DISEASE: A Zombie Novel (3 page)

Lot places both hands on the polished mahogany in front of her and peers at the maps spread out on it. Candles leak wax onto the table, doing little to pierce the gloom, their flames flickering as the group huddled around breaths. Outside the sun burns brightly, but in here barricaded windows suck the light from everything.

It’s been about three years since Lot and her surviving band of followers took over this hotel. It was overrun with creatures, their fetid bodies bouncing off one another, forever doomed to be locked inside. Most were shut in rooms, this one included. They’d been huddled masses, too scared to leave when alive, unable to escape in death.

Lot thinks of her people. Where would they be without her? Alone, starving, dead? Probably, she nods unconsciously. Every single person in this room, in this community, owes her a great debt of gratitude. They’ve come so far since those first days.

A thick finger with a dirty fingernail smears across the laminated lands of the map. “The Risen tend to accumulate here,” Thick Marge, standing next to Arnold, informs the group. “The terrain forces them through this pass.”

Lot’s gaze sweeps the eight faces that crowd the room. She points out a line on the map, “Then the best way around is probably Wallard.”

One of the faces, Habib, a true cowboy, grumbles. He always has something to say and always wants to do things the hard way, “That’ll add over an hour round trip.”

Lot stands straight, “We have a substantially higher risk of casualties if we try the pass.” She rolls up the sleeves of her thin tan blouse. Her jeans stick to her legs. They’ve been in here for almost an hour and between the candles and the people it’s uncomfortably warm. “Do you have another suggestion, Habib?”

He sucks his teeth, glares down at the maps, shakes his head. “Addin’ over an hour to our trip is dangerous in its own right. We’re already fightin’ against the sun.”

“You’re right, but what would you have us do? Fight through a throng of The Risen?”

“We can do it!”

“The chances of being overwhelmed, of being surrounded, are extremely high.”

“But if we clear it, we have a straight way through.”

“For now,” pipes in Cindy, a black haired beauty. “But they’ll just accumulate there again.” She’s a steadfast loyalist and has been around almost as long as Opie.

“Over time,” Habib counters.

Arnold shakes his head. “There’s no telling how many are there now. It’s a bad idea.”

Habib’s face hardens, “I can do this. Give me the right men and I can do it.”

“Are you crazy?” Cindy asks. “Who do you think you are, He-man? It’s not worth the risk!”

Habib slaps his hand on the table, “It’s not worth the risk of being stuck outside at sunset, when we can’t see shit, like sittin’ ducks balancin’ solar panels on our backs! We can’t get vehicles through those roads, how quickly do ya think we’ll be able to move? The less time we’re out there, the better.”

“It’s a suicide mission,” Arnold adds calmly.

Habib’s passion is unaffected. “It’s not, not with the right people. I know it can be done.”

Lot leans in to analyze the maps and carefully weighs the options. Finally, she looks up at Habib. “How many men would you need?”

Around the table eyes pop open wide with surprise. Arnold turns to her. “Lot, their chances of survival—”

Lot flicks her wrist. Arnold closes his mouth and rubs a tattoo on his forearm. It’s of a fierce bald eagle clutching the earth and an anchor between its talons. Around it, in beautiful lettering reads “USMC Death Before Dishonor”. He’s a good soldier, and knows when he’s been outranked.

“Habib has a good point,” Lot says. “Night isn’t the time to be stuck outside and if he’s successful this could save lives. How many people would it take?”

“Minimum? Five.”

“You can have them,
if
they volunteer. Make sure they understand how risky this is.”

“I will.”

“And I’d like you to take Danny with you.”

“He’s not even back from his last mission yet. He’ll be road worn.”

“He’s young, he’ll be fine, and you’ll need him. He’s one of our best.”

Habib sighs with annoyed resignation and nods agreement.

Lot nods back. “It’s settled then. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with some children.” She grabs a candle and steps into the hallway. As the voices in the room fall away Opie scuttles after. He passes her a folded map.

“The information you requested.”

“Thank you, Opie.”

***

Lot smiles at the group of children sitting at her feet. The two oldest girls, who are eleven and thirteen, watch after the very young. Both are pretty and will soon be desirable. If married to the right men in neighboring communities alliances will be strengthened, power will be solidified. They are good assets.

The youngest of the group is a baby, just shy of a year. Her mother begged Lot for permission to have a child. After the woman proved herself worthy, Lot gave her blessing. People here understand the need for population control and they understand that more mouths to feed means less food to go around. They understand that, if allowed to procreate, they must pay back the burden on the community two-fold.

The baby squirms and plays quietly, as babies do. It’s almost inconceivable to think that this child was born into world so different than the Old World. Her mother’s world no longer exists. In fact, most of these children will never remember how things used to be.

Lot turns the page of the book she’s reading out loud. They are lucky enough to have an extensive library with over one hundred books here. Many were on the premises already, in staff quarters, but members of the community also salvaged books from their former lives. There’s even a handful of children’s books. Lot keeps them in her room, just to be sure they aren’t lost. The world has changed, but children are still children. Will they even be able to relate to this story in a few years?

“The dirty little puppy peeked his powdery head out of the pink and purple pail. Was he ever in a pickle? Just how was he going to clean this mess before Boy got home?”

Henry, a redheaded three-year-old with striking green eyes pulls softly on Lot’s pant leg. He was born at the beginning of this new world. Lot peeks over the top of the large book with a big blue puppy printed on its front. “Up,” says Henry, in his tiny voice, stretching out his arms. Lot swoops him into her lap and flips to the next page.

***

It would’ve been dumb to stay there alone and starving, sleeping with one eye open and praying for a stray can of dog food or a thick, juicy cicada. Casey’s afraid to think of how many parasites are probably living in her gut from drinking contaminated water and eating whatever she’s been able to kill—squirrels, cats, groundhogs…

Not that she was able to really catch much. Two weeks ago she even took Alex to dig in a creek bed, flipping rocks, hoping to find salamanders, crayfish, or earthworms. They hadn’t found much, and they had no way to cook the hapless little animals they did find. Casey thought of smashing them into a slurry, but that was even less appealing than stuffing the wiggling bodies down their throats.

She has to hand it to Alex though; she was sure he’d turn his nose up at such delicacies, but he took to them quite well. That’s why she isn’t surprised when, huddled next to her in a tree, he shoves some sort of beetle in his mouth. It crunches as he chews, slowly savoring the gooey insides. Danny raises a disgusted eyebrow at Casey and she shrugs. “So, where are we going anyway?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Is it far?”

“Yes.”

“How far?

“A while.”

“Well, aren’t you the chatter box.”

One of Danny’s men, Morgan with the freckles, snickers at their exchange.

It’s been a long time since Casey has been in the company of other adults, or anyone that can talk for that matter. The other two manage to play a game of cards, but no one else says a word. Casey thinks on just how odd it is that she’s trying to come up with conversation starters while they sit in a giant tree, hiding from a drove of flesh-eating monsters. But beyond conversation she needs answers. Real ones, and Danny hasn’t been exactly forthcoming.

The freaks pass by one after another, moaning and growling, dragging broken limbs and trailing strings of their own intestines behind them. They are mindless, killing machines that never stop, spreading death and disease everywhere they go. Most look exactly like what they are: walking corpses, their rotten bodies in a never ending crusade to destroy life itself. A true plague, if there ever was one. They are deadly, but they sure aren’t smart. Sit quietly above and they never even look up. Case in point.

“Is that something you do a lot? Eat bugs?” Danny asks.

Casey isn’t sure who he’s speaking to, her or the boy, but she answers. “When it’s necessary.”

He nods. Is that a glint of empathy in his eyes? Casey’s not sure. She strokes Alex’s hair lovingly as he scratches at the red, swollen bug bites that pepper his arm.

“So how far away is your community, Danny?”

“Another day.”

“And there are other women and children there?”

“Yes. This is the third time you’ve asked.”

“And, it’s the first time you’ve answered.”

Danny pauses, thinking, then nods acknowledgment. “Fair enough.”

“Am I gonna have to ask every question three times to get an answer?” Casey grins, hoping to soften the blond man’s shell. He blinks at her, doesn’t even crack a smile and she sighs, annoyed.

Danny turns his attention to the kid. She knows he must be wondering why Alex doesn’t speak and she hopes it’s not an issue. Some people are hesitant to deal with anyone that could be considered a burden. She studies Danny as he studies the kid. Eventually, he loses interest and stares into space, deep in thought. She can feel the wheels turning, his face set in an unconscious frown.

Minutes pass without anybody saying anything, mosquitoes whine in her ears. Finally, Casey can’t take it anymore. She waves her hand in front of Danny’s face. “Helllloo. Anybody home? You all right there?”

He focuses on her, casting an annoyed look her way. “Yeah,” he snaps. “I’m fine. What do you want?”

Casey curls her toes, maybe this was a bad idea. This guy seems to be in a permanently bad mood and she really wishes he would stop skirting her questions. It’s like he’s purposely coy and that makes her nervous.

Her trepidation must be showing because Danny looks quickly away, shamefaced. He clears his throat and rubs his chin, a few days‘ worth of whiskers bristling under his hand. He rolls his shoulders twice and then looks at Casey again. This time he’s softer, more affable. “Why are you and the kid alone?”

Casey relaxes a little. The guy is obviously making an effort and she can forgive anyone for being stressed when hiding from walking corpses. She smiles. “If you ask three times, I’ll tell you.”

Behind Danny, Morgan chuckles again. Danny whips a deadly glare in his direction and the laugh sours in the man’s throat. He turns back to Casey.

“Wow, you really take yourself seriously, don’t you?” she asks.

Danny shrugs. “So? Why are you alone?”

“That’s twice.”

He grinds his teeth. It’s clear he’s not used to anyone poking him, and it makes Casey want to do it more, to break the rigid ice between them. She smirks, waiting for him to ask a third time.

“Are you serious? You’re not going to answer unless I ask a third time?”

“Turnabout is fair play.”

“Fine, have it your way. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Oh, come on!”

“Ask.”

“Why are you and the kid alone?”

“Because we don’t have anyone else.”

Danny stares at her—she stares back at him. After a few tense moments she’s relieved to see a tiny smile touch his face. “Okay, I deserved that,” he says.

“Yes, you did.” Her playfulness fades. It’s almost fun to goof around with Danny, but it can’t cushion stark reality. “Everyone one else is dead.”

“How?”

“Another group. They ransacked us. Took everything, every last drop of water and piece of food. All our weapons, all our supplies. The only thing they left us with was our lives. Then we died, one by one.”

“How long?”

“Months, almost a year.”

“Not many people could’ve survived that long alone, especially with a kid in tow. Are we the first people you’ve met since then?”

“No. But no one wants an extra two mouths to feed.”

Danny nods and they fall into silence. He glances at his men playing cards, and then back at Casey. His eyes hang on her a little too long, she can feel them all over her body, almost the same way his hands had been earlier that day. He’s undressing her with his eyes. “Having yourself a nice look?” Casey crosses her arms defiantly.

Danny looks away fast, his face flushing red. Dennis, one of his men, gives him a knowing nod and a sly smile and Danny glares back. Dennis rolls his eyes and returns to his card game.

Danny peeks back at Casey. She marshals her most threatening look, gripping her bat tightly. It seems to do the trick, he can’t look her in the eye, and his mouth runs of its own accord, stammering. “I… you…” He stares down hard at his hand. It twitches nervously, a momentary expression of weakness and he rapidly balls it into a fist. “You’ve got a spot on your shirt,” he finally manages.

Casey looks down at her t-shirt. It’s covered in dirt, blood, and sweat. Once it was a dark pink. Now it’s mostly a light greyish brown, with pit stains and black smudges of who-knows-what all over it. It’s threadbare, just a rag. A far cry from Danny’s nearly clean t-shirt, pale yellow, with a faded graphic splashed across the front. Oh well, pink (or grey) isn’t really her color anyway. She prefers green, a pastel, retro, sea foam green.

As she observes the mess her shirt is, she smiles. Danny’s cover-up has to be one of the lamest excuses she’s ever heard. EVER. “Really? I don’t see it,” a giggle escapes her lips before she can stop it. It softens the rock façade of the man sitting before her. He looks much younger when he’s not glowering at the world.