Those Who Remain (Book 2) (19 page)

“You could track him down, if you wanted,” I say, leaning in. “If anyone has the skills, it’s you. And how far would he really go in this weather, right?”

She avoids my eyes, staring at the floorboards.

“But you know what, Lily? I’m going to be the bad cop now. You are better off without him.” Her eyes narrow, but she lets me continue. “He… He wasn’t… Look, you remember when I went to your house for Thanksgiving?”

“You never went to our house for Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah…” I touch the back of my neck. “And you never wondered why?”

She shrugs, oblivious to my meaning.

Jacob Hunter was the crazy neighbor at the end of the block. He used to shout at people walking across his street while shooting at beer bottles—

all emptied earlier in the day, of course. He constantly watched his neighbors, who reported strange digging noises coming from his yard various times. Margaret was quieter, but did her share of shouting in the middle of the night.

Ma and Dad, the friendliest couple ever to live in Redwood, decided it was their task to help the troubled family with lots of pies and well wishes during the holidays. They brought me with them only once. I begged Ma never to take me there again.

“Lily, the first, and only, time I went to your house your father was drunk. Like, crazy drunk—”

“That was before. We… He stopped drinking.”

I don’t stop, she needs to hear this. “I was eight. He took me to the backyard and wanted me to hold a gun. When I said no, he pointed the thing at my head. He freaked me out, Lily. He’s unstable. And, yeah, Linda Fords is another kind of crazy with trying to throw him out of the town, but Ma said he did threaten Paul that time—”

She gets up, walking away from me. “I told you. That was before. He got better.”

“Did he? Did he really?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. He’s gone. I’m not going after him. Drop it, Danny.”

Maybe I should. Who I am to talk about her family? Or anything, for the matter. I suck. But, unlike me, Lily is a good person and deserves to feel better.

I get up and walk to her, putting my hands on her shoulders. “What I’m trying to tell you, and failing badly at, is that this is not your fault. This is not your fault, you understand me? Your mother, your father… Well, they are crazy people, that’s just how it is. You got the short end of the stick in that regard, but it’s not your fault. They didn’t leave you because you… I don’t know. Because you’re wrong inside. Or a bad daughter. All right?”

“And how would you know?” Her lips quiver, and there’s so much sadness on her eyes, I almost can see myself reflected in them. “What makes you so sure?”

“You’re kidding right? Your father trained you to be a guerrilla soldier at the age of ten. Your mother
married
that guy. You, on the other hand, helped me build my rocket spaceship and saved me when I tried to launch it on Roger’s rooftop. You watched all three Star Wars eight times—
each
—just because I was being a jackass over you hanging out with us. I mean, nobody that watched Star Wars that many times can be a bad person. That’s just how life works.”

My heart beats a little faster when I manage to make her chuckle. “You are worse than I am at cheering people up.”

“Guess that’s another thing we share.”

We trade a smile. She dries her eyes. “I’m worried for him.”

“Well, at least you know your father is out there, armed to the teeth like a zombie killing machine. He’s going to be fine… And maybe if he stops being an ass, he’ll come back to town. We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Thanks, Danny.” She smiles. “I suppose we both need to stop moping around.”

“A bit, yeah. Roger’s going to dump our asses if we don’t.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Okay. Enough of that. Since the tracks weren’t my father’s, then there’s still a zombie out there we need to kill. Shall we?”

“Ladies first.”

We leave the cabin behind, as Lily moves between the trees like a fox. Her steps are light and quick, and next to her I’m an ugly ogre pounding and farting while trailing behind. I’m tired of walking and, for the first time in weeks, I can’t wait to go back home to watch a good movie under a nice comfy blanket. I suppose that’s an improvement from preferring to watch paint dry on the wall—paint that already dried years ago.

Then she starts to move too fast for me. I ask her what’s the rush, but she ignores me, too focused on tracking whatever we are tracking. I hope she gives up, but knowing Lily, she won’t. Killing anything, even a zombie, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. The thought of seeing another bullet hit a face… Blood spilling from a dark hole… Empty eyes, red with tears right in front of me…

My eyes close as I try to push down memories and the rising bile in my throat. I place my trembling hand inside my coat’s pockets to hide my reaction. Not that Lily would notice anyway, but it helps me feel less crazy.

And then Lily finds a pool of vomit, smelling so bad it can only be recent. I protect my nose from the worst using a hand. I don’t think zombies could vomit. Is this some kind of mutated version of it? Could it be that video games had it right with multiple types of zombies? I never thought that was realistic… But, then again, I made so many mistakes already.

I shake my head. “Lily, what’s going on?”

She doesn’t even turn to respond, “I don’t know yet.”

Her pace increases after finding the pool of vomit. I can barely keep up with her. Soon we reach the border of the forest, a few feet from Redwood. We spot a huge hole in the fence, probably broken during yesterday’s snowstorm. Lily touches the ground to analyze another set of footprints when we hear a scream.

She wastes no time running toward the house where the sound came from. I’m right behind her, vaguely worried. I don’t know if her presence makes me feel safe or I’m beyond caring about random Redwood citizens. I hope it’s the first. The other would just prove I’m a heartless bastard deserving of… of the things that happened to me.

We reach two kids standing around in their front porch, looking inside the house.

“What happened?” Lily asks them with a hand already on her gun’s strap.

“There’s one of those things inside! Ma and Pop trapped it in the bathroom,” the older of the two tell us, pointing at the door.

“Danny, stay with them. In case it gets out.”

I nod and off she goes, bolting inside with her smaller gun in hand, looking like a sleek spy in a James Bond movie. The boys are in awe of her. The older one utters a “cool”, as she passes him by with the hunting rifle over her shoulder. Kids are easily impressed, but I can understand it here. She
is
pretty awesome.

“Lily’s got this, she’s going to help your parents. So don’t worry.”

They nod, the smaller one hugging his brother’s leg tighter. The teen has his hands in fists, ready to bolt out at any sign of trouble. If to fight it or run away, I’m not sure.

“So, zombie inside your house. Pretty scary, huh?” I say, stuffing my hands on my coat pockets.

Each one stares back at me, probably confused with my laidback attitude.

“But cool, right?” I give them a smile and a nod. “It’s like we are in a movie. A really cool one.”

We share small smiles, the type reserved for when kids know they are enjoying something they aren’t supposed to enjoy. Yes, zombies are serious business, but they’re already scared out of their minds, so why not try to lighten the mood?

I crouch near the smaller kid, dancing my fingers in front of his face. “Did you guys see the zombie up close? Was it real ugly?”

The poor kid shakes his head profusely, eyes widen with the possibility of being near a real monster.

“No. We were having dinner,” the teen tells me. “We heard something on the second floor and Mom found the zombie inside the bathroom up there.”

I frown. A zombie got in without anyone hearing it? And it went up the stairs instead of rushing to the nice eatable family nearby? Something’s off.

I’m about to ask for more details when glass shatters from a window on the right side of the house. The teen rushes to the sound, while I grab the smaller one before he can do the same. I barely have the time to figure what to do when Lily rushes past me, disappearing around corner of the house.

After her, a couple runs outside. They reach for their younger son, hugging him. I look everywhere else, trying to ignore the happy and reunited family.

“Are you from the Council?” The father turns to me. He’s holding a baseball bat. “We called Linda over the radio.”

“Yeah, I’m from the Council.” I’m not sure if that’s a lie or not—haven’t really been invited to a meeting lately—but I need them to trust me right now. “What happened?”

“It jumped out of the window…” His eyes sweep around the porch. “Where’s Matty?”

“Stay here, I’m going to bring him back.”

They don’t stay back, running with me to meet the teen, Lily and the supposed zombie. A month ago this would annoy me. Now I empathize with the need to make sure your family is okay.

On the right side of the house, Lily crouches next to a little girl. Matty races to his parents.

“She says to talk to Nurse Felicity.” He points at scene behind. “She says it isn’t a zombie.”

“Not a zombie?” His mother repeats. “But….”

I indicate their house with a hand. “Look, just go back inside, okay? Lock your windows next time. I’ll handle this.”

The parents nod, ushering the kids with them. No surprises there: most Redwood citizens want the Council to take care of everything and avoid any real danger. I jog to Lily. She’s holding a girl in her arms. I get closer and slowly twist her thin arms. No lumps, no popping veins or slimy skin. She’s dirty and covered in scrapes, but if she’s infected, it’s in the early stage of the disease, which gives us more time to be sure.

“Who is this girl?”

Lily shakes her head. “I don’t know. I think she was lost in the woods, got sick and found our town. I’m bringing her to the school. Maybe Felicity can see what’s wrong with her.”

Her tone shows no hint of doubt. Hard to imagine Lily not being cautious about anything.

I place a hand on my neck. “Are you sure it is—”

“Not now.” She stops me, hand pointing at her handgun lying on the snow. “Take my gun. We need to move.”

I can see there’s no arguing with her, so I pick up the gun and stash it in my back, below my Yoda T-shirt.

The Doctor IX

January 8th, Friday, 2 pm

I close the briefcase and take it in my hands. It feels heavier now.

We hear an engine in the distance, approaching fast. Tigh rushes to me, grabbing my arm and forcing me to crouch and hide behind the car’s rear. I hold the briefcase against my chest, Tigh takes out his rifle and stares in the direction of the sound.

My heart beats loudly in my ears as I lean to the side just enough to see what’s happening. To my shock, a police car parks right next us. Three men, all in police uniforms, get out wielding guns. For a brief second I’m afraid we’re committing some crime and they are here to arrest us, but then I remember the state of the world.

The cops look clean, like did-their-laundry-yesterday clean. No wrinkles, no blood stains, not a single speck of dirt on their uniforms. Their faces aren’t bony from famish, they sport trimmed beards and combed their hair recently. They walk with confidence and ease, wearing winter coats that fit perfectly, even the plump cop seems comfortable. One of them has a bright metal star on his chest—a sheriff. A handsome and young one too, the type cast as the lead in an action movie. In contrast, even Tigh had trouble maintaining his hygiene for the last few days. Every now and then, I caught him feeling his itchy jaw and growing beard with a frown. During the night, he probably fought the urge to use all our soap to wash away the grayness of his socks. These people are not desperate travelers or looters, like us.

“Are you sure, Hector?” The Sheriff turns to the plump one, adjusting his hat. “I don’t see anything.”

“I’m telling you. Something moved, Roger.”