Read Blood of the Dead: A Zombie Novel (Undead World Trilogy, Book One) Online
Authors: A.P. Fuchs
Blood of the Dead: A Zombie Novel (Undead World Trilogy, Book One) (14 page)
You just don’t know I’ve got nothing to lose.
“Maybe. But you guys also walked into that.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t know they’d be all over the place.”
“Neither did I. This is new. It’s been a long while since they’ve gathered in those kinds of numbers.”
“Think they’re looking to clean us out, that is, wipe everyone who’s left off the map before, I don’t know, moving on to the next city or something?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. They’re not
that
smart. Besides, each city is full of the things, remember?”
April came up beside Joe and sat at his feet, never taking her eyes off Billie and Des.
“But they are smarter or at least seem to be functioning at a higher level than before,” Des said.
“Yeah,” Billie said.
“They seem more feral now, too,” Des said.
Billie looked at him, eyes wide. “Feral? Now that’s a big word,” she said. “One would think you read or something.”
“I read.”
“Yeah, comics.”
“Still reading.”
Comics. I used to write those
, Joe thought. Des would probably get a kick out of him telling him that, maybe even get all fanboy on him. But that was a lifetime ago.
“We need to learn more,” Joe said.
Billie furrowed her brow. “Have a computer? One hooked up to the Net?”
“Computer, yes. Net, no. I got rid of it.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Serious?”
“Not everyone’s a geek like you, you know,” Des said.
“Shut up.”
“Pssshh.” Des waved her off with his hand.
“I was hooked up, long ago. Not anymore. Didn’t need it.”
“Surprised you were able to disconnect with the service provider,” she said as if she didn’t believe him.
Joe flashed back to the night he took a beer bottle to his computer in a drunken rage and tried smashing it to bits. His manuscript detailing his weekend with April was on there and, at the time, he thought that by destroying the computer he’d be able to get away from her and put to rest the torment of losing her. He trashed his modem, but the bottle broke when he went for the processor.
“A lot of surprising things have happened since the rain came, now, haven’t they?” he said.
She eyed him coolly. He held her gaze, not giving her an inch. For a guest, she had a lot of guts to talk to him like that.
“Anyway,” Des said, “what now?”
“Sleep,” Joe said. “We’ll talk once we’re rested. It’s been a long night.”
April growled.
“Where do you want us to sleep?” Des asked.
Joe still kept looking at Billie. She hadn’t taken her eyes off his.
“Hey, yoohoo?” Des said, waving a hand between them. “I said: ‘Where do you want us to sleep?’ Didn’t you hear me, Joe?”
“I heard you. Take the bedroom. I’ll sleep out here.”
“Do you mind?” Billie asked.
“It’s fine.”
No, it’s not! That bed hasn’t been slept in since . . . since . . . April . . . di
— “There’s a sheet and a pillow. Should be good enough.”
“
A
pillow?” Des said.
Joe shifted his gaze to him, grimacing. “Is that a problem?”
Des took a step back. “No, not at all. Thanks. Yeah, um, thanks.”
Joe turned and sat on the couch. Without looking at them he said, “If there’s a problem, holler. April and I are light sleepers.”
“Okay,” Des said and he and Billie left the room.
Billie didn’t say goodnight.
* * * *
“Arrrgh, that guy!” Billie said as Des picked a side of the bed.
“What?”
“That didn’t seem a little strange to you?”
Des glanced side to side, as if looking for a clue as to what she was talking about. “What?”
“He comes out of nowhere, saves our butts—twice!—invites us back here then acts like a jerk!”
“He’s giving us a bed, Bill.”
She snapped a finger up and pointed at him.
“
Billie,
I mean,” he said. He lied down on the bed and threw her the pillow. “I can live without it,” he muttered. “Sooo . . . what’s going on?”
She glanced toward the bedroom door before joining him. “You know what? Forget it. I’m tired. Upset. Good night.”
“Night.”
She tossed the pillow on her side of the mattress and plopped her head on it. She closed her eyes but the frustration swirling around in her chest forced her upright. “He’s lying to us!”
“About what?”
“About being off the Net, that’s for sure. And his whole speech about trying to make the world a better place? As if!”
“He doesn’t owe us anything, Billie. He’s going out of his way to help us out.” He rolled over and leaned on his elbow. “What’s really going on?”
She took a deep breath. “This guy’s not all he’s cracked up to be, Des.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, he says—or tries to come off—as all selfless and noble and heroic. He goes around killing zombies, for crying out loud, all for the greater good and all that.”
“And?”
“He’s not doing it for us, for the greater good. He thinks he is, but he’s not.”
“Then what’s he doing it for?”
“Himself.” She adjusted herself against her pillow. “You can’t tell me that he doesn’t feel a sense of pride every time he knocks one of them off. You can’t tell me that he truly and honestly enjoys it when someone thanks him. You can’t tell me that he hates any kind of hero worship. He’s as human as you or me, Des. You and I both know that we can sugarcoat our service to others under the guise of ‘giving of ourselves’ and being ‘selfless’ and ‘humble,’ when deep, deep down, even if it’s just a small part of us, we enjoy the thought of ‘doing the right thing.’ It’s one thing to feel that whole better-to-give-than-receive satisfaction, but do you know what that saying really means?”
Des looked lost. “No.”
“It means that your joy comes out of seeing someone else benefit from your helping them
without
thinking about what it’s doing for you, you know? Even if that ‘doing for you’ is being happy about doing the right thing.”
Des clicked his tongue three times, as if counting the seconds until she was done. “Sooo . . . why’s this such a big deal, again?”
Billie plopped her head down on the pillow then screwed her lips to the side. “I guess it’s just . . . you know I’m not really an open person. I’m—”
“You’ve always been straightforward with me.”
“That’s because you need a good kick in the kahoohoos now and then.” She smiled. “Anyway, it could just be because I’m tired and maybe I’m on a different wavelength as a result, but this whole ‘Joe thing’—and I’m thankful for him saving us, don’t get me wrong—but this whole ‘Joe thing’ bothers me because—”
“Because?”
“Can I finish?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“It bothers me because . . . I’ve known guys like him before.”
“You have? How many zombie killers do you know?”
She closed her eyes. Des could be really clueless sometimes. “Not that. The kind who put on a mask of ‘being a good guy’ or ‘being the hero’ when, really, there’s something else beneath all that.”
“Who?”
She rolled over onto her side, no longer facing him. A pinch grabbed at her heart. She had resolved not to bring Drake to mind anymore, but right now, sleepy and emotionally drained, she didn’t care that Drake’s face haunted her memory. “I knew this guy for about seven months prior to the rain.” The bed rocked as he scooted closer, presumably so he could hear her better. “We dated, went all hot an’ heavy and all that stuff.”
“What was his name?”
“Drake. I don’t know if I loved him or thought I did or what because even now, when I think about him, I really miss him but not in the way I think I should, you know?”
Des just listened.
She continued. “Anyway, he was always there for me. Listened to me go on and on when I was having problems with my folks. Listened to me complain about some of the garbage going on at school. He even helped me with my homework. Every time we hung out he always picked up the bill, held the door open for me. Drake talked about the volunteer work he did at Winnipeg Harvest, how he worked the prayer lines at Trinity Television, how he went to see his grandma in the nursing home twice a week. The list goes on but you get the idea. I remember thinking, ‘Wow, what a guy. Wish I wasn’t so selfish that I could donate a handful of hours a week to a soup kitchen or something.’ That was another thing on his list, by the way. A soup kitchen. Did it once a month. Point is, after my initial awe of him waned, I started to notice little things, things that, in hindsight, should have been a lot clearer than what they were. But at the time, I only found them kind of odd and that was it. He used the word ‘I’ a lot when he talked. He mentioned his do-goodings a lot more often than a person really should. He was always quick to step in and offer advice about how
he
dealt with something, say, something similar to what I was going through with my parents.”
“What happened? Did the rain . . .”
“I’m assuming so. I really don’t know. After the rain fell I thought maybe he was still out there and I should connect with him, you know, the whole ‘all-for-one’ thing humanity had going there for a while. But the way things worked out and winding up here in the Haven, I didn’t see him nor have I bumped into anyone online that I think might be him.”
“He would use a handle, like you? The punk girl thing you use?”
“Probably. I don’t know.”
“So what happened? Between you guys, I mean?”
She closed her eyes, expecting a tear or two to leak out. Instead her heart just ached even more. “What happens to most girls, Des, when they think they’ve found Mr. Wonderful? He dumped me for someone else. Didn’t know who.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. Had a real good thing going. Well, I thought so, anyway. What sucks about it was there was no lead-up to it. No time of things going downhill or things getting shaky. Just one day, ‘Oh, hey, Billie. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.’ ‘Really, Drake, why?’ ‘Well, I found someone else. Been seeing her for a while, actually. Sorry I didn’t tell you.’”
“Sheesh, he really said that?”
“No, dummy. But something like it. I don’t remember his exact words. All I know is he found someone he liked better and blew me off.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” A tear
had
rolled down her cheek. She only noticed it now. She wiped it away. “Let’s get some sleep. Who knows what time Joe wakes up or how long he’ll let us stay here.”
“Maybe if he really is Mr. Hero, he’ll let us stay for as long as we need.”
“Right. And we don’t live on a planet of the dead.”
* * * *
Joe stood outside the bedroom door, leaning up against the wall.
He had heard everything.
11
If Just for a Good Night’s Sleep
The scraping had stopped a few minutes ago, but August wasn’t convinced that whatever it was was gone. He lay there listening intently, ready to point his gun at a dead-yet-moving target.
Silence.
Dark.
Just him, the safe and his gun.
He dared not shine the flashlight lest whatever might be behind the door see it and be alerted to his presence.
He slowed his breathing and made an effort to lay absolutely still, any little thing he could do to shut off all sound.
The bank was silent just beyond the safe’s door. The tiled floor was cold. A shiver ran through him.
It grew even quieter, so much so the thudding of his heart pounded in his ears. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to relax, but even now, after all he’d been through, relaxing was something that wouldn’t come easy.
I could really use some help right now,
he thought, eyes gazing upward. He only hoped the Big Guy upstairs was listening.
The seconds ticked by. He waited, and was sure several minutes had passed, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that maybe only
one
minute had gone by, if that.
Maybe God
was
listening? If He wasn’t, maybe something would have already tried to shove open the vault door, search out the dark, and gorge itself on aged flesh.
The scraping didn’t return.
August closed his eyes and stared at the blackness, his ear nearest the door searching for sound.
Darkness prevailed, and August slipped away into sleep.
Drunngg, drunngg, drunngg.
The low, monotonous tone jolted him awake.
Drunngg, drunngg, drunngg. Drunngg, drunngg, drunngg.