Determined To Live (18 page)

"How's it look
out there?" I ask him.

"Bunch of
brain-dead people wandering around, and a vehicle keeps driving by,"
he pauses and looks over at me. "A
military
vehicle."

I gasp and shake my
head. "You've gotta be kidding me. Why does he think we're still
here? Why hasn't he left?"

Larry shakes his
head as he turns back to the window. "I have no idea, but I
don't like it. Maybe I shouldn't go." He turns his head back to
me.

I
shake my head even harder this time. "No. You have to go, Larry.
Let's not go through this again, ok? I'll be fine, but if he does
happen to find me, I don't want you killed. And he
will
kill you, Larry. He'll kill anyone who gets in his way and anyone who
loves me, so make damn sure my family doesn't come after me. No
matter what. Tell them I'm dead. Tell them I'm an undead. I don't
really care what you tell them, just
don't
let them come after me
!"

Larry stares hard
at me, and then finally looks away. He sighs and tells me he'd better
get going then, making no promises to me. I sit on the chair beside
the window and watch as he stashes his handguns in his pockets.

"Larry, I sure
hope like hell you don't have to use those. That will lead Jake right
to you. Maybe you should just take a chance and use the Hummer."

"Canada, you
know I can't. Not until we - and that includes you - are ready to
leave this area. We would never be able to lose him and get to my
house. Just stay safe, ok?" Larry walks my way until he's
standing in front of me. He raises his hands and places them on each
side of my face. Then he leans forward and kisses my forehead. A
gentle and sweet touch of his lips like a grandfather or father would
give. I throw my arms around him and hug him tight. In this short
time, he's become important to me. I don't want him to die; but I'm
so afraid that's exactly what's going to happen.

But I release him
and watch him leave - biting my tongue to keep from crying, or
screaming, or begging him to stay. To not go. But he's gone, and now
I'm all alone. No Mel this time. No Larry. No family. Just me.

Shit. I'm
screwed.

I go over to the
long dresser and start loading up my own pockets with guns after
making sure they are all fully loaded. Then I throw every bit of the
ammo in other pockets. Throwing the straps of the rifle and shotgun
over my shoulder, I hop back to the chair by the window. As I'm
hopping, I realize this isn't going to work. The weight of the guns
and ammo on my left side where I have no workable foot throws me off
balance. I hop carefully to the bed and unload most of the guns, then
go on a search for a bag or something.

Finding nothing but
a large bulky suitcase in this room, I move down the hall to the next
room. It's a teens room, of that I have no doubt. Rock stars and
bands posters are plastered on every available inch of the walls. CDs
and DVDs are scattered everywhere.

This room is a
mess!
Soda cans, crumbled
papers, empty chip and candy bags, dirty dishes, clothes, tissues,
and bedding that is half on half off the bed. By the dirty underwear
flung everywhere, it's obvious this is a boy's room.

I'm almost afraid
to enter the room, but I see a black backpack sitting on his bed.
Eyeing the crap on the floor, I try to determine if I can safely make
it there and back without killing myself. Even if I still had two
good feet, I have my doubts.

I look over my
shoulder at the closed door behind me and decide to try that room
first. When I swing the door open, I'm shocked at how clean and
perfect this room is compared to the other. This one belonged to a
teen girl, if the pink walls and the pictures of a certain boy taped
to her mirror in every pose imaginable is any clue. I hop inside, and
after a very short search, find her backpack sitting neatly in the
closet. It's pink...and white.
I
love pink, it's my favorite color. But when trying to hide in the
dark, light pink and white aren't going to help me out much.

But it's going
to have to work.
I
really don't think I can get to the boys pack.
I really, really don't.
I grab the girls pack and empty it on her bed. But I put a notebook,
a couple pens and pencils back inside. Then I hop back to the master
bedroom and throw all but two handguns inside and all the ammo I had
in my left pockets. After staring at it for a few seconds, I snatch
up the book I had tried to read earlier and toss it in too.

Then I pick the
pack up, swing it over my shoulder, and hop back to the bedroom.
Throwing myself on the chair, I relax and get some breath back in me.
When I can breathe normally again, I lean forward and peek out the
side of the curtain. It's dark. Really dark. I see the poles for the
street lights, but they're dark too. A few of the houses on this
block have lights shining through the windows, and I wonder which
ones have any living people inside...if any do. I stare hard in the
windows at each of those homes and I do see movement, but is it the
living or the dead? A couple dozen or so zombies are wandering around
outside, but no sign of Jake.

I sit and watch for
so long that my eyes start burning with the need to close them. After
the second time my neck snaps from nodding off, I peek outside again,
see nothing different, and stand. I hop to the bed, intending just to
sit long enough to get some more juice. But when my butt hits the
mattress, the rest of my body decides it wants a piece of it too.

It'll be alright
to lie down for a few minutes. Just long enough to get rid of the
worst part of the exhaustion. And exactly why am I so exhausted? I
slept in the armory and took a four hour nap just a little while ago.
So what the hell?

Of course, I've
only been getting short naps here and there for days, so can I really
blame my body for rebelling? Nope.

So I let my body
relax -
just a few minutes
really won't hurt
- and I
close my eyes.

I sigh and snuggle
closer to Will, as he nibbles on my neck and pulls me close with his
hand on my hip. I smile when I hear him groan and my eyes flutter
open. My vision clears enough for me to see the thick curtains across
the room, the chair sitting next to it, and a pink and white backpack
on the floor.

A pink and white
backpack full of guns. Guns for protection against zombies and Jake.
Jake, who may have killed...
WILL
!

I jerk away from
who I suspect is behind me, and look back over my shoulder. He's just
lying there on his side, his upper body propped up with one arm, the
rest of him relaxed and right at home. His face is lit up with a big
smile. A smug smile. I gasp and jerk further away and end up crashing
to the floor on my side. I roll onto my back and see Jake staring
down at me from the bed.

"Bet that
hurt," he says, with an even bigger grin.

I swing my head to
where the backpack is sitting and wonder if I could possible make it
to the pack in time, but then I remember I still have some guns in my
fatigues. If I can distract Jake, maybe I can get to one and get it
out.

"Sure didn't
feel good, that's for sure." I start coughing. "Jake, I'm
really thirsty, can you get me a glass of that juice on the table?"

Jake stares at me
for so long that all the coughing I'm doing is truly making my throat
hurt now. Finally he turns to pour the drink. I watch him as I move
my hand to the nearest pocket, the one on my thigh, and my hand
closes around the grip of the gun. I ease it out slowly, but when
Jake puts the juice container down, I realize my times about up so I
pull it out fast. But Jake is faster. He sweeps his fist down and
across, making the gun fly to the other side of the room.

But his fists don't
stop there. He slams it into my head and body over and over. I bring
my arms up to protect my head, then roll out of his reach. But it
doesn't take him long before he's off the bed and on top of me,
stripping me of all my weapons and most of the ammo.

Jake straddles my
body with his own and grabs my face with one hand, digging his thumb
and finger deep in my face. Then he puts his face close to mine.

"That was fun.
Wanna do it again?" His words are spoken low with anger, but
with excitement too. Then he moves the last couple inches and crushes
my lips with his own. I keep my mouth closed and try to turn my head
away, but his strength far exceeds mine, even on a good day. I see
his eyes flash with anger when I fight against him, and I prepare
myself for more pain. But he surprises me when he releases my face
and sits up. I watch him as he looks around the room and when his
eyes focus on something, I turn my head to see what it is he's found.
Immediately my eyes go to the backpack.

He lifts himself
off of me, walks to the pack and opens it. Then he turns back to me
and grins.

"Thanks for
packing all this up for me. Appreciate the book too. Though I'm not
really that much of a reader, I suppose you can read it and tell me
all about it. I'm not sure if pink really goes with my complexion,
what do you think?" He laughs and holds the pack up in front of
his chest. Then shaking his head, he turns away to gather up all the
guns he had taken from me.

My mind races as I
try to come up with a way out of this, but I can't think of one damn
thing.
Without being able to
move, what am I supposed to do?

After Jake gets the
pack loaded and zipped, he swings it over his shoulder and comes back
to me. He grabs my arm and pulls me up. Before I even have time to
get a breath, he leans forward and catches my stomach with his
shoulder, and hoists me up and over. He carries me with my head at
his ass and his arm firmly around my legs. Then we leave the room.

Through the hall,
down the stairs, and right out the front door. My terror increases
when I hear the undead. I turn my head to the right and see one of
the zombies close, and getting closer. I yell out to Jake to try to
warn him, but apparently he's having fun scaring the hell out of me
because he laughs, and then I see the zombie's head jerk back with a
bullet-hole in it.

Somehow we get to
the Hummer in one piece and Jake none-to-gently tosses me inside.
Then he gets in, shoving me over when I don't move fast enough. He
puts the pack in the back out of my reach, then grabs my arm and
pulls me back beside him. He takes the middle seat belt and secures
me, then takes another damn piece of rope to tie my hands. My
heartbeat hasn't slowed back to normal since I woke up, and my eyes
are sweeping the street and the house we just left intensely, hoping
I don't see Larry...or hoping I do.
I'm
really not sure which it is I want anymore. I don't want to be here
with this psychotic oversized brute, but I also don't want anyone
dying because of me.

When Jake's done
tying my ass up, he starts the truck and squeals his tires as we
leave the residential area and return to the highway. We head back
deeper into Kansas City to, I assume, the armory.

"Where's that
dude you had with you?" he surprises me when he speaks, and the
jealousy fueled anger he doesn't even try to hide.

"Zombie got
him," I tell him simply.

"Good. Because
if I had gotten to him..." He doesn't even need to finish the
threat. We both know exactly what he would have done. "I can't
believe you cheated on me already!"

What the...!

"Are you
crazy? I didn't do an―" My words are cut off by the sting
and pain of the hard slap he gives me.

"Don’t
you dare call me crazy! I'm not crazy. I'm not! And I know what I
saw. When I drove past you, you were kissing him! You had your damn
hands all over him and he was all over you. Don’t even try
denying it!"

Uh, yeah. I was
driving at a high-rate of speed and totally getting it on with Larry.
You're right. You're not crazy. You're totally one hundred percent
insane!

Jake
is highly agitated now and his driving has gotten dangerously out of
control.
As much as
I'm scared of what's going to happen to me later, I still have the
will every person has to live. So what can I do but kiss his ass and
pretend I feel things for him that I don't. Not any more at least.

"Jake, honey,
I'm sorry. But you scared me and I had to leave. I won't leave again,
if you won't hurt me again. Ok?"

Jake glances at me,
but he's still so angry. The truck swerves sharply and I scream for
him to, "Look out!" He jerks the wheel, and we barely miss
the car on the side of the road. Obviously, it's not the leaving he
really cares about, it's the cheating with Larry that has him so
pissed.
Ok, yeah.
So it was stupid for me to
think it wasn't, but I really wanted to avoid mentioning Larry.
Looks like I'm going to have
to throw poor Larry to the wolves anyway.
I'm so sorry Larry.
Forgive me.