Curse of the Immune (7 page)

Rudy finally comes up the stairs. Once he’s in the kitchen, Bruno continues to follow him as he resumes searching the house.

We gather some utensils and put everything on the table, sitting and waiting for Rudy to finish.

He returns and says, “House is safe. C’mon. Bring all that stuff upstairs to the hall.”

“Why not eat here? If the house is safe—”

Rudy interrupts me. “It’s safer in the hallway. No windows, and zombies are bad climbers.”

We comply and bring everything to the second floor. All the doors up there are closed so it’s pretty dark. Rudy shines the flashlight on the center of the hall floor, and we place the food there, sit and begin opening cans and jars. I kneel to avoid sitting on my soar rear.

Rudy takes the bread and says, “Don’t get used to this stuff. In about a week, all bread will go moldy, so enjoy it for now.”

I take a piece, spread on some peanut butter, and take a bite. My hunger has returned, and I really savor each bite. It’s quiet while we’re busy eating our first meal since the world essentially ended: peanut butter sandwiches, baked beans, vegetable soup, potato chips, and water. Delicious, right?

Bruno moves from person to person, begging, as we take turns giving him pieces of our food.

After we finish, Maria asks, “Rudy, you said you had friends somewhere. Will they be worried you’re not there?”

He laughs. “Nah, they won’t miss me.”

“Some friends,” I mumble.

“Have you seen many survivors?” Maria asks.

“Just the seven kids I was with and you guys.”

“Any adults?”

“No. How about you guys? Have you found anyone else out there?” Rudy asks.

Maria answers, “No. I don’t think any adults survived. Why a few kids are unaffected is what I find puzzling. Rudy, are you adopted or have foster parents?”

“Strange question.”

“The three of us had foster parents. I heard a girl on the radio today say she too had foster parents,” I said.

“No, I live with—or lived with—my Dad.” He stops to clear his throat. “My mother died seven years ago. It’s been me and Dad ever since.”

“Where did your mother work?” Maria asks.

“For a delivery service. She wore a uniform. The company isn’t around anymore. New England Delivery… Yeah, NED was the name.”

“Curious,” Maria remarks. “My parents and Lea’s died about seven years ago in the same fire at the lab in which they worked.”

“My mom was hit by a drunk driver. My parents were divorced, and Dad was in the military. He retired to take care of me,” Rudy says.

Guille stands up. “So what about our parents? Why does it matter they died seven years ago? Nothing’s gonna bring them back. Nothing’s gonna change what’s going on out there.” Tears run down his face. The poor kid hasn’t had a chance to morn his loss. None of us has.

I stand and clean up the mess we made, attempting to change the subject. “Come on. Let’s put this stuff away.”

“You’re right, kid. This really sucks,” Rudy replies. “We can’t change a damn thing, but we don’t have to give in to it. We’re gonna fight this crap and we’re going to survive.”

Maria just sits, deep in thought. Analyzing the new information she has.

“So where do we sleep, Rudy?” I ask.

“Right here on the floor. It’s the safest place.”

“But there are beds right through these doors.” I sound whinier than I mean to.

“The family got sick in them before they went all undead. If you want to lie in their mess, then be my guest,” Rudy states.

“Good point. I was just concerned for the kids.” My bruised butt will have to suffer on the hardwoods.

“We’ll be fine. We used to go camping all the time,” Guille declares.

Bruno stands up quickly, tilting his head side to side a few times, then starts to growl.

“Stay here.” Rudy stands and slides out his sword. He rushes down the stairs with Bruno following on his heels.

Chapter Twelve

Rudy’s downstairs for what seems an eternity, but according to Maria, it’s only a few minutes. It’s quiet and I can’t understand what the deal is. I give it a few more second and get up.

“What are you doing?” Maria asks.

“I’m going downstairs.”

“You sure you should? Rudy said—”

“I know what Rudy said. I’m just gonna check on him.” I proceed down the stairs slowly, stretching my neck to try and look into the living room as I descend. My mind begins to race with ‘what-if’ questions. Mostly like: what if Rudy’s dead and it’s up to me to protect Maria and Guille?

Answer to that: they’re screwed. I really don’t think Rudy’s dead. It’s too quiet and I’m sure if there were a fight, we’d have heard something.

When the room is in view, I see it’s empty. No sign of Rudy or Bruno. When I get to the landing, I see Rudy against the wall, squatting and holding Bruno with one hand, the other over his snout. He sees me and makes a
shhh
motion with his mouth.

I creep beside him, kneel, then whisper, “Zombie?”

“No, rodeo clowns.”

“What?”

“Yes, zombies. I think it’s gone. It was right outside the big window there. Must’ve wandered into the yard.”

We stay put for a little bit more, and Rudy puts Bruno down. “I think it’s clear.”

Bruno runs to the couch, jumps on it, and barks.

In an instant, the picture window shatters with a heart-stopping smash. A zombie leans in and reaches for me.

I jump back and whack my head on the wall behind me.

Rudy, in a single motion, leaps toward it and plants his sword into the thing’s head. It’s as if he’d practiced this sort of thing regularly, like it was choreographed.

“Yeah,” Rudy said, “this dog is awesome. These freaks won’t be able to sneak up on us with Bruno.” He pulls the sword from the head and wipes the orangey goo off the blade on the arm of the couch. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Sure, physically, thanks to Rudy. I’m getting sick of feeling helpless.

Maria calls out, “What’s going on? You guys okay?”

“Fine,” Rudy says. “Just a zombie. It’s dead.”

Just a zombie? These things have been terrorizing me all day and probably will for the rest of my, most likely, short life.

I stand slowly, my legs a little wobbly, and sit on the couch. Bruno comes to me and curls against my leg. I stroke his back while shifting on my sore butt. I’m a mess. My clothes are still wet and sticky, I’m shoeless, and I start to feel sick to my stomach.

“I’m never gonna get used to this,” I say.

“It’s crazy, huh.” Rudy moves to a recliner and sits. “I’m gonna stay down here and keep watch for a while. Why don’t you go try and get some sleep?”

“I’m not tired right now. I’ll keep you company, if you don’t mind.”

“Cool.”

I wait for him to start in on me. You know, the whole if you’re going to survive, you need to blah, blah, blah. But he doesn’t say anything, just stares out the broken picture window, which makes me think,
Great, now he’s just ashamed or embarrassed for me. He must think I’m just pathetic.

After a few minutes, he finally says, “You need a weapon.”

“What?” I wasn’t expecting that, and of course, I take it the wrong way and go off. “What’s that supposed to mean? Getting sick of saving my butt? I’m a fourteen-year-old girl. Why the hell would I have a weapon? It’s not like I’ve been preparing for this. Hell, I don’t even have shoes on, so why don’t you just lay off?”

It was like the frustration off the worst day of my life was exploding in an array of hostile words, directly aimed at the guy I owe my life to. “And besides, who the hell would be prepared for this anyway? I mean, really, zombies? Give me a break. I’m sorry I haven’t become this great slayer of the undead in less than twenty-four hours.”

I’m finally out of things to say, so I stand and am about to do my famous
stomp out of the room for effect
routine when I notice Rudy handing something to me.

“What’s this?”

“Take it. Now you’re armed.”

It’s a large knife. I take it and look it over.

“It’s a bayonet used on the M-16 assault rifle. It may be small, but if you shove it in the eye socket of one of those creepers, it will kill it quick.”

It doesn’t look small to me. “Oh, um, thanks.” Guess I shouldn’t have gone off on the poor guy. He took it well, though. I like the idea of a guy who doesn’t freak out over me freaking out. It’s more than that, though; it’s like he has a style or class about him. Something like a strong, silent type with something else I can’t quite put my finger on, but I find it intriguing.

Then he stands and begins to unfasten his belt.

“Whoa, slow down, big fella. I’m thankful for the knife, but not
that
thankful.”

Rudy stands still for a second. Looks like he’s trying to understand what I mean. Then he rolls his eyes to the ceiling and laughs loudly. He covers his mouth to stifle the noise, but he can’t seem to stop.

I don’t get what’s so funny. In fact, I’m getting angry.

He slides his belt half off and removes a sheath, handing it to me. Still laughing, he manages to say, “Here, for the bayonet.”

“Oh yeah, um… thanks.” Oh man, I really need to stop jumping to conclusions.

“No, thank you. I really needed that.” He collapses back into the recliner and continues to chuckle. The stress from the most horrible of days releases through laughter. Good for him. Bruno leaves the couch and jumps on Rudy’s lap.
Traitor.

I lean back to rest my head on the sofa back. “Okay, Rudy, let’s have it. What’s your story?”

“My story?”

“Yeah, you said you were raised by your dad. What’s the rest? You know… Where are you from? What did you do before? How’d you get to know so much about zombies in less than a day?”

He sat up and cleared his throat. “I’m from up the road in Woonsocket. You know where Grandview Avenue is?

“Yeah, by the gas station off Pine Swamp. It’s near where I live, West Wrentham Road.”

“Oh yeah, we’ve gone that way all the time,” Rudy states. “Anyway, I went to Woonsocket Middle School, obviously, and didn’t do much else but help my dad.”

“What did you help your father with?”

“Well, let me first explain my dad was a bit of a conspiracy nut. He really thought the government was planning something to end civilization as we know it. He spent some time in Iraq and Afghanistan, and it changed him. When he left the military, he had enough money between my mom’s life insurance and his retirement pension so he didn’t need to work. He stayed home and prepared for a disaster he was sure would happen. I know, nuts, right?”

“I don’t know. Actually, it doesn’t seem so crazy now.”

Rudy laughs a bit. “Yeah, he was a freakin’ genius. I actually did have fun with it. He taught me fighting techniques with and without weapons, how to survive off the land, how to make and fortify a bunker in our basement, complete with dry food, a well and septic, and enough weapons and ammunition to take on an army.

“Once the reports of an asteroid started, my dad felt justified. And I was glad he was nuts and made us do all that work. We started preparing the bunker for survival in a post-asteroid world. We made a bunker beneath the bunker, sealed it off with steal and cement. We actually made an environmental ecosystem down there so we could survive the ash.”

“Wow, sounds like a lot of work.”

“I stopped going to school, and we worked night and day. You can imagine our surprise when the asteroid exploded. All that work for nothing.

“I mean, we were glad the catastrophe was averted, but we were a little disappointed.” He stops talking for a minute, then says, “Now that I’ve said it out loud, I guess I sound crazy. I didn’t want people to die, but you know, we just were looking forward to seeing if we could survive.

“Then my dad got sick. That sucked. He figured people were turning into flesh-eating zombies when he saw the reports from China and Australia. That’s when he knew he was a goner and gave me his final instructions—to study him once he turned and find how they operate and how they’re killed. That’s how I know about these things.”

“You killed your father? I’m so sorry.”

He stares at the floor and says, “Yeah, I miss that nut. He was a good guy. Do anything for me. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably be dead.”

“And if it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.”

“And us,” Guille says from upstairs. “We can hear you by the way.”

“Sorry, we’ll keep it down. Try to get some sleep.”

After a moment, I say, “It must have been hard to kill your dad. I can’t even imagine.”

“First of all, you have to get it out of your head that these things are people. They’re called the undead for a reason. The person part has to die; then the body becomes something else, something that understands only one thing and that’s to feed on the living. The strangest thing is it’s just like the movies. It’s like they follow the Hollywood script on zombiology.

“They’re mostly attracted to movement, but they also react to smells and sounds. The only way you can destroy one is by taking out the brain. The one thing that’s uniquely different is the weird glowing blood that’s thick like peanut butter. That’s really the only substance that resembles it. At least they don’t make a mess with blood splatter or major leakage.”

“Okay, that’s really gross. We just ate peanut butter.”

“Sorry, but I’m afraid we’re all gonna have to get used to that stuff and everything else that goes with those things.”

“I know, but can we please not use food to describe their bodily fluids?” I shudder in disgust.

“I guess that’s fair.”

“So, Rudy, if your house is such a good place to hole up, why did you leave it?”

“After I shot my dad’s corpse, my house was quickly surrounded by the creepers. They were starting to come through the windows, so I shot a flare at a neighbor’s house. It caught fire and attracted the zombies.

“I got out of the house and just went looking for other survivors. I ran into a group of guys in Cumberland. They were in a furniture store that quickly got swarmed after I got there. I used a torch to get the dead creatures to follow me, and that’s how I ended up by your tree house. The creatures you were hiding from were the ones following me. So I guess you being trapped was my fault to begin with.”