The Ugly Beginning - 01 (35 page)

Yesterday, the sounds of thick plate-glass windows breaking ended a long stretch of silence. Alone, but so numb from everything that had happened, Megan walked down sixteen floors before she saw the first one.

What had once been a man—he wore the tattered remnants of a suit that cost well over five-grand back when money mattered—was coming up the stairs. Could that really only be barely three months ago? She’d lost track. He was bringing hundreds just like him.

She’d scavenged every floor for every scrap of food and water. She ate the perishables during those first days. That included some fruit that had actually given her a bit of a buzz. But there’d been soups and crackers, ramen cups, and vending machines full of chips and candy. Every floor yielded the same bounty. But, it was almost gone. Last night, she’d been forced to drink rain water squeezed out of her clothes; along with what she’d caught in cups and buckets set out on the roof.

Now,
they
were coming. Turning around, Megan returned to the roof. She stood on the lip and looked out at the gray, dead city that lay spread out below. Millions of those things sloshed through ankle-deep water in places where the flooding from a storm that had roared through Manhattan a week ago still remained. Broken glass protruded from so many. Falling glass had found plenty of flesh to sink into. Unfeeling flesh. Undead flesh.

Hopelessness. For the first time in her life, Megan felt total hoplessness. She stood, watching the sun’s slow procession from behind the clouds. For the first time, she understood. Those things were coming. They would eat her alive. It would be terrible and agonizing.

The nightmare that haunted her for all those years…since
that
day suddenly made sense. She’d seen them.
The Jumpers
. She’d wondered all this time. Why? How? Now she knew. Death on her own terms.

Closing her eyes, spreading both arms wide, Megan stood on tiptoes, then…dove. She felt the wind on her face. Inside she felt victorious. Inside she felt peace.

A moment later, the sun was once again swallowed by the clouds. A light rain began to fall in Manhattan.

***

Juan dropped the watermelon, the burlap bags, and took off right on the heels of the big dog. He reached the house, rounding the corner and getting a full view of the long, covered front porch that wrapped around to the far side of the place. He quickly noticed that the huge picture window was boarded up with plywood. In fact, all the ground floor windows within the normal reach of a person had been similarly secured.

On the porch was a little
deader
. It couldn’t have been more than six before it turned. Juan no longer thought of the
deaders
as people. It helped with what he had to do. Also on the porch—with her leg through a rotted board—was a woman that Juan guessed to be in her mid-forties; at least she looked about the same age as his mom. She was using what looked like a fancy table leg to keep the
deader
at bay.

While Juan skidded to a halt to take a moment to decide how to deal with the situation, the dog plowed into the child-thing, knocking it onto its back. Deciding not to let the thing regain its footing, Juan moved in and brought the bat down on its head until the thing finally stopped squirming.

Looking up, Juan noticed a couple of things right away. One, the dog had simply sat down and was watching with its tongue hanging out making contented doggy panting sounds. Two, the woman had freed her leg, and now held a large, black handgun leveled at him!

“Easy there, lady.” Juan raised his hands, setting his gore-drenched bat on the railing of the porch.

“Real slow, take that belt off and slide that gun over here,” the woman’s voice was still a bit hoarse from screaming.

“If I do, will you stop pointing that gun at me?” Juan slowly brought his hands down and twisted the clasp, releasing the belt. He held it up in one hand.

The distinct sound of a pump-action shotgun sounded behind him. He flinched, but resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.

“Just toss the belt, cowboy,” a young-sounding female voice almost purred.

Juan glanced at the dog. It was still simply taking everything in with a big doggy smile. “You in on this, too?” Juan asked the dog. Its stubby tail wiggled, and it got up and walked over to him, nudging his leg.

“It’s been a month since Mister Billings. This is the first person we’ve seen since then. And he didn’t sneak through our window at night and try anything, this guy ran in and saved you,” the voice at his back replied. Juan really wanted to look over his shoulder. That voice sounded so absolutely beautiful.

“Are you willing to risk it, Mackenzie?”

“Are you willing to kill somebody who hasn’t done anything wrong
and
just saved your life, Mother?” Mackenzie asked.

Juan heard movement behind him, and a moment later Mackenzie came up the steps into view. Juan did his best not to show any reaction. An ugly wound crossed the young woman’s throat where it looked to him like somebody had taken a knife to it. Her left eye was so bloodshot that it looked crimson. There were other bruises visible on her arms, and a black and purple smudge could be seen extending down her thighs past the hem of her shorts. She was wearing cut-off sweats and Juan guessed it was likely that there were more bruises underneath.

“Look,” Juan pulled his hand free, stepped back, and again raised his hands, “I had no idea anybody was here. I have my boat over at the beach.” He waved his arm in the general direction. “I was only taking a look. But when I smelled the fresh fruit. I…well…I—”

“You decided to steal some!” the woman snapped, still keeping the pistol leveled at Juan’s chest, although she was now using both hands. Even then, she was trembling slightly.

“I don’t want any problems.” Juan was getting a little tired of having a gun pointed at him. “I’ll just go back to my boat and—”

“And sneak back some night and either steal from us or worse,” the woman spat; she was really getting worked up. Juan knew fear when he saw it. If the lady was simply angry he could deal with that. But this one was scared, and scared people did things. Bad things.

“Mother, I don’t think this guy is gonna try and hurt us.” Mackenzie turned to the frightened woman, deliberately putting her back to Juan.

“You don’t know that,” the older woman’s voice cracked as she choked back a sob. “Jack Billings was our neighbor for… well…since before you were born.”

“And I always thought he was creepy.” Mackenzie placed her hands on her mothers, lowering the gun. “And when dad died, he never did accept that you weren’t looking for a new husband. Much less that you weren’t interested in him.”

Juan lowered his hands. Suddenly it was as if he weren’t there. Even the dog lying at his feet was intent on the two women who were in the midst of ripping off some sort of serious emotional scab. For a moment, he considered trying to excuse himself. Partially because he didn’t want to be nosy, and also because it was getting dark. He wanted to get back to his boat while he could still see. Juan cursed himself silently for not having thought to bring a flashlight.

“He still shouldn’t have done what he did. Not to me…and certainly not to you.” Now the older woman was sobbing.

“And he’ll never do it again.” Mackenzie took her mom into her arms and hugged her. Juan noticed the wince.
She must be pretty beat up
, he thought.

“I don’t think you should go now,” Mackenzie said, looking at Juan over her mom’s head. “It’s almost dark, and I’d feel terrible if in a day or two you come staggering up with a few bites out of you.”

Mackenzie’s mother pushed away from her daughter. “And where do you think he’ll stay?”

“You know what, lady,” Juan was beginning to regret saving the woman, “I said I was just lookin’ for food. I’ve been out on the river for a long time. Folks have either run from me or shot at me. I’ve seen people do terrible things, and when I heard somebody screaming, I came to help. To me, that’s worth a few melons. So, I’m gonna go. On my way, I’m gonna put a few pieces of fresh fruit in my bags that I dropped when I came to save your ass from being eaten. Then,” he scooped up his belt and fastened it with angry, over-exaggerated movements, “I’m getting’ on my boat and leavin’. If you wanna shoot me, don’t miss.”

Juan stormed past the two women, reached the stairs, and froze. He spun suddenly. Both women’s eyes widened as he stomped back towards them. He never even gave them a glance as he reached over and grabbed his bat. Once again, minus a little pride and righteous anger, he made his exit. Just as he reached the bottom step, a voice called out.

“Wait!” it was the mother.

Juan had built up a head of steam. He was angry and continued on, ignoring the repeated calls for him to stop. He heard steps. They were chasing after him! Juan spun, the bat cocked back defensively.

“Please!” the woman held her hands up, slowing. Her daughter—several steps behind—was coming, too, but wincing visibly with every step. “I’m sorry. It’s just been so…” Her voice trailed off and she came to a stop an arm’s breadth away.

“Crazy?” Juan relaxed his arm, dropping the bat to his side. “Like a horror movie?”

“Worse.” Mackenzie caught up and stood beside her mom. “But let’s try this again. My name is Mackenzie Simms. This is my mother, Margaret. The dog’s name is Jade.”

“Won’t you come back and join us for dinner?” Margaret extended an arm towards the house. “We’re having fresh grilled chicken and biscuits.”

“Tight,” Juan smiled a lop-sided grin. The three walked back to the house, Jade bounding up alongside them.

***

Jenifer sat on the beach, basking in the warmth of the morning sunlight. She heard the sounds of saws and hammers at work and willed them to be swallowed by the sounds of the surf. She only wanted ten minutes. Just ten minutes where she could relax and simply not think, worry, or care.

“Actually,” Gidean Ogilvie took a long drink of water from a bottle and passed it to Graham, “we need you to gather up your things. If this holds, we will be ready to go.”

“Yeah,” Eric Chatham piped up in his nauseatingly effeminate AND British-accented voice. “Be a love and start bringing down the rest of the baggage.”

“Whatever. Jenifer trudged through the sand to the cabana that the four of them had been sharing the past couple weeks as they repaired and outfitted a huge sailboat in preparation for their escape from this dead island.

She walked past one of the still burning piles of corpses. They’d bagged most of the things. There’d been fifteen of them after the storm. Fifteen living souls. Now, there were four. That was all that remained.

They’d hunted and killed every zombie they could find. There were still a few stragglers, but most had been taken care of. She’d found Adaire. It had been a hollow victory. He’d shown no sign of recognition—much less fear—as she aimed the pistol at his blank, dead face. In the end, she’d pulled the trigger. Now, the body was burning in one of the handful of piles they’d stacked and set ablaze.

Those zombie pyres served two purposes. Besides the obvious, they were also going to hopefully attract survivors or rescuers. They’d failed.

Up the stairs and into the gloomy cabana Jenifer stomped. She grabbed or shouldered everything she could. Best guess, she could do it in three trips.

It was on her way back to the boat during the second run as she came running down the stairs when one of the undiscovered stragglers grabbed her by the ankle. She tumbled, bags flew, and Jenifer landed face down on the ground. The scream as teeth dug into her calf was muffled by the sand. She struggled and kicked free. Drawing her large knife, she plunged the blade into the thing’s temple.

She sat up, turning her leg to see the bite. A near perfect set of teethmarks stood out, even on her well-tanned skin. Jenifer got up, testing the ankle. There was a slight throbbing pain. She felt a sudden chill which made her shiver.