Dying to Live (31 page)

30.

‘It had only been a short drive through the baron, yellow, rocky hills when we started to notice signs for upcoming towns. We passed right by Mack and Loma without stopping. Instead, we stuck to the interstate, which hugged the Colorado River for a while, before bringing us to the welcome centre in a town called Fruita. It looked like as good a place as any to fill the tank whilst avoiding being overwhelmed by zombies. It couldn’t have taken us much more than half an hour to get there from our breakfast stop.

I was still quiet after our discussion about the CDC, but mostly over it by then. Still, my gaze remained on anything but my travel companions. The tinted windows stained the landscape beyond them, dulling its beauty through an inky filter. However, the day was warming up and so I rolled down my passenger window. The sun was higher now and its rays sparkled on the water that ran alongside the road. The clouds were ebbing away and the sky was clear and bright. The closer we drew to town, the more abandoned vehicles we weaved around. Until eventually, we were driving on the dirt to avoid a solid block of cars and trucks that jammed the road. There were people, too. Well... Dead ones. They ran after us, making Andy speed up, and his driving had Frank gripping the edge of his seat for dear life. Occasionally, he would suggest that we slow down as the immense vehicle lurched over rocks or around a stray car. Ultimately, we were just grateful to get there in one piece.’

“Hold on, I gotta make a right.” Andy sounded way too happy as he swung the typhoon around at the first roundabout.

“Enough already! We’re here! Now, slow down!” Frank pleaded, bracing himself with his arms and one leg.

Andy slammed on the breaks and everyone jolted forwards. They slowed to a crawl in order to skirt around a lorry that had overturned.

“Sorry about that,” He said quite cheerily. “I cut it a bit close that time.”

“My god,” Lucy breathed. “His driving is going to kill us.”

“Nahh, it’s all good,” Andy reassured her.

The car turned right at the following roundabout and then again immediately after that. This brought them into a parking lot where they found themselves facing four sets of gas pumps. One of them was still occupied by a car, which had its driver’s door gaping open, and beyond the pumps was a wide building with lettering that named it as the ‘Loco’ Travel Stop. Loco was as good a word as any for what appeared to have happened there.

There were also signs for ‘Starvin’ Marvin’s’ and ‘Subway’, but what may have once been a pleasant and cheerful rest stop, was now crawling with grisly, undead patrons.

“I am not looking forward to this,” Harry stated, breaking his silence and looking through his window to assess the body count. He could see stumbling figures in all directions and they were beginning to notice their arrival. Others were still stumbling after them and following down from the road.

To the left of the gas station, Andy observed a woman charging out from what looked to be a market tent. The canvas sheets were bordered by a barrier of hay bales, which toppled over and burst onto the tarmac as she ploughed through them. Her focus was set intently on them and she abandoned her produce stand to investigate the fresh meat.

Across the road behind them, was an inn. Its sizable car park was skirted by bushy trees that had obscured them from view. However, the noise of their vehicle, combined with the excited groans and growls of hungry zombies, was attracting more attention from that direction. At first, the bodies meandered curiously through the trees, but their eyes were set alight by the commotion.

Harry rolled his window back up quickly, as the first of the zombies tumbled over the guardrail and into the car park after them. They climbed over each other thoughtlessly, each wanting to be the first to gain their feet and claim their prize.

“I’m going onto the roof again,” Frank told them all, as he got up from his seat. “We can’t open fire on them all and risk this place going up in flames, but I can probably pick off a few.” He was already rummaging through the weapon box as he spoke, and when he emerged, he had a sniper rifle in his hand. He pocketed a box of ammo and loaded the gun before slinging it up through the sunroof.

“Andy, Harry, can one of you switch places with me?” Pete requested. “It’ll be easier to get out from the front instead of lowering the ramp, and then I can take some out with my machete.”

“I’ll do it,” Andy told him. “Pass me a weapon.”

Lucy obliged, picking out another sharp machete, whilst Frank hauled himself out of the truck. Xin positioned herself at a gun port with an assault rifle, searching out a safe direction to shoot in.

“Both of us,” Pete said to Andy. “Be careful, though.”

Harry climbed into the back to allow Pete into his seat.

“Ready?” Andy asked Pete. Pete nodded once in reply and they both cracked their doors open. They stabbed at the monsters on the other side and cleared enough space to open them fully. The first muted shots from the sniper zipped across the lot at the same time as Andy slammed his door behind him and took down the first grizzled old man. Pete also jumped from the car as his assailant crumpled before him. He kicked away an approaching woman and grabbed the next by her hair, thrusting the blade through her temples.

Andy was forcing the dead back and away from the car on his side. They fell around him as he hacked and slashed. A mangled young boy was the only one to catch him of guard. His small hands grabbed onto Andy’s leather jacket from behind and he sunk his teeth into the waist. Andy let out a cry of surprise and retched himself away, kicking out at the child as he did so. The child fell backwards and, without pause, Andy stamped, hard, on his head. His fragile skull gave out beneath Andy’s foot, leaving the boy looking misshapen but still alive. When he stamped again, the bone fractured into pieces. With one final stomp just for good measure, mushy red and pink splattered out across the ground and coated his boot. The boy was still and Andy quickly regained himself and moved onto the next.

“I can’t get a shot!” Xin exclaimed with frustration. “I’m going out there as well.” She pulled the rifle back into the car and climbed into the driver side.

“Then I’m coming too,” Lucy told her, unholstering her handgun.

Harry sighed. He couldn’t sit around forever, especially if the girls were joining the fray.

“Let’s do this,” He said with flat determination.

With Pete and Andy holding the zombies off on either side, it was easy for them to pile out onto the tarmac and take a stand. For a long time, all there was in the world was the firing of guns, the flashing metal of blades and the falling of bodies. The good thing about the zombies was that they were simple. Their dead eyes didn’t betray a hint of intelligence, just the carnal longing to feed. If the monsters that outnumbered them had been capable of executing any kind of battle plan, the fight would have been lost in a heartbeat. Instead, they just kept flinging themselves forward and the team would hack them right back.

Eventually the group stood, panting and breathless, surveying a vista of twitching bodies. The car engine was still running. The hum that it emitted, and their breathing, seemed to be the only noise after the clamour of their fighting. Xin lowered her rifle. Pete worked his way around each of the bodies that still moved, piercing their heads swiftly and moving on to the next.

“Andy, I saw that kid!” Frank called worriedly as he jumped down from the roof. “Did he get you?” He skidded a little, as he hit the ground and hurried over to him.

“I feel okay...” Andy said, pulling his jacket off and twisting to get a better look at his side. “Can’t see any blood or anything.”

“Are you sure?” Frank asked him.

Andy held his jacket up in front of him, turning it to examine the area the boy had bitten. “It didn’t go through,” He sighed with relief. “Look.”

Frank lifted the leather closer to his face. He could see the vague imprints left by small teeth but the material was intact. “You’re a lucky bastard!” He smiled, clapping Andy’s shoulder.

“I guess it’s a good thing that I didn’t listen to Mom when she told me I shouldn’t wear things like this,” He laughed, rolling his eyes. “Too many studs... You look like a thug,” He muttered, running a hand over the leather. His face lost some of its humour as he thought about her.

Pete was wiping the gore from his machete onto a plaid shirt that one of the fallen zombies was wearing. “We need to get finished here quickly. We don’t know if there are others in the area that might have heard us. Frank, can you drive her over to the pumps?”

After Frank had done so, they discovered that the power that pumped the gas was out. And whatever backup power the place could have had, didn’t seem to be working.

“Fuck,” Frank cursed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! We aren’t gonna make it much further if we don’t fill up.”

“Chill, dude,” Andy said. “There are plenty of cars and trucks here, we can just syphon them. I’ve done it before.”

“In that case, you two can see to that,” Pete told them. “The rest of us should see if we can find anything inside.”

The other four split up to search. Lucy and Harry took the restaurants, and Xin and Pete headed for the shop. They walked in awkward silence, neither quite knowing what to say.

“So... How are you doing with all of this?” Pete asked her eventually.

“Not bad, I suppose,” Xin replied. “We don’t have much choice but to endure it really, do we? We have to keep going. I mean, look at Andy, he lost his parents only yesterday.”

“Yeah, he’s a tough one,” Pete said. “I’m glad he wasn’t hurt back there.”

“Me too,” Xin agreed. “I’m not sure how well Harry is coping with it all. I think it’s getting to him more than we know.”

“Yeah, it’s not like him to get as mad as he did about the disease control place.” Pete was trying to stay alert, which detracted from the concern in his voice. “I’m sure he’s just stressed. The nightmares he’s been having must be bothering him and he’s probably not sleeping much.”

“That seems quite likely,” she responded. “I just hope that it doesn’t change him too much, he’s a good man. Say, did you mean what you said to him? When you were defending me, I mean.”

“Yeah, of course,” Pete said, without needing to think about it. He stopped scanning the area for a moment and turned his attention to her, smiling. “I feel like I really know you, and you’re a good, strong, intelligent and honest woman.”

“Oh... Thanks,” Xin said, feeling warmth rush to her cheeks. She hoped that she wasn’t blushing.

They were only a few steps away from the store front when, without thinking, Xin took Pete’s hand and stopped him in his tracks.

“What’s wrong?” Pete asked, whipping around, ready to defend them at a moment’s notice.

Xin didn’t reply. She looked up at him, and then leaned forwards on her tiptoes to plant a light kiss on his mouth. He was startled and barely had a chance to register what was happening, let alone kiss her back. A moment later, she had dropped his hand and pulled away, before striding off in front and leaving him thoroughly bewildered. She was smiling to herself and trying to hide her embarrassment by peering in through the shop window and pretending nothing had happened. Pete smiled too and followed after her wordlessly. He cupped his hand to the glass, blocking the sun so that he could see better.

“It looks ransacked,” Pete stated.

“Mhm...” Xin’s heart was still beating a little too fast and she hoped that her voice wouldn’t quaver. “There could still be something useful in there.”

Pete straightened up and walked over to the door. He tapped the handle of his blade on the glass and waited. Sure enough, a muted chorus of groaning started up inside.

“Looks like there’s three of them,” He sighed. “Here goes.”

Pete burst through the door and Xin followed close behind. They were greeted by a scraggly haired woman with one side of her face gnawed away, a middle aged guy who looked like he had probably been a trucker and another slightly older man in faded, blood-stained coveralls. There was an empty pushchair knocked aside in one of the isles. Xin guessed that the woman must have been the mother of the boy outside. She felt a small amount of remorse as she aimed her gun towards her and pulled the trigger. Xin then quickly handled the older man, whilst Pete took down the last one. When she store was clear, they glanced around at the mess of upended shelves.

“Let’s see what we can find then,” Pete said. Xin grimaced but set to work, picking through the disarray.

31.

‘Boy, I was hungry. In fact, I wasn’t just hungry, I was starving. For the past few days, I’d been so famished that I was repeatedly checking the fridge, even though I knew that it was empty and no longer working, just in case I’d overlooked something, anything really, one measly hunk of cheese or pot of old yoghurt. When I went to the windows I could see them all outside. On the worst occasions, I’d see my wife when I looked out there. My beautiful wife was still wearing her pearls, wandering near our mailbox. The writing on it continued to declare this the home of ‘The Smithson’s’. But it wasn’t really, not anymore at least. It was just me, locked inside, all alone and wasting away. There I was, scared and hiding like a coward behind the curtains. I did eventually step away from the windows, but not before she’d already seen me. That’s when I drifted upstairs so that I didn’t have to see her face, twisting and growling at me. I couldn’t stand to see her lips curling with anger anymore. It always looked like she was snarling my name. ‘Chaaaaarles’. It was many hours before she left and I finally dared to venture back downstairs.

Charles was growing more and more distressed by the day. In one moment of pure desperation, he’d blacked out and found himself chewing frantically on a discarded newspaper. He was ashamed to admit that he’d not stopped chewing, even once he’d returned to his senses. The mushy pulp churning in his mouth had repulsed him and he’d gagged before managing to swallow it down. Even that had been a small relief and he was grateful for the sensation of having something in his stomach again.

He’d considered going out. He’d thought about scavenging at the neighbour’s house for something he could eat. Visions of bread and sliced turkey had danced in his mind’s eye. Then he’d remembered his wife, shambling around in the street and collapsed in tears.

Even the hunger couldn’t drive him to leave his sanctuary. This house would be his tomb and he knew it. The deep plum carpet and the awful floral wallpaper were destined to be the last things he saw.

He thought that maybe he should just end it all. It was a thought that came more and more frequently as his mind became consumed by the hunger. It was all he could think about, even when he tried to distract himself.

That day he had decided he would do it. He was going to end his misery and torment. Charles all but crawled up the stairs, using his hands to aid him. He couldn’t remember feeling so weak, even when he’d had a particularly nasty viral infection back in March. When he gained the top of the stairs, he turned and limped across the landing to the master bedroom. He paused to pick up the photograph of himself and his wife as young lovers, the one that stood on his night table.

He smiled sadly, tracing his fingers over the guilt frame and whispered, “Soon, my love.” He placed the photograph back and made his way to the chest of drawers across the room. His intent was to select one of his work ties, one that felt good and strong, and then stand on the stool, which he would drag over from the dressing table. He would fasten the tie to the ceiling fan, place it round his neck and step right off.

His hands lingered over the drawer handle but he thought to himself that it would be nice to have one last reminder of his wife before he embraced oblivion. The smell of her clothes may just set his jangling nerves to rest. He tugged open the top drawer and pulled out her favourite, peach coloured, cashmere sweater. Charles buried his face in the softness and breathed it in, tears escaping his eyes.

“I love you so much, my dear,” he said under his breath. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t treat you well enough. I should have let you have that new dishwasher, and those shoes you adored so much. I’m so sorry.”

He pulled his face from the jumper with determination coursing through him. However, he noticed something that stopped him in his tracks. The glint of a golden wrapper had caught his eye. How could he have never realised that his wife kept a small, secret stash of chocolates hidden in her drawer? She’d always seemed to be on an endless diet. Although she’d been skinny as a rake, she’d never been happy with her weight. He barely stopped to think about it, he just dove at the glorious, shining lifeline. The chocolate bar was opened within seconds and he devoured it ravenously.

“Oh, Jem! You’ve saved me,” he beamed. “Maybe I wasn’t meant to die after all.”

Greedily, he pulled more clothes from the drawer, hunting for anything else that he could consume. Yet there was nothing else to be found. When the drawer was empty and clothes were strewn around the floor at his feet, he still refused to believe there wasn’t more. He yanked the drawer out of the frame, tipping it upside down and discarding it.

“That can’t be it!” Charles cried. “It just can’t be.”

He opened the next drawer and the one below it and the one below that. Turfing clothes out as he went and coming up empty handed.

“Oh, perhaps the rest is hidden in the closet!” He exclaimed. “Of course. The closet!”

Charles was possessed by the idea and it made him crazy. Had he been thinking rationally, he would have told himself that the closet would never contain hidden food, but in that moment, anything seemed possible. Charles approached the huge, carved oak wardrobe and threw the doors open wide. He proceeded to seize armfuls of clothing and throw them onto the bed. When nothing materialised from them, he began kicking the shoes out of the bottom.

Charles found nothing. His last hope was too look on top of the wardrobe.

“Oh, Jem, I know that you must have something for me...” he said, losing steam and just about the last of his hope. He reached up and ran his hand unseeingly along the wood. His hand knocked against something and he heard it slide away. It had felt like a small box, a small box that could contain chocolates. His hands groped for it again and when he retrieved it, he smiled broadly.

“Oh, I knew it!” He had never been so happy.

The box was plain and black, tied with a cream coloured ribbon. He tore the ribbon clean off and ripped the lid from the box. Inside, concealing the boxes contents, was a card.

He laughed, presuming it to be an index of the different kinds of glistening, mouth-watering chocolates. “I don’t care what flavours they are!” He snorted, picking out the card.

He stopped in his tracks when he did actually read it. The writing was his wife’s elegant cursive, and it said:

Charles,

This is to be my final birthday gift to you. I want a divorce. Happy Birthday,

Jemima
.

He stood, speechless.

The card dropped from his fingers and fluttered to the ground. He recovered himself just enough to look into the box. There were no chocolates, just a finely woven, chestnut coloured tie.

He took it from the box, his mouth hanging open as the length of it unravelled. The irony was not lost on him, but his feelings seemed to have been erased. Complete numbness flooded over his body, along with an eerie calm.

Silently, he draped the tie around his neck and clumsily knotted it. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the dressing table, as he leaned down to pick up the stool. It was indeed a fine tie. Charles found the last ounce of strength in his body and used it to haul himself up onto the stool, reach above his head and tie another knot. He made sure it was good and tight.

With one final deep breath, he closed his eyes and kicked away the stool. It tipped over and skittered away from his dangling legs, as the tie bit into the skin of his throat. Whilst he was choking for breath, an instinct kicked in and he began thrashing and struggling. The tie held firm. There was no way to escape and catch a breath. His face was turning purple and his legs kicked out wildly. In one final spasm, his foot knocked a delicate wooden jewellery box from the dressing table. It spilled open and its contents came pouring out as his body fell still. His eyes came to rest on three more shining, golden packets, before glazing over and seeing no more.