The Undead Situation (8 page)

Larry’s body twitched. I grabbed Gabe’s handgun and shot him in the head. A knife to the throat meant he was going to come back.

“I…I just…why did you do that? Why did you kill Larry?”

Uninterested in keeping up with her issues, I punched her in the temple. Hard. She slumped down, but was still conscious. Gabe was about to make another comment, but I punched her again, effectively rendering her unconscious.

Sweet silence. Some time to think and analyze the situation. A lot had just happened. Two ugly motherfuckers just tried to abduct Gabe and get rid of me. The distasteful and coppery scent of death filled the car. Gabe was unconscious. I was covered in gore.

Outside the situation hadn’t grown any worse. No zombies. I jumped out of the car, opening the driver’s side, and pulled Tyler out.

“Sorry, buddy,” I muttered as I took his place.

Hunched over Larry, I opened his door, pushing him out. Now that problem was solved. After finding some fast food napkins in the glove compartment, I cleaned off the windshield as much as possible, concerned about the blood seeping into the ventilation system. Would that break it, or something? I know a lot of crap, but nothing about vehicles.

So I wouldn’t crush Pickle, I shrugged my backpack off and set it in the front seat. I unzipped it, ready to let her come out on her own time. After watching the opening for a bit, I understood she was too scared to get out.

The car was still running, so I put it in drive and we went on our way. I felt icky and disgruntled, but it wasn’t going to get in the way. I left my apartment, my haven, for a reason. Well, I wasn’t sure what that reason was yet, but someday I’d figure it out.

As I drove, my conscience reared its ugly head. I didn’t need to hit Gabe. Who was I turning into these days? I was more unstable than she was. Reaching back with one hand I grabbed her wrist, just to be sure I could feel a pulse. What was done was done, but I planned on apologizing when she woke up. I’m sure she’d feel better if I did.

But that didn’t change the fact that I was one step away from losing it. The second I thought about a loss of control, Frank popped into my mind. I had to keep it together. Now I could start looking for him. If I didn’t find him…

I
would
lose it.

The freeway was emptier than I thought it would be. A few cars congested the entrances, but the Hummer nudged them aside easily.

I only drove a bit before realizing the error in my decision to hit the freeway so soon. There was no point in driving out, not finding Frank, and backtracking. Undead were making their way towards the general area of my apartment, enticed by the ruckus with Larry and Tyler. The longer I waited to return, the more there could be. I needed to rule out the area near my apartment before risking the freeway.

As I turned around, Pickle came out and sat in the passenger seat, catching a breather from the backpack and trauma to date. What a trooper.

Brain matter had dripped onto my face and into my mouth. The taste was not totally unlikable, but the thought that it had been from a fat weirdo was. You win some and you lose some.

After completing my turn, I parked the car (stopped it in the middle of the road), turned it off, and got into the backseat with Gabe. It was time to go back to the city and I needed her awake for it.

She was slumped against the seat, her chin touching her chest. She’d have one hell of a neck ache when she woke up. Probably a headache, too.

I lightly tapped her cheek a few times in attempts to rouse her. Nothing. I tapped a little harder. Her eyes fluttered open and she groaned.

“Fuck, Cyrus. Why’d you have to hit me?”

“Didn’t feel like putting up with your girly whining. There was man’s work to be done.”

She rolled her neck, which emitted a series of cracks and pops, then rubbed her temples. “Man’s work?”

“Man’s work. And, Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry for hitting you.”

Gabe stared at me, brow furrowed in pain. She opened her mouth then closed it—rubbed her temples. Pickle scurried up the passenger’s seat and perched on the headrest, looking at us.

“Okay, well, what now?”

“You know what we’re doing. We’re looking for him.”

“Right. How could I forget?”

I didn’t think about where to look. Once we were near my apartment all I did was drive down clear roads and backtrack until I found another. We drove like that for a while, each road revealing nothing but wreckage and the occasional stiff. My efforts were yielding no results, and I had no problem admitting it. It seemed unlikely I’d just happen upon Frank walking around. There was one thing I wanted to try before abandoning the cause completely.

“We’re going back to my apartment. He might’ve headed that way after hearing gunshots. If he isn’t there, we’ll leave the city. I promise.”

“Okay. It’s not like I have a choice,” she said, pushing past me to sit in the front seat. Pickle squeaked and ran off under the backseats.

I won all my battles. Cyrus V. Sinclair. The V stood for victorious. Every time.

* * *

On the way back to my place, we (mostly I) devised a plan. Gabe would park and hang low while I got back into the apartment and searched the area. I knew I could get up the rope with enough effort, and once I did I’d check the apartment, hallway, and just down the stairs. I doubted he’d be anywhere else.

“So, who were those guys?” I asked casually as we drove along, running over the occasional zombie road-blocker. Their bodies thumped beneath the tires, while others hit the hood, leaving slimy residue behind. Nothing the windshield wipers couldn’t fix.

“Some people I used to work with.”

“Why were they after you?”

She exhaled dramatically. “Weren’t you listening? My boss seems to have gone crazy and sent his two dogs to retrieve me.”

Gabe’s voice was shaky when she answered, her eyes too big. Lies were easy to detect if you were paying attention. She knew I hadn’t been paying attention, but why was she lying to begin with?

I whistled low. “That sounds pretty crazy. In the middle of an apocalypse, some manager sent some dudes to get you?”

“It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Well, he’s kind of in a gang. Real hardcore. Killin’ people, running drugs, whole nine yards. In a time of need, I started working for him. Accidentally knocked off a few of his people when they couldn’t keep to themselves. So that pissed them off quite a bit. After taking a lot of shit the scene threw at me, I told some secrets to some competitors of his then hit the road. I went across the entire country and he still found me. Great luck, huh?”

A little girl in a gang, killing people? I could believe the gang part. Seattle was getting a lot of attention for gang-related violence before the apocalypse happened. What seemed unrealistic was “knocking off” her leaders’ people. Just because the world was undergoing some difficult changes, and she had been through some gnarly stuff, didn’t mean she could feed me a lie like that and expect me to swallow it. However, in a way, it did make sense. Her ability to use a weapon wasn’t too bad, and since she had survived as long as she had, well, I suppose it was possible she could’ve been involved with gangs. It would’ve taught her how to be a cutthroat.

Why am I even entertaining the idea of her having ties to a gang?

“What did you do for him, exactly?”

She made a face then rolled her eyes. “What do you think I did? How do you think I learned how to use a gun? They used me to get to people. Kill them.”

I laughed. “Hit woman.”

She glared. Little Gabriella, hit woman.

“Why would he have you knock off people?” Then, in an attempt to provoke her, “Why not put you in another position, if you catch my drift.”

“Fuck you, Cyrus. Just because I’m pretty doesn’t mean I have to be a whore!”

“Who said you were pretty?”

I breathed in the coppery scent of blood wafting around the Hummer, and made a note to clean it up a bit. Material objects needed to be maintained in order to function, and losing the mobile fortress would be terrible.

My fingers felt icy cold on the steering wheel. I turned the heater on, marveling at the blood that managed to penetrate every crevice of the console. As the heat pushed out of vents, it created ripples in the red liquid.

We drove in silence until we were a block away from the apartment. I turned the Hummer off, scanning the area. There were no zombies in sight. For an undead apocalypse in a city of thousands, there wasn’t much of a challenge around.

Pickle climbed up the back of my seat, then on to my shoulder. I stroked her fur as I considered what route I’d take back to my place.

I peeled the albino ferret off and placed her on the dashboard, then moved into the backseat, checking out what goods I could take on my mission. After surveying the situation, I decided to leave my carbine behind and opt for something that offered more mobility. Not wanting to be bogged down, I left my pack and took my 9mm. Before I opened the car door, I snatched a radio from the backpack and threw it at Gabe.

Sitting on the backseat, preparing to leave, I stared at Pickle licking blood off the dash. To my right, Gabe stared out the front window, radio in hand.

“I’d consider laying down back here, or something, so the Zs don’t see you,” I said as I slid the clip out then pushed it back in. I pulled the hammer back, checking to make sure there was a bullet in the chamber.

“It’s not like they couldn’t get in if there were enough of them.”

“Probably couldn’t, actually. This glass is likely bullet proof. I don’t think your pimp messes around.”

“Listen, you fuc—”

Before she could say anymore, I was out of the car, jogging down the street. It felt good to be truly alone again. No morally confused woman by my side.

The empty apartment was just as I had left it. Candy wrappers still on the dining room table, a candle on the living room floor. How easy would it be to just stay there? Gabe now had an arsenal in her possession, and a loaded Hummer. It’s not like I’d be leaving her to die. I could wait for Frank without anyone telling me to do otherwise.

Then I remembered Pickle, alone in that gore stained vehicle with a lunatic. So much for staying.

Francis wasn’t in the alleyway or on the roof. There were no signs of him in my apartment either, but I knew I had to check the hallway too. Unlocking the door took longer than I expected, but I wasn’t on a time restraint. The hallway was empty. The thudding in Apartment 8 continued.

Sticking to the middle of the hallway, I walked down the stairs until I saw a figure in the lobby, but it wasn’t Francis. It’s thin, still body gave it away. The undead were often statuesque when unprovoked by the living. After quietly going back to my apartment and locking up, I was sure Frank hadn’t been there.

Unwilling to write the trip off as a complete disaster, I grabbed a duffle bag from the spare room and filled it with a few remaining MREs and some ammunition we couldn’t carry the first round. It only took a few minutes, but it was worth it. I dragged it outside and tied one end of the hanging rope to it before climbing up. After pulling the bag up, I carried it across the roof. Panting from the effort of searching and packing, I took a deep breath before taking out the radio.

“You alive?”

“Yeah, I’m here. The coast is still clear, captain.” Gabe was belligerent as usual.

“Okay, come get me.”

“Hold on. I think I see—”

The radio went silent, and I stared at the device. Had I lost Gabe already? Did someone come out of nowhere and hijack both her and the Hummer? I leaned over the roof and cast a long look up and down the alley, finding nothing.

A few moments later, the rumbling of an engine came closer.

“I have someone with me. Pretty sure it’s your buddy Frank,” Gabe said. “I’m on my way. Start lowering. The sunroof is open.”

I had the bag half way down the building when the black Hummer made its appearance. At first nothing followed it, but a handful of zombies made their dull, inevitable approach.

My hands were busy lowering, so I couldn’t scold Gabe for being less than careful. As I worked, I started feeling overwhelmed Frank found
us.
I hadn’t given up, but I’d become so doubtful it was hard to believe it was him. But it couldn’t be anyone else. It had to be Frank.

Tires screeching, the vehicle came to a stop. The same tactical-gear-clad girl I had met a few days ago poked up through the sunroof, looking back up at me. A second later, Francis popped up out of the sunroof, too.

“Stop jerkin’ off, Cyrus! Get down here!”

Excitement gripped me and the rope loosened in my hands, sending the bag speeding to the vehicle. Just in time, I squeezed, stopping it before it hit the roof. The severe jerk strained my arms, forcing me to brace myself. There went my back.

Gabe and Francis grabbed the duffel, maneuvering it into the backseat. She got one of the rifles out and tried to pick off Zs that were getting too close. The noise would only draw more, but it was too risky to not take action.