'm here! Come get me, you
fuckers. It's not in me to quit, so like the Energizer bunny, I
keep going, most of the time on autopilot.

After Target, our small group found safety on
a houseboat. Safety. Like that word means anything nowadays, even
thinking the word makes me want to roll my eyes. Safe is now a
relative concept and a fleeting one at that. Life wasn't perfect,
but considering what lurked outside, it was as good as it got. Our
group became a family, and I would have died for any one of
them.

During our time on the houseboat, we split
into two groups; the men—Seth, Adam, and Lowell—would leave to
forage for food, while the women—myself, Meg, Nancy, and
Gabby—would usually stay behind. That's when I discovered zombies
weren't the only monsters left to roam free. Hard lesson number two
came in the form of two men, Dave and Mel, who charmed their way
onto the boat, only to brutally attack us. We were too shocked at
the sudden appearance of more survivors to think clearly. I woke to
find myself gagged and bound and powerless to protect the others.
If the return of our men had been even a minute later, the course
of Meg's life, and her emotional stability, would have been
drastically altered.

Their return was miraculous for another
reason; they'd found Jake!

My husband had returned, alive, and anything
but well. To this day, I still shudder when recalling his
experiences while we were separated. I think that's when things
really changed for me. Something inside me just clicked, and it was
like someone had flipped a switch on my compassion.

Mel and Dave, attempted rapists, paid the
ultimate price for their vile acts that day; we killed them, and
I'd do it again. Before meeting their maker, though, they told us a
story. More like a fairy tale, really. Promises of a truly safe
community, isolated behind destroyed bridges and a sturdy wall.
They claimed Sanibel Island had withstood the devastation and
thrived with six-hundred men, women and children.

They weren't lying. It was glorious. Running
water, enough food to go around, and the most safety I'd felt since
the dead began coming back. Even more impressive was the tangible
sense of unity on the island. The community itself was a machine,
each person a cog in the wheel that made island life so successful.
Everyone chipped in, and everyone was equal.

That is, of course, until everyone
died...

You know that saying one bad apple spoils the
whole bunch? It's true. It took only one seven-year-old girl to
take down the entire island. Four of us made it back to the
houseboat and off Sanibel. Team Rossi was intact, but we had lost
Seth, Adam, Nancy, Gabby, Will and the rest of our tight-knit
family. Adam, who had found a place in my heart, forfeited his life
for mine, and I watched as Seth died a hero's death while the boat
floated away from the dying island.

It seems silly to call our current
circumstances lucky. Yes, just yesterday all four remaining Rossi's
managed to survive the fall of Sanibel, but when I think back, the
events don’t exude luck..

So, who am I? I'm Emma Rossi, and I'm
alive…for now.

Chapter 01: Silent Night

I couldn’t sleep; instead my eyes remained glued to
the ceiling tiles. Each time they threatened to close, I was
overwhelmed by graphic images of the day's events as they flashed
in rapid succession. My hand absently stroked Daphne's soft fur
while Jake dozed restlessly by my side.

At some point the sun started its ascent,
signaling that another day was indeed on the horizon. Dawn was
sneaking up on me, and it wasn't until the light shone in my eyes
and pulled me from my inky haze, that I realized it was morning. I
sighed quietly and started to rise. Daphne made a soft cooing sound
as she nuzzled closer to Jake.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice
sounding weary.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I just can't lay
in bed anymore," I confessed. "I just keep reliving yesterday over
and over."

With a great deal of effort, he sat up and
blinked the sleep from his eyes. "Let me get changed and I'll come
with you."

I looked down at my torn and blood-stained
shirt and cringed. After replacing it with a clean tee shirt, I
crumpled it into a ball and tossed it in the corner of the room to
discard later.

The boat was quiet, and the lack of sound
left me feeling unsettled and anxious. Meg's door was closed and I
wasn't ready to face her yet, so I passed by silently and continued
into the galley. Whoever designed the layout of the boat was
talented. The four bedrooms were situated at the bow, and the
interior ceiling was high in the common areas, allowing the
bedrooms to be split between two floors. The master bedroom and
kids’ room took up the main level, and above them were two guest
rooms, each with a queen-sized bed. Beyond that, the common room
had a seating area and full-sized kitchen.

I tiptoed up the stairs to check on Vinny,
but found both rooms empty and the beds still showed signs of
Seth's handiwork. The blankets were pulled so tight I could have
bounced a quarter on them. Seth had been a neat freak, and I loved
to bust his balls about it. The pit in my stomach was heavier than
a bowling ball. I hadn't known him long, but I was proud to count
him among my inner circle. He was a good man; he deserved
better.

The galley, too, was empty; the only sign
that Vinny had been there was a wrinkled afghan on the floor in
front of the sofa. We walked the short distance back through the
sleeping quarters and climbed the stairs to the upper deck.

The month away had done nothing to improve
the smell of rot. In fact, it had gotten worse. The cloying scent
hit me in the face and I took a step back as if trying to avoid its
path.

"Fuck, that's disgusting," I said, drawing
out the word for emphasis.

Jake pulled the collar of his shirt over his
nose and was blinking his eyes. "Jesus, my eyes are watering."

"Hmm," I murmured. The zombies that had been
teeming on the dock last time we were here had dwindled. I only
counted eight decrepit meat sacks. A few of them noticed us and
were predictably reaching and calling out in dry, raspy, moans.

Vinny sat at the back of the boat, under the
hardcover, staring in the direction of the zombies. He didn't
acknowledge us as we joined him. Opting to not focus on the
loathsome beasts, I instead sat on the vinyl bench lining the
railing and gazed out at the calm ocean. The air had a crisp bite,
reminding me that it was late December, and I rubbed my hands over
my crossed arms to generate warmth.

The coastal breeze brought with it the faint
smell of smoke, and I squinted my eyes in the direction of Sanibel.
I wasn’t certain, but I could’ve sworn I’d seen billows in the
distance. Maybe the island was burning; maybe it wasn't. I pondered
my feelings about the possibility; and decided I wanted it to be
burning. I much preferred the notion that our undead friends would
be rendered inert by flames than the thought of them wandering the
beaches indefinitely. They deserved some peace. Hell, we all
did.

The silence became too much for Jake and he
broke it. "Hey, Vin."

"Sup," Vinny grunted, never taking his eyes
from the zombies.

I looked up at my husband, who wore a
dejected expression, and tightened my lips into a grim smile when
he looked at me for direction.

"You okay, man?" He tried again.

His brother drained the last of the water
from his bottle and resealed the cap. The label was frayed at the
edges like he'd been picking at it with his nails. He didn't
answer, but turned his gaze downward and stared intently at the
bottle. "Fine," he replied in a clipped tone.

Jake took a deep breath and trudged on. "That
was some messed up shit yesterday. Do you want to talk about
it?"

"Fuck that noise," he growled. The plastic
bottle crackled loudly as he twisted it between his hands and
plunked it into the water in frustration. "AHHH!" he bellowed and
brought his clenched fist down on the railing.

"This is fucking horse shit."

"Vin," I said in a calm tone and placed my
hand on his forearm.

He pulled his arm back like my touch had
burned his skin. "Get the fuck off of me." The railing shook with
his violent yanks, reminding me of a caged ape at the zoo.

I looked up at Jake with concern, and he
shared my expression. We both just watched as Vinny’s anger bubbled
over, eventually petering out and leaving him panting. A movement
at the front of the boat caught my attention and I turned my head
and stood, ready to defend myself.

Meg was at the top of the stairs, still
dressed in her dirty clothes, and staring at us. Her arms wrapped
around her tiny waist in a protective hug, and she made no effort
to come closer.

"Meg," I said, starting toward her. Vinny's
head snapped up, and he looked guilty and concerned all at
once.

She let me lead her down to her brothers and
I patted the bench next to me as I sat. I put my arm around her
shoulder, drawing her close. Her puffy red eyes met mine, and my
heart clenched with sadness for her. They say the eyes are the
windows to one's soul, and hers looked like hollow, empty, orbs.
The light that had once twinkled so brightly in those beautiful
brown irises was gone.

I wrapped my arms around her frail body
tighter and drew her into a real hug. "Oh, Meggy, I'm so sorry," I
whispered. She buried her head in my chest and cried, soft mewling
sounds escaping as she was once again pulled under by her grief.
Losing Will was hard on all of us, and I sympathized with her pain.
It reminded me of how I felt when I thought Jake was dead.

We sat, the four of us, serenaded by the
sounds of Meg's sorrow and the undead begging for our flesh.
Eventually, her tears stopped falling, and she sucked in
stuttering, forced inhalations as she fought to catch her breath.
When her breathing returned to normal, she pulled her head up and
looked at me with swollen eyes. A small twitch at the corner of her
lips was all she managed, but it was something. I took it as a
positive sign; Meg would come back from this, hard as it may be,
she would be okay, eventually.

* * *

"What are you, a fucking moron?" Vinny ran
his fingers through his hair while he berated me.

"Cut the shit, Vin," Jake defended me, as any
good husband should.

"Seriously? You don't think she's an
idiot?"

"Yeah, a little, but can you blame her for
asking? Wouldn't you be thinking the same thing if it was our
parents?"

"Excuse me?" I cautioned, my tone of warning
earning a sheepish look from Jake. Daphne reacted to my pitch and
looked up at me with guilt. I don't know what it is about dogs, but
they always feel guilty for something. I'd suspect the tiny
poop-machine had tucked away a little brown package somewhere and
was just waiting for us to find it.

"I didn't mean that," he protested. "Of
course I don't think you're an idiot. What I meant was you're
thinking emotionally, not rationally. It's December. It may be a
bit cool in Florida, but if we tried to make it to Boston we'd be
snowed in before making it even halfway there."

I slumped back on the sofa and let out an
exasperated breath. "Yeah, I know."

Jake sat down next to me and took my hands in
what he intended to be a compassionate gesture. It felt more
placating to me. "Emma, we have no idea what the highways are like.
Think about how difficult it was to navigate the streets in our
small town. Even if we wanted to, it would probably take us weeks
to make it there, maybe even months."

"Not to mention," piped in Vinny, "it would
be freezing, and just because we got word from the north that they
still had power, there's no telling if it would still be on by the
time we got there."

Vinny had been pacing the same path for an
hour now, and his tracks made a clear impression on the carpet. I
wasn't sure the material would recover if he kept it up.

"Jesus, Vin, you're making me dizzy. Take a
seat, will ya?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes at me and gave a huff of
annoyance, but took the cue and sat down at the kitchen table.

"Do you guys have a better plan?" I eyed both
of them expectantly. "It's not like we can just live on the boat.
What do we have, like a week's worth of food and water? Two at
best?"

My frustration level had been creeping up for
about thirty minutes, and I could feel myself teetering on the
verge of an outburst. It was one thing to shoot down my ideas, but
at least provide some sort of alternative. Instead, they both sat
there staring back at me as if I would pull the answer out of my
ass like a magician. Meg sat on the other side of the sofa,
listening to our bickering, but not offering any suggestions of her
own. It wasn't like I really expected her to. I was just relieved
she wasn't hiding under the covers drowning in grief.