Time of Death Book 2: Asylum (A Zombie Novel) (15 page)

It was a small consolation, but I wasn't yet
ready to venture out of my safety bubble. That antsy feeling
started flip-flopping in my stomach, and I'm pretty sure an actual
grr came out of my mouth.

A man's face appeared in the glass, startling
me, and I pulled my head back, letting out a yelp of pain when it
connected with the metal basin. The face disappeared and I leaned
forward again. Another form, crouched low, ran from behind a
washing machine and stopped at Meg. A teenage girl stood straight,
looked toward the front of the building, and quickly ducked down,
waving Meg out.

The man's face came back into view and my
door popped open, letting in a whoosh of air. I paused, taking him
in.

"Come on. We have to hurry. It won't be clear
for long," he urged, backing away when Daphne growled at him. I
lifted her into the bag, zipping it only enough to ensure she
couldn't fall out, and took his outstretched hand. My calves went
into a spasm the moment I stood, and he caught me before I could
fall, supporting me until the blood rushed back to my legs and I
was steady enough to support myself.

To my left, a middle-aged woman was helping
Jake from his machine. When he saw me, he rushed over to hug me,
his words too fast and frenzied to comprehend.

"Stay down!" The man ordered, and Jake and I
immediately crouched on our stiff legs and moved to Meg, embracing
her in a group hug.

It took all three of our rescuers to pry
Vinny from the dryer. The vision of him scrunched up into a tiny
ball would have been comical had we not just spent six hours in our
own private Hell.

"They're coming back," said the girl in a
hushed voice.

My relief turned to panic, and I considered
getting back in the dryer. Before I could, the man spoke again.

"Let's go, quick. Out the back. They can hear
a pin drop, so keep quiet."

The teen grabbed both Meg's and my backpacks
and reached for Daphne. I pulled away, clutching the dog carrier to
my chest protectively, and she backed off, apologizing. Great, now
she probably thought I was a kook; I'd have to remember to say my
own apology if we got out of this alive.

We followed them into an alley, looking both
ways like we were crossing a street, and continued through a break
in the fence that ran along the back of the building. My legs
screamed in protest as I ran, and I fought through the pain for
fear of being left behind. The couple ran on either side of Vinny,
straining with the exertion of supporting his weight. Meg was
limping, favoring the leg she'd cut earlier that day.

Not more than a few hundred yards from the
fence, they ducked into the side door of a small apartment
building, closing but not locking it behind us. We climbed to the
second floor and entered a narrow hallway with numbered doors on
either side. They ushered us into apartment number nine and left us
standing in the vestibule as they ran to the windows and looked
out.

Awkwardly, we stayed rooted to the spot and
exchanged nervous glances, gesturing with our heads and hands at
each other. The silent conversation went something like this:

Me: What the fuck?

Jake: I don't know.

Meg: Are they going to kill us?

Vinny: Why the hell would they waste the
energy to rescue us if they were just going to kill us?
Dumbass.

Our game of charades came to an abrupt halt
when the front door burst open, and a burly man holding a machete
in one hand and a hammer in the other stood in the doorway. We
screamed as one and scattered like cockroaches into the open space
of the living room.

The man stepped into the room, calmly
shutting the door behind him, and laid his weapons down on the
kitchen counter. He turned back to us, taking in the four
crazies—that would be us—wielding various weapons.

"Chill," he barked.

I lowered my weapon only after I saw Jake and
Vinny lower theirs. Scary guy caught me eyeing the sofa and
motioned for us to sit. My aching legs thanked him.

Jake approached, hand outstretched, and
introduced himself. "The name's Jake. Jake Rossi. That's my wife,
Emma, my brother, Vinny, and our sister, Meg."

Scary guy ignored his hand and answered with
a single word. "Striker."

The older woman sighed audibly and left the
window. "Don't mind him; let's just say he's a man of few words.
I'm Casey Dalton. This is my husband, Dominic, and our daughter,
Elorie."

Her husband joined her and shook Jake's hand.
"Call me Dom." Looking more closely at the man who pulled me from
the dryer, I realized he was older than I originally thought. His
messy brown hair was speckled with gray, and he had wrinkles around
his eyes from years of smiling. Laugh lines I think they were
called. Now, though, they were just wrinkles; the time of laughter
and happiness had passed, leaving him looking older than I
suspected he really was. The clothes he wore hung loosely from his
stout frame, and I noticed the most worn hole of his belt was now
tucked under a loop. He was still a large man, but the last months
had trimmed the excess fat.

Elorie, who looked to be about sixteen, sat
down beside me and looked in at Daphne, still in the bag. "And who
is this?"

"Her name is Daphne." I looked to the adults
and asked, "Would it be okay if I let her out. She's been cooped up
in one form or another all day."

"Of course," answered Casey.

I thought better of letting her down, knowing
the first thing she would do was find a dark corner and relieve
herself.

"Um, is there a safe place to let her do some
business?"

"What about the apartment across the hall?"
Striker shrugged, apparently okay with the idea of my dog defiling
his neighbor's home.

"Ooh, Mom, can I go with her? Please?"

Casey rolled her eyes at her daughter and
smiled. "Go ahead."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she
chanted, giving her mother a quick hug before walking to the door.
"Come on!" she urged.

I stood, but looked to Jake for approval
before moving.

"Take your weapon," he said.

Dom chimed in. "The building is secure.
Striker has it locked up tight. Nothing gets in that he doesn't
want to be here."

* * *

Elorie led me across the hall to number ten.
Once inside, I let Daphne down and sat at the kitchen table waiting
for her to return. There was no doubt in my mind that she would
take her sweet-ass time giving everything the sniff and piss
treatment.

"Elorie, huh? That's such a cool name."

She huffed, and looked at me like I had three
heads. "Not even close," she said. "It is so embarrassing. Everyone
says it wrong when they try to read it. They pronounce it E-Lorie.
Like I'm email! It's even worse when they get it right, because
they call me Celery."

I chortled. It was kind of cute, though her
annoyed expression made me stifle the laugh. Despite all that had
happened, the young girl looked as if she had never experienced
evil or cruelty. Somehow, she still maintained her youthful
innocence. In the old world, she would have grown up to be a model
or an actress. Her flaxen hair was thick with natural loose curls
that fell past her shoulders, framing her porcelainlike skin. Her
almond-shaped eyes, outlined by long lashes, were a bright blue
that sparkled with curiosity.

"So, how long have you all been here?" I
asked the teen.

"A few days. Four I think, maybe five. The
first couple days kind of blur together. We got into a bit of
trouble on our way to the mansion. Striker saved us. Kind of like
you guys, we were hiding in a tire store."

"Asylum?"

"Yeah, that's it. We're from Bradenton. When
things got bad, my parents packed us into the car and we headed
this way."

"I'm confused. I just assumed you met Striker
along the way. How was he lucky enough to not get trapped in the
tire store with you guys?"

She looked down, fidgeting her hands in her
lap. "He wasn't with us," she replied in a voice so soft I had to
lean in to hear. "My brother was." When she looked up again, her
eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sweetie."

"Tommy…" her voice hitched when she said his
name."Tommy was five. He got…" Her voice cut off again.

"It's okay. You don't need to tell me."

Her shoulders straightened as she forced
herself to continue. "Yes, I do. He deserves that much. They
grabbed him when we were running to the store. Took him right out
of dad's arms and he was gone, just like that. He only screamed for
a few seconds."

The horror of it left me cold, chills running
down my body, and I shuddered involuntarily. Daphne, smart little
the ray of sunshine that she was, jogged over to the teen and stood
on her hind legs and rested her paws on the girl's lap. She
maneuvered her muzzle under Elorie's fidgeting hands and wiggled
her head to prime petting position.

Elorie smiled down at her and tapped her
thigh. "Come on, girl. Up." I felt a flutter in my stomach at the
memory of my neighbor, Alicia. Elorie was like her in a lot of
ways. Not just her age, but her positive and refreshing attitude. I
smiled at the thought.

The command spurned the dog into action and
she made to jump, her quirky process making the girl laugh. For
some reason, Daphne had a thing about jumping up. Laps, chairs,
cars, anything. She always had a few false attempts and her head
would bounce up and down like one of those arcade whack-a-mole
games.

"Want to see something funny?" I asked.

"Funnier than this?" she motioned toward the
jumping pup.

"Yeah, she's so weird sometimes. I swear
she's a kid trapped in a dog's body."

"Okay. Go for it."

"Daphne, up," I commanded, rewarded with the
same repetitive bounce. "Now watch this," I told Elorie. "Now."

The dog leapt up instantly, circling a few
times, and laid down in a curled up ball.

"She is so weird. I love it!"

"I know, right? It drives me nuts. If I want
her to do anything, I have to say now, or she'll just keep doing
her own thing. Sometimes, I'll give her a command, and she just
looks up at me defiantly, daring me to say now. And I look at her
and ask 'do you want to go to bed?' and she scrambles into
action."

"She's so adorable."

"Totally…until she poops in my bed when I'm
sleeping," I qualified.

"Ew, that is, like, totally gross! She
doesn't really do that, does she?"

I groaned. "She totally does. Do not get me
started on her poop escapades."

"OMG. You gotta tell me now," she exclaimed,
like only a teen can. I was glad to see her smiling.

"So, I don't actually think she means to do
it half of the time. Don't get me wrong; there is a clear intent on
certain occasions. But I think when she falls asleep and has
nightmares, little poop nuggets just kind of fall out without her
knowing."

The girl eyed me skeptically. She probably
thought I was nuts.

"I know, it sounds strange, but she does this
thing when she sleeps. I don't know if she's having nightmares or
digging up bones, or whatever else dogs dream about. But after she
falls asleep, she makes the strangest noises, and her legs go all
twitchy." I tried to imitate the noises she made, but it just
sounded like I was a baby seal. "I don't know. I can't make the
sound. But it sounds like a gerbil or hamster. Whichever one of
those makes the little squeaks."

She was full on laughing now. My work here
was done.

"How did you guys find us at the Laundromat?"
That question had been percolating in my head since our harrowing
escape.

"We nearly didn't!" she blurted. "If Dad
hadn't decided to leave today, we never would have known you were
there until it was too late."

"Remind me to give your dad a great big hug,"
I told her, only half kidding.

"Ready?" she asked.

I found a crusty dish towel on the counter
and tossed it, along with Daphne's mess, into the trashcan. Even
though I suspected the apartment's residents were long dead, it
still didn't feel right leaving it on the floor.

Everyone was seated in the living room when
we got back to number nine. Striker and Dom had pulled the kitchen
chairs into the room to allow everyone to take a seat, and they had
left two open spots on the sofa for Elorie and me, which I
graciously accepted.

"What did we miss?" I asked the group.

Jake ticked off the cliff's notes for me.
"They were on their way to Asylum, too, when they saw the zombies
gathered at the Laundromat."

"They were in a tizzy trying to get at you,"
said Dom. "We knew, with so many deadheads around, that there were
bound to be people in there. I'm just glad we got there in
time."

"You folks must be famished. Elorie, come
help me get dinner ready."

The teen groaned at her mother's request. I
felt her pain. My mom used to pull the same thing on me when I was
a kid.

I watched the mother and daughter duo as they
crossed into the kitchen. Elorie was the spitting image of her
mother. Casey was a beautiful woman. Her hair was the same golden
blond as her daughters, but instead of flowing freely, she kept it
pinned in a tight bun and little wisps lined her face. The only
difference between the two women was their eyes. Unlike Elorie's
twinkling innocence, Casey's topaz eyes were dull; the loss of her
son having manifested a sorrow so deep that it was impossible to
hide the emotional pain.

Daphne had been napping lazily on my lap, but
when she heard the mention of food her ears perked up. Then again,
so did mine. I was too tired to offer any assistance, and listening
to Jake, Vinny, Dom, and Striker drone on about our shitty day was
like warm milk. I faded into sleepy land and felt my head tip back
on the sofa. I snored myself awake, jerking my head up to find the
others staring at me.