Dead Soil: A Zombie Series (28 page)

“What the fuck?” he spattered, trying to turn over to see who was on him. “Get the fuck off me!” With enough wriggling he was able to catch a quick glimpse of his assailant. “I said get the fuck off me, Big Bertha, you bitch!”

Gale tightened the grip on his arm and pulled it back even further, causing him to scream and writhe in pain. “You might want to keep quiet unless you want me to feed you to one of those dead things walking around out there. Don’t think I won’t.” Her voice was quiet, calm, and terrifying. “I’d be more than happy to do it. And it’s
Colonel
Big Bertha bitch of the United States Marine Corp, you stupid prick.”

Everyone stared in awe across the smoldering fire. They had never seen Gale move so fast before. There hadn’t been a single day where she hadn’t waddled behind everyone, complaining about her swollen ankles, aching back, and anything else she could come up with. None of those things seemed to bother her as she sat on Lonnie’s back, pinning him down with the ease of a well-trained Marine.

“Yeah, right,” Lonnie said, but was cut off when she twisted his arm again. He howled, but quickly clamped his mouth shut when he remembered her threat. His nostrils flared as he tried to breathe through the pain.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.” She jumped up and stood with her fists raised. “Come on.”

Lonnie staggered to his feet as he cradled his sore arm.  If it’d been bent back any further, his shoulder would have dislocated. He glared at Gale who beckoned him forward with her hands.

“Let’s go, baby boot camper. Let’s see if your eight weeks of training is any match for my twenty-five years.”

Lonnie tried to stand up straight, but his body ached too much to allow it. Heat rose and flushed his rounded face. He wanted to attack with everything he had. How did she know he’d only just graduated from Army boot camp before everything went down?

“I don’t need this,” he said, wiping the blood off his lips, where it had scraped the hard dirt on his way down. “I don’t need any of you.” He turned and took a few steps away from the light of the fire and then turned back around. “Come on, Mitch. Let’s go.”

Mitchell Barnes looked to the group with large eyes. He didn’t move his feet. “Why me?” he asked as he clutched his shotgun in both hands.

“I’m going to show you how a real man takes care of things and survives.”

Mitchell’s dark eyes drifted around questioningly. What did Lonnie mean by that? Was he going to finally find them someplace safe for them to live with more food, water, and supplies? His body swayed towards Lonnie and then away as he considered his options.

“Are you coming or not?” The stocky blond didn’t wait for an answer before he stalked off into the trees.

Gretchen placed a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You don’t owe him anything.”

“I know. But I should go…try to talk him into coming back before he gets too far.”

“Good riddance,” Gale snorted. She lowered herself back down onto the wood log by the fire. There was a new air about her as she sat with both legs bent at the knee and her back stiffened straight. She rested both her hands down on the rough bark and cocked her head to the side, relaxed and grinning.

Gretchen looked back to Mitchell, but it was clear his mind was made up to go with Lonnie. Her stomach sank into a massive pit that made her want to scream some sense into the boy, but she held her tongue as tears gathered. Mitchell was only nineteen. Gretchen had grown to see him as a younger brother, sharing the same defiance against Lonnie and the same level-headed way of thinking that kept them from being killed. But his history caught up with him and now he was a bullied kid who had finally been picked first for the team.

“Just because he’s an asshole to all of us doesn’t mean he deserves to die out there alone. I’d never forgive myself if one of us didn’t try to stop him.”

Gretchen’s chin trembled as she removed her hand and watched Mitchell run off after Lonnie into the night. His tightly curled, brown hair bounced as he disappeared altogether.

III.

Anita ran full speed away from the faction she’d been following, watching them from behind one of the trees lining their camp. Lonnie had walked right past without seeing her. Mitchell ran by a few seconds later, but she was already gone. Her cold, bare feet barely made a sound as they gracefully touched the dying grass and leaves. She only stopped when she was at the edge of the tree line, looking out at the black, still water of Lake Michigan.

Her head swept from left to right like a watchful owl. “We can do this, dad,” she whispered, breathing in and out. “We’ve done it a million times before.” She didn’t wait for her father’s voice to answer inside her head. She knew what he would say.

“Go get ‘em, kid.”

Anita pumped her arms as she ran through the cool sand towards the water. She breathed in through her mouth and out through her nose steadily. By the time the bright white lights of the surrounding houses turned on to illuminate their intruder, the only clue to her existence was a growing ripple in the placid water. Shots were fired regardless. They hit the water and sent little geysers shooting up where they hit.

“You can’t catch me,” she sang in a whisper. “I’m the gingerbread man!” She chuckled as she watched from the buoy.

She held on and hid behind it as the cold water seeped into her clothes and chilled her to the bones until she shivered uncontrollably. She lowered her head under the water to cover her lips, and let the cool liquid wash over her tongue and throat. Taking in as much as she could, she waited behind the buoy until the shots ceased and the lights shut off, encasing her in darkness once again.

She thought about the movie
Jaws
and pictured a massive shark swimming underneath her kicking legs as she hugged the bobbing object. It was uncanny to the beginning of the flick that gave her nightmares as a child. “There’s no sharks in lakes. There’s no sharks lakes.”

“That’s not true,” she heard her father’s voice ring from the back of her mind. “Remember that episode of Shark Week we watched where they found one swimming up the fresh water river. It attacked someone once it found its way to the lake?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Thanks, dad,” she said and sank back below the water.

She dove under and didn’t stop until she felt the bottom. With a quick jerk, she pulled up on the slimy water weeds stuck between the rocks. As she reemerged, she threw her head back so her hair slapped the water and stuffed the wet greens into her mouth. She chewed and chewed and chewed some more. “Mm,” she moaned as she let the mashed up bits slide down her throat. “Not bad.” She sank back under the water to grab more.

IV.

Christine Moore was home alone once again after witnessing the horror of Sally’s mangled body and Ralph, who ate her. The light of the fireplace flickered against the blackened room. It was only Liam and Zack left to gather supplies. They let her know before they left that they’d be gone most of the day and half the night and that it could stay that way if they don’t find more people soon.

She sat down on the window seat and opened her massive book and then closed it again. With a sigh she stood up and walked over to the kitchen. It was incredible how quickly her eyes adjusted to being in the dark. Candlelight was usually more than enough. She opened the pantry door and browsed the few cans left on the shelf.

She looked down at the walkie-talkie on her hip and checked to make sure it was still on and charged. It’d been silent all day. Jerry didn’t use it often, not since she almost got everyone killed. He barely spoke to her at all and when he was in her presence his eyes avoided her. He thought she was unfit to survive and he was right. She had no business going out beyond the complex walls and she hadn’t since.

The little green light on the radio blinked. She unclipped it and set it down on the kitchen counter by the dust-covered coffee machine. No point in wearing it around if she wasn’t even going to use it.

For a moment she considered going out to the patio. If she leaned over the railing and craned her neck just right, sometimes she could see Jerry’s feet propped up on his railing below her and across the stairway. He’d taken to kicking his feet up and napping with his pistol grip in his lap. No one complained. He always got the job done.

Christine couldn’t remember the last time she saw one of those dead, rotting things wandering around the grounds. However long, it’d been even longer since she saw a real human. If there were any survivors in the other nine buildings spread out around them, they were keeping to themselves. No new people had found their way in either. Liam took down the sign out by the street for the apartments. The road that lead back through the woods was long, windy, and lined with thick woods. If anyone had passed by, they must have thought whatever was at the end of the road wasn’t worth the risk.

Christine often sat on the patio, watching the unsuspecting animals go about their day without a care in the world, and wondered what it would be like if new people came there looking for shelter. She’d been limited to her group of survivors for months and their numbers were only getting smaller. Having more people to rely on would be nice for Liam, so most of the burden to provide for the community of four wasn’t weighing down on him. It had started to take its toll, in the heaviness of his dull eyes shadowed by circles, in his wiry, ginger beard and shaggy hair that fell below his ears, in his newly roughened voice that growled monosyllabic answers back at her.

But then again, if a group of strangers came waltzing up to her door, she didn’t know if she’d be able to let them in. It felt bizarre to think about expanding the group and meeting new people. There was a veil of mistrust over her eyes that she couldn’t shake. It was best if no one new came in until she could figure out how to get rid of the winding sensation in her stomach that constricted her insides like a boa every time she thought about it.

Christine collapsed onto the couch in a huff with a can of tuna. With little food for days on end, her stomach shrank and the small can she held in her hand was actually enough to almost satisfy her. Each time Liam and Zack went out for more, they had to travel further away from Chesterton and into the neighboring towns. Last week they had to take Liam’s beat-up Jeep Cherokee, even though it had less than an eighth of a tank of gas. Right before they reached the rural limits of Morgan Township, the old clunker gave out and the boys had to trek it the whole way home, leaving more than half of the food behind. Christine had wanted to drive her fist into the drywall when she heard the story from Liam, not because of her grumbling, aching stomach, but because if she’d been there with them they would have been able to bring more back.

When she’d devoured the wet lump of tuna in four bites, she rolled her eyes and threw her head back against the billowy couch. But sitting still and relaxing wasn’t an option, not while Liam was out there. She didn’t know if he was still alive or dead or hurt or worse.

She raised her head again and looked out the blackened window, trying to remember how long it’d been dark to figure out what time it was. Long ago, she’d given up on trying to remember to charge her phone with that solar charger Liam bought years ago. They had no working clock for her to reference. Occasionally, she’d message down to Jerry from the other end of the walkie-talkie. It gave her an excuse to talk to him when things were too quiet.

Her eyes fell on the radio on the kitchen counter and she let her head fall back again, deciding it was too far away for her to get up and grab it. Time was illusory. Whatever it felt like, that was what it was. There probably wasn’t a single clock in the world that had it right.

Christine heard the familiar sounds of two sets of feet, one heavy while the other was quick and light, pounding up the stairs. Her heart raced with joy. She jumped off the couch with a colossal grin and unlocked the multiple deadbolts for Liam. The desire to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him hard flooded her senses as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

With the last chain on the door unhooked, she couldn’t contain her excitement and let out a smalls squeal, but the chain remained pinched between her fingers. The last thing she wanted was another earful from Liam about not being safe to kill the moment. She hooked it back just as the handle on the doorknob turned. Her smile spread from ear to ear as she clasped her hands at her chest. The door opened hard and snapped the chain tight. There was only a small crack to see through. The eyes looking in at Christine weren’t familiar. They weren’t Liam’s.

Christine Moore pushed with all her weight against the door. One of the men on the other side gave a hardened yell. She released a warrior cry as she dug her slippered feet into the faux-wood linoleum flooring as she pushed, but her efforts were insufficient once again.

A hearty slam and the door flew open. The chain broke. Little links of metal sprayed out and landed on the soft carpet. Christine was knocked back. A short, blonde man with a stocky build and pistol raised entered the apartment and stood over her, looking down with a leering gaze.

“Well, hello, there.”

Another man stood in the hallway, hidden by the black of the night. All Christine could see was a shadow that rocked back and forth with a long gun in its hands. She locked her wide eyes back onto the man in the apartment. She backed away on her hands and feet until she was pressed up against the couch. He sauntered forward until the gap between them was closed. Christine squeezed her eyes shut and raised her arms to shield her face.