Death's Awakening (21 page)

Parrish wasn’t
buying it. Seriously, who had a security system with a key code on
their basement door? It was all very Batman. Or evil villain. She
wanted to know which.

So she waited.

The evacuation notice
lay on the countertop. Why hadn’t he come to her with this?
She’d been upstairs sleeping, but this was too important to
ignore. They only had a handful of days to come up with a plan.

And what about her
sister? She still hadn’t given up on her. If she’d kept
her door locked, there was a chance she was still alive. But for how
long?

More than half an hour
and two cups of coffee later, the basement door finally opened. At
first Noah didn’t notice her. He locked the door and pulled it
closed, then turned to the key pad to the left of the door.

“Wait,” she
said.

His fingers froze over
the lighted keys. He didn’t turn toward her, but she could tell
by his tense shoulders that he wasn’t exactly happy to hear her
voice.

Parrish left her spot
behind the island and came over to stand behind him. “I want to
know what you’ve got hidden down in that basement.”

Noah’s shoulders
rose and fell as he took a deep breath. His fingers dropped from the
keys and he turned. “I told you,” he said. “It’s
just a bunch of family stuff like photo albums and stuff of my mom’s.
I just like to go down there and be by myself for a while. Get my
head on straight.”

“Bullshit.”
Parrish took a step closer to him. No one kept photo albums and old
sweaters behind locked doors. “What’s really down there?”

He swallowed hard, his
eyes tensed. He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk
about it.”

She raised an eyebrow.
Her heart beat loud in her eardrums. “You have to. If I’m
going to stay here with you, I have a right to know what’s in
the basement,” she said. Her cheeks flushed. She was pushing
him, but she needed to know.

He looked away and her
heart raced faster.

“Noah?”

He closed his eyes and
turned back to the door. He balled his hand into a fist and pressed
it against his forehead as if he’d suddenly gotten a terrible
headache.

“I can’t,”
he said, his voice a whisper this time.

Parrish leaned back
against the island. Was she doing the right thing? Whatever was down
there had him all turned around. Should she just let it go?

She shook her head. She
needed to know, even if it was hard for him to tell her. If they were
going to make decisions as a group, they needed to be honest with
each other.

She stepped toward him,
hesitating briefly before she wrapped her palm around his wrist and
pulled his hand away from his face.

He opened his eyes and
looked at her. The tears in his eyes sent a jolt of fear through her
veins. This was serious.

“I’m
sorry,” she said. “I know it’s really none of my
business. You saved my life by letting me into your house, and I owe
you big for that. But at the same time, the world around us is
completely messed up. We’ve all lost everyone and everything we
ever cared about in this world. Right now, all we have is each other,
and if we can’t be honest with each other, then we might as
well be alone.”

She glanced toward the
basement door.

“Whatever it is,
you might feel better if you show me.” She still hadn’t
loosened her grip on Noah’s wrist and he hadn’t tried to
move away. “I need to know what’s down there.”

He stared at her, his
eyes moving over her face, searching. Finally, he pulled his wrist
away from her and turned around, entering the password into the
keypad.

With a click, the
basement door opened.

The boy was hungry. It
had been almost a week since he’d last gone out for food and
water, and he’d been careful to make it last. He was dreading
going back out into the streets.

The screams in the
night were so scary. Even when he closed himself in the back closet
and pulled blankets over his head, he could still hear them.

How many days had he
been alone? At first, he’d tried to mark the passing of the
days on an old calendar he found, but he got behind somewhere and
lost track.

Two weeks, maybe?
Three?

He was used to making
due with little food. His mom hadn’t always had the money to
buy much. But he was so hungry. He wasn’t sure how many more
days he could go without eating. His favorite pair of shorts fell off
when he put them on and he’d had to use a piece of rope to tie
them on so they didn’t fall when he ran. In the mirror, his
eyes looked sunken in and dark. He looked dead. Like them.

He needed food.

With trembling fingers,
he pulled the heavy curtain back from the window. He peered down at
the street below. The bright sunlight hurt his eyes. He’d
gotten so used to the darkness. At night, he was too scared to turn
on the lights, afraid they’d see him and come after him.

A man staggered through
the barren streets, not concerned with the sunlight. Every once in a
while, the boy saw one that didn’t seem to mind the sun. One of
the man’s legs was badly rotted, but he limped along anyway.

One was not a problem.
The boy was fast enough for one. It was the packs he was afraid of.

As long as he stayed
out of the shadows, he’d be okay. He just had to be back home
before it got dark.

The trick would be
finding a grocery store that still had food and wasn’t infested
with the walking dead.

His head turned from
side to side as he scanned the street below. Sometimes the infected
packed together like bees in a hive. One loud noise and they were
suddenly awake and coming for you. They walked slow, but if there
were enough of them, they could block you in. He had to stay alert
and be careful. One wrong step and he might become one of them.

Or worse.

The boy sucked in a
ragged breath as he thought about the last time he had seen another
uninfected human. He wasn’t sure how long ago that had been.
Three or four days ago now.

He was going to get her
attention. To see if she needed a place to stay for the night. But
before he could climb down, he saw a stirring of movement from the
corner of his eye. The woman had been standing near a darkened
doorway.

Didn’t she know
better than to stand so close to such a darkened doorway without a
light or a weapon of some kind?

The boy had chewed on
his lip, desperate to call out to her, but unable to find his voice.
It had been a long time since he’d had anyone to talk to. He’d
held his breath tight in his chest, praying for her to move safely
down the street. To be free of that dark doorway.

But he’d only had
to wait a breath. A single moment. Then they were on her. A pack of
them descended on her like wolves. He’d heard her scream. It
echoed through the deserted streets like the wail of a siren.

The infected had
swarmed her, lumbering up from their sleeping place in the darkness.
Her rummaging must have awakened them. The smell of her human flesh
must have stirred them from their slumber.

The boy had turned away
as the infected sank their teeth into her sagging flesh. Her red
blood spilled onto the sidewalk like a sacrificial lamb. A human
sacrifice.

He closed his eyes and
took a deep breath. Just the memory of it scared him. He wished he
could just stay inside, away from the dark places.

But he needed to eat.
His stomach hurt so bad and he felt so very tired.

He looked out again and
weighed his options. He might be able to make it another day or two
on the food and water he had left, but what if it rained tomorrow? Or
for the next week? There was no way to tell when he might have
another sunny day like this where there were so few of them about.

He was going to have to
go out today. He would get enough food to last for a month if he had
to.

There was a little red
wagon on the corner. He’d been eyeing it for a couple of weeks.
Some other kid had left it there when they were playing. He could
carry a lot of food in that wagon.

With careful packing,
he put a bottle of water and a pack of peanut butter crackers into
his small backpack. This was the last of his food, but if he got
stuck somewhere and couldn’t make it home, at least he’d
have something to eat.

He looked around, then
added a baseball bat he’d gotten when he played tee-ball last
year. He slung the bag over his shoulders and took a deep breath.
There were only a few out today. He would be okay. The sun would keep
him safe.

He pulled the curtain
further back and secured it with a rope. He yanked the window open
and climbed out onto the ledge. He didn’t like to go through
the hallways, even during the day. It was way too dark in there. A
hive could be lurking on the stairways or in one of the apartments.
The infected didn’t seem to mind the lights inside. It was only
the sun they hated.

The boy preferred to go
out the window. He let down the long home-made rope he’d made
with torn bedsheets and his mother’s old dresses and climbed
down. He shot down the rope so fast, any onlooker might have missed
him. He was a streak of black with his black skin and his black jeans
and t-shirt.

When he reached the
street, he crouched down and looked around, still as a statue, but
ready to race back up the rope if he caught any movement in the
shadows. After a few minutes, he relaxed a little bit, then looked
over at the little red wagon. It would slow him down, but think of
all the food he could put inside.

He bit his lip. What
should he do? If he got into trouble, he would have to leave it
behind.

Better not to take the
risk.

He clutched his stomach
and waited for the sick feeling to pass. His head pounded and his
mouth was so dry.

He would just fill his
bag to the limit. It would be enough.

With lightning speed,
he raced down the street, leaving a trail of disturbed trash in his
wake. It took him less than five minutes to get to the supermarket.
His legs could take him faster than any car, especially now that the
streets were blocked with wreckage.

He’d noticed he
was fast the day after his mom died. At the time, he’d been
sure he would be next. He’d spent that day huddled in the
closet in his mother’s bedroom. The sweat poured off of him,
because his mother hated to spend money on air conditioning, even on
the worst days. He’d stayed in the closet with a blanket over
his head, not wanting to think of the rotting body in the next room.

When he’d finally
crawled out, his muscles had ached with the pain of so many hours
spent with his legs curled up tight toward his body. He stretched and
felt the blood flow back into his poor limbs. Ever since then, he’d
been able to run fast. He wasn’t sure why. It just was.

And he’d gotten
faster. With every day that passed, his legs seemed to move just that
little bit faster until he was running faster than he’d ever
dreamed.

The boy stopped in
front of the large supermarket he’d gone to once with his mom
on the bus and pulled his backpack from his shoulders. He reached
inside until he found his flashlight. He switched it on with a click.
He only used it when he absolutely needed to go inside a dark, new
place. Back in his room, he had a stash of batteries, but he didn’t
want to waste the light.

He turned the beam
toward the front door, careful to check for any of the infected who
might be lurking inside in the darkness. Not seeing any movement, he
opened the glass door and walked in, his backpack slung across one
shoulder. As an afterthought, he reached down and jammed a small rock
in the door to hold it open. Just in case.

Today, he was lucky. He
was glad he’d made the longer trip. Cans lined the shelves,
untouched. He filled his bag to the brim, but it wasn’t big
enough. Maybe he should have brought the red wagon after all.

He looked longingly at
a shopping cart. If he could only fill one of those with food and
water, he wouldn’t need to leave his apartment for a very, very
long time.

Licking his lips, he
decided to fill the cart with as much as he could push. The cart
would slow him down, but if he ran into trouble, he could grab his
pack and make a run for it. Then, he could always come back for the
cart later when it was sunny again.

Half an hour later, he
was pushing the cart down the street. He couldn’t run with all
that extra weight in front of him, but he kept a steady pace, and two
hours later, he could see the white rope hanging from his window in
the distance. His heart leapt and he smiled a toothy smile.

Home.

That night, for the
first time in a week, he ate until his belly was full.

Oh my God.

Parrish couldn’t
believe her eyes. How could this be happening? It was one thing to
see a bunch of strangers stumbling around outside, but this? Someone
who had been in her house a dozen times? Someone she’d lived
across from for the past six years? She thought she was going to be
sick.

Behind her, Noah paced.

His sneakers squeaked
against the pristine white tile.

Parrish stepped closer
to the glass, then raised her hand to her mouth, willing her stomach
to stop churning. Noah’s father stood on the other side of the
Plexiglas, his hands leaving a greasy film where they beat against
the divider. His skin was dull grey and dark purple sores dotted his
arms and face. His eyes had the same milky film she’d seen on
the other infected.

She dared another step
closer, hoping to see some light of recognition in Dr. Vincent’s
eyes. Would he know her? Could he still speak? Was it even still him?

One more step and the
man’s focus seemed to shift. His milky eyes turned toward her
and he growled at her like a rabid dog. Drool dripped from his
cracked lips and he began to beat hard on the glass.