Love in the Time of the Dead (2 page)

Her brother chuckled. “Thank the powers that be for that oversensitive schnoz of yours. It’s gotten us out of more than a few jams. So I was thinking. I’m pretty sure that Dead couldn’t smell you because his nose had been bitten off.”

Gross. “Makes sense. I can’t see how I could look different to them. Their sight is terrible, so it has to be the way I smell.”

Jarren finished his first aid, and she handed him the other half of the canned meat, the food of champions when they were out in the open and between colonies.

“You know it’s going to be a battle tomorrow, right?” he asked.

The stars above them twinkled through the thick needles of their sleeping tree. A rare, beautiful sight. “I know, but what choice do we have?”

“What’s your average looking like this week?”

“This week? Let me see.” She ticked off bodies on her fingers. “Seven Deads a day.”

“Has to mean we’re getting close. Really close.”

“Hmmm,” she said noncommittally. It was pointless to grow excited about anything when every day was likely to be your last.

Deads seemed to hover around the colonies that housed the remaining humans. They could be kept out with high walls, since Deads were terrible climbers, but they still lingered, walking slowly in circles and waiting for a mistake that would grant them a meal of human flesh on the go. Generally speaking, the denser the Dead population, the closer a colony. And a colony was exactly what the team sought.

Nerves before battles kept her up at night. On regular Dead killing days, she slept like a felled log, but fear crept in the nights before big fights. She drew a long breath to calm the shakes. “Great, now I’ll never get to sleep,” she grumbled, adjusting her position on the tree branch.

“You want me to tell you a story?” Jarren offered.

Laney snorted. “I think twenty-three is getting a little old for bedtime stories, don’t you?”

Jarren leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The boys won’t hear. I’ll be quiet. Come on, Laney. Everyone knows you’re a badass during the day. But I know you. You are allowed to have a hard time at night.”

The offer was tempting. Jarren was an excellent storyteller, ever careful to mention only make-believe things. It had been a hard lesson early on that stories of their unfortunate reality or people they had lost only made them too emotionally charged. With this lifestyle, it was best to leave emotions off the table.

She opened her mouth to tell him to start the story already when the wind shifted and the tell-tale stench of a Dead filled her nostrils. She brought her fingers to her lips and then pointed to her nose. He would get it.

He turned and made quick, jerky motions to the tree behind them, where Mitchell and Guist had already grown still. With her unusual Dead warning system, the boys wisely tended to keep one eye on the woods and one eye on her.

Ten minutes of bone-chilling silence later, a lone Dead shuffled slowly through the woods below them. The sheer mass of him said he was the hunter from the gas station, but he was alone. Odd. The Dead stopped and swiveled his head, scenting the air before he moved in the direction of their trees.

She froze. The last thing she wanted was to attract the thing. The Dead was one big son-of-a-gun, and she eyed the thin branches above for an escape. If she could add another fifteen feet to their distance from the monster, she would.

Jarren smirked and made a calming gesture with his hand. How was he always so unruffled by zombies?

Laney took a deep breath as the Dead shuffled closer to their trees. Bad idea. She nearly gagged. The stench of a Dead at that proximity was overwhelming. She needed to settle down. Deads never looked up for danger. She was safe in the tree. Safe, safe, safe.

The monster shuffled ever closer and stopped just at the base of the pine tree they were frozen into. He swiveled his head back and forth, back and forth, snuffling the air noisily. What did it tell him? Could he smell them from down below? He turned his head slowly toward the trunk of the tree and snapped his face upward to look directly at her. She stifled a shriek. His filmy, searching eyes scoured the moonlight-soaked branches, and she dared not even breathe. Her heart hammered like a stampede of horses with the fear that he would see her move and come scurrying up the tree as best he could.

The Dead shifted his weight, and the moon-deprived shadows compensated. His face was cut and bitten, and strips of decaying flesh hung loosely around his neck. His clothes were shredded, and the tatters of camouflage garb that were visible were covered with stains in various stages of drying.

Monroe.

Jarren gave her a wide-eyed glance as recognition lit his face. It quickly dissipated to subdued acceptance. They would have to kill him. It was their promise.

Monroe had fallen the week before, on the same day she was bitten. Undermanned and outnumbered, he hadn’t made it out of the fight.

She strained her eyes in the dark.
Something
had to be left after humans were turned. Shades of memories, perhaps. Time and time again she had witnessed Deads instinctively stay close to friends, family, old homes, and haunts. Most would argue that when they were turned, they became something entirely different, forsaking anything that had ever made them human. She couldn’t help but question that line of thinking. If there was no human mental capacity left, then why had Monroe been following them for a week? Alone. And how had he known to look for them up in the tree when no other Dead had figured it out?

Not seeing his quarry, Monroe the Dead shuffled off toward Mitchell and Guist’s tree. Jarren motioned for her to stay put. He pulled a machete out of the front strings of his pack, as slowly and quietly as a sigh of wind. A gun would be much easier, but too loud. It would draw other Deads.

Monroe turned as Jarren hit the ground. A loud and inhuman bellow belched forth from his decaying vocal cords as he charged her brother. Laney gripped the tree bark until the pads of her fingers screamed. It would have been easier if they were battling together, as a team. Fighting for her own life left no time to panic over his safety.

The Dead tried to encircle Jarren with his arms, but he easily ducked and hit Monroe hard from behind. Decayed muscle tone made Deads clumsy. They didn’t possess superhuman strength or speed, but what they did have were very few kill zones, making them extremely difficult to put down. They were also completely unaffected by pain. Their nerve endings died with their humanity.

Monroe stumbled from the blow but righted himself and turned just in time to watch Jarren’s machete make its final arc toward his face.

“Sorry, old friend,” he murmured as Monroe crumpled in on himself and fell like a sack of stones to the pine needle blanketed earth.

Laney tossed a rope down to her brother, and he tied it around Monroe’s exposed leg bone. He disappeared into the night, dragging the Dead’s body behind him. The last thing they needed was for her nose to become desensitized by sleeping near a Dead’s carcass all night. He was back in half an hour, though it felt like much longer. Her imagination could be downright cruel sometimes, and it didn’t help that dragging a large Dead’s body through a carpet of leaves and dried grass wasn’t exactly quiet work.

Surely she would never get to sleep with the vision of her old friend’s face on a Dead. It was so fresh and raw, but the weight of being followed had lifted with his death. Slumber finally found her in the wee hours of the night.

Laney woke with a start as a Dead’s guttural moan echoed in her ear. Her body was pressed into the creaking branch under a great weight, and she instinctively pulled a knife from a sheath under the cuff of her pants and screamed a battle cry as she thrust it at her attacker.

Jarren blocked the knife easily right before the point of it pierced the skin over his temple.

“Good,” he said, sounding satisfied.

She panted from the adrenaline jolt. Mitchell and Guist were chuckling below her, and the sound filled her veins with liquid fury.

“Jerk!” she exclaimed, pushing her remorseless brother hard in the chest.

He flipped off of her with a shocked yelp, and his harness tensed as he dangled harmlessly under his sleeping branch. She spared the harness a dirty look and started to unhook her own.

“Don’t be mad,” he said. “You know I have to test you sometimes. It’s for your own good.”

He sure made ignoring a half-assed apology easy. She scrambled down the tree with her pack thrown over her shoulder. She understood the need for his tests. Jarren had to reassure himself that she would be okay if anything ever happened to him. She got it, but she didn’t have to like it, and she sure as hell wasn’t obligated to take the tests graciously.

On the ground, she checked her pack. She refolded the harness and put it in place, re-tied her hiking boots, and made sure her knife was secured at her ankle. The weapons at her waist were checked and tucked safely into a Teflon holster over her thick, forest green cargo pants. A simple black tank top hugged her not-so-womanly curves and served as a barrier between her skin and the short green vest that housed her handguns. How many hundreds of times she had done this exact ritual? By the time she retied her dark brown locks so they were out of her face, Mitchell was headed her way. Great.

He stopped in front of her and reached slowly and unnecessarily around to set his pack beside hers.

“It’s so hot watching you brain a Dead first thing in the morning,” Mitchell said as he leaned forward, forcing her to look up to meet his eyes.

He was tall and trim, filling out his tight black cotton shirt and cargo pants impressively. And with warm caramel brown eyes to highlight his dark hair, she understood why all of the women at the colonies threw their hearts at him. To a wiser woman, he was obnoxious the majority of the time and borderline unbearable the rest.

“Still not interested, Mitchell,” she ground out.

“Can’t blame a man for trying,” he said through an amused grin.

She sighed impatiently and rested her hands on her hips, which only seemed to amuse him. “I wish I could still file for sexual harassment in the workplace.”

“Oh yeah? Who would you file with? And besides, you need me. You just don’t want to admit how much.”

“What I need is a minute,” she grumbled. She grabbed her pack and headed off to find a menial, though vital, amount of privacy.

“Not too far,” Jarren called after her. “Leave her alone, Mitchell.”

She smiled to herself at Mitchell getting reprimanded. It wouldn’t help, as that man was incorrigible, but it was nice to hear nonetheless.

She checked her surroundings once, then twice. The Colorado mountain breeze held a clean, earthy scent. Mitchell and Jarren were still in view, arguing quietly, and Guist checked and re-checked his weapons. That man was even more thorough than she was.

She turned to the task of relieving her full bladder, then washed her face with water from her canteen and brushed her teeth. She bent all the way forward, feeling the pull of relief in every vertebrae down her spine as she stretched aching muscles. She didn’t have to worry about Mitchell and Guist watching her. They had been together long enough to know each other’s routines, and they at least respected her enough not to spy. She hoped.

Laney returned to the group more composed and ready to move. Mitchell tossed her a rough biscuit and mumbled a half-hearted apology. She nodded and picked off the moldy bits before inhaling the small breakfast. Jarren and Guist poured over a map as she washed the modest meal down with canteen water.

Mitchell and Guist had been Jarren’s childhood friends. They had all enrolled in the Army right out of school and had gone their separate ways after being stationed in different places. They had hung out through the years if and when they were lucky enough to have leave at the same time. Their training made them a force to be reckoned with when fighting Deads. Those men meant safety.

She begrudgingly did, in fact, need Mitchell for survival against the Deads. She needed all of them. She didn’t have to inflate their egos any more than necessary by telling them that, though. And besides, they needed her too.

“Looks like we’re going to have to go through a couple of smaller towns just outside of Denver to get to the road we need. It’s that or tack on another day,” Jarren said, looking up from his map.

Laney groaned internally. She hated towns. Too many places for Deads to hide, plus the buildings all stank of zombies so her nose was basically rendered useless.