Time of Death Book 2: Asylum (A Zombie Novel) (8 page)

"We can't move her," I whispered. "She's not
stable."

Jake sighed, not happy about this new
complication. "Why is it the simplest things, like finding another
survivor, turns into such a hurdle, every time?"

"Because zombies walk the earth, life as we
knew it is over, and everything is fucked," answered Vinny.

Peter returned, looking sadder than one man
should. The weight of his best friend's impending doom was a heavy
burden to bear.

"Peter," I said, "why don't you relax for a
bit with the boys? Meg and I will go spend some time with Lydia,
and if her condition worsens, we'll call you." He looked grateful,
and then guilty, for being relieved of his arduous duty of sitting
vigil at her bedside.

Out of fear that his guilt would force him to
decline the offer of respite, I added, "It will give us a chance to
help her bathe, and Meg is a whiz at braiding hair."

"Okay," he replied, the rationalization
working to ease his mind.

Meg and I put on our happy faces and joined
Lydia in the cabin. We carried the conversation, determined to keep
the mood light and as pleasant as possible, and provide Lydia with
some final moments of joy. The two of us worked as a team to clean
the weeks of grime and infection from the surface of her body,
knowing no amount of scrubbing would help the disease ravaging her
insides.

Jake anticipated our needs, and brought us
some clean towels, slipping a delicate sundress between the folds.
Lydia fingered the soft gauze as I dried her now clean skin, and
Meg worked her hair into an intricate pattern atop her head.

"It's beautiful," she choked out, a single
tear falling down her cheek as I slid the dress over her head and
adjusted the spaghetti straps on her bony shoulders. Daphne sat on
her lap, doing what dogs do best, providing joy.

"A gown fit for a queen," I sniffled, doing
my best, but failing, to not show my sadness. She looked at me,
inspecting my face, and smiled knowingly back at me.

"You're a good person, Emma. You too, Meg.
You could have left us, but you didn't. I've held on far too long
for him. I couldn't stand the idea of him being alone." She tried
to turn her head to see Meg, but her neck was too stiff, muscles
atrophied from disuse.

"We won't leave you, Lydia. We'll be here to
walk you to the door when you're ready." My lips trembled as I
spoke the words, fighting the urge to be strong for this amazing
woman in front of me.

She reached up with a shaking hand and wiped
a tear from my cheek, smiling through her pain. "Take care of
Peter. He'll need you."

I nodded, the lump in my throat making it
impossible to form words.

Her breathing became more labored; the only
small relief in effort came from positioning her body forward and
leaning her over a stack of pillows. "I don't have the strength to
fight anymore. It's almost time," she whispered. "I'd like to watch
the sun set one last time."

Jake and Vinny carried Lydia from the cabin
and placed her carefully into a seated position on the bench seat.
Peter moved to sit behind her, wrapping his arms around her tiny
frame, not only for physical support, but to hold his dying friend
close as her soul left her diseased husk of a body.

He whispered into her ear and didn't attempt
to mask his tears and raw emotion. "I love you, Lydia Baker. You
have been, and always will be, my best friend. I will never forget
you."

She squeezed his hands one last time, her
eyes fixed on the pastel sky of dusk, lips forming a peaceful smile
and slumped against him. Her hands fell from his and she was
gone.

Peter clutched her body in a tight embrace,
grief stricken by her passing, repeating his oath to always love
her and never forget her. As the sky darkened to a deep purple—the
last remaining moments before the sun fell beneath the horizon—we
lowered Lydia's body into the ocean and watched as she disappeared
from sight.

Chapter 05:
Kinemortophobia

"What about the fuel?" Vinny asked the next morning.
We spent the night tied to the sailboat, Peter getting the room
with the twin beds by default. We'd transferred anything deemed
useful from the sailboat to our larger houseboat, including its
life-vests, sail, and best of all, an inflatable raft-in-a-bag. Two
retractable oars were clipped to the bag, a genius concept because
it meant never having to paddle with our hands should we need to
make a fast getaway.

Peter returned a moment later wearing a grin
and carrying a hose in one hand and a gas can in the other.

"I bought this at one of those big sport
emporiums. They call it the 'Siphon-Star'."

"Really?" mocked Vinny. "It just looks like a
hose and gas tank to me."

"It is, but the brass fitting on the end
makes siphoning possible without having to suck down a gulp of fuel
in the process."

That got our attention. We watched as he fed
the side of the hose with the fitting into his boat's tank, and the
other end into the red plastic receiving tank. He shook the side
with the fitting, and like magic, fuel began to flood the line,
filling the receptacle. He repeated the process a two more times,
handing the full tanks off to Jake to pour into the houseboat's
tank. The final gallon remained in the portable gas can for
emergencies.

We stood on deck, taking our final looks at
the Island Bound as Jake pulled away. No destination had been
settled upon, but we all decided putting some distance between us
and the boat where Lydia died was a good decision. The houseboat
chugged along quietly under Jake's navigation, eventually slowing
to a coast before he cut the engine. Water surrounded us on all
sides. The only signs of land were little specks in the distance.
The ocean breeze made my arms erupt in goose bumps, and I wrapped
an afghan around myself.

Peter had been stuck inside his own head
during the short journey, and he snapped out of it once Jake joined
us at the back of the upper deck. We told him a watered down
version of our life on the run, skimming over the bits that were
still fresh.

"Hey, Pete," I asked him, "yesterday, you
called the zombies something different, but I can't remember what
it was. Remind me?"

He chuckled. "I called them bees. Lydia had a
bad case of kinemortophobia."

"Kinemorto-what?"

"Kinemortophobia. It's the fear of
zombies."

"Get the fuck outta here," exclaimed Vinny.
"Who doesn't have a fear of zombies nowadays?"

"I'm talking before the world fell apart. I
took her to see one of the Of the Dead movies and she freaked out.
It got so bad that she couldn't even hear the word zombie without
having a panic attack. Finally, we just stopped using the word. We
made a joke out of it and called them killer bees. Bees for
short."

* * *

In the days that followed, we secretly fed
Peter the lion's share of meals. His pallor returned to normal and,
while we would never get fat on the small portions we ate, his
sunken abdomen began to fill in as his body no longer needed to
feed on itself.

New Year's came and went without celebration.
Holidays were a thing from our old lives; they had no place in our
new ones. Those days spent with family held only sad memories.

We didn't harbor any hope that Sanibel had
survived the outbreak, but we had to see it with our own eyes. It
was a mistake; I know that now, to have gone back. When our island
haven came into view, there was no question it had become a home to
the dead. The beach was riddled with staggering and crawling forms.
For fear of recognizing a loved one, we remained at a distance.
None of us wanted to be raped of our memories of them, and seeing
them as one of the mindless shamblers would do just that.

Black smoke still rose from behind the row of
homes lining the shore. Something had burned and judging by the
amount of smoke, it had taken out everything else nearby. Some of
the zombies visible on the beach were blackened, skin and clothes
charred from the fire.

Our spirits had been lifted in the past week,
only to be dampened once again by the depressing scene before us.
The five of us stood on deck, huddled close for support, and with
that last look into the wasteland that had once been a place of
happiness, Jake turned the boat around.

"Well," Vinny confirmed, "that sucked."

"Truer words, my man," agreed Peter. "Truer
words."

"Holy shit!" shouted Jake.

"Will you look at that?" Peter stared in
astonishment at the water in front of us.

I let out a gasp. Like that movie Titanic, a
cruise liner, still smoldering in places, had its ass end in the
air. The front of the ship was completely submerged. Floating all
around the vessel's carcass were bodies, a few motionless, but most
not. Four lifeboats were visible, and I knew by the condition of
the bodies that moved in the small crafts that they were
zombies.

"My God," exclaimed Meg, "What happened?"

Jake, using his powers of perception, shared
his take on the tragedy. "They all have life vests on, every one of
them. They must have been trying to launch all the boats."

Vinny added to his theory. "They must not
have been fast enough. All but a few boats are still in place. Just
like on land, it swept the ship like a plague."

"They didn't stand a chance," I muttered.
"Those poor bastards."

"I'm going below deck," Meg said.

First the island and now this were just too
much for Meg. I couldn't blame her, I felt the same way, but I just
couldn't peel my eyes away from the carnage.

The sound of a body colliding with the hull
drew us out of the trancelike state we'd fallen into. The sound
made me jump, and my skin crawled as a thousand dead faces turned
toward us. I took a step back, then another, and tore my eyes away,
seeking out Jake. "Get us out of here. This is too fucked up."

The boat made a wide arc around the floating
cemetery, and I let out a big breath of relief when we were clear
of the ship. Peter stumbled to a seat and plopped himself down.

"Jesus," he cried. "Two months Lydia and I
spent on that sailboat, and not once did we see anything, much less
something of that caliber." The scene was humbling, for all of
us.

Meg rejoined us for dinner, and we spent much
of the meal in silence. The silence thing seemed to happen a lot
lately. At one time I would have fought to fill every moment with
conversation, but the apocalypse had changed me, and I found myself
spending a lot of time reflecting.

My brother-in-law broke the silence with the
question on everyone's mind. "What now?"

We all just gaped at him, waiting for someone
else to answer.

"Seriously," he said, "what's next? We're
almost out of food and water; we've got days left at most."

"Vin," I prodded, "can we figure this out
tomorrow? It's been a sucky day and I'm spent."

* * *

I slept like the dead, and for the first time
in months, I hadn't woken from night terrors. Was this because I
was just too damn tired, or had I become desensitized to the
horrors bestowed on us? Either way, I was thankful for the
rest.

The sounds of laughter pulled me from my
slumber; I was alone in the bed and experienced a brief moment of
panic when I realized Daphne wasn't with me. I had become
accustomed to Jake waking early, but Daphne would always be
snuggled up with me. Not having her there to greet me felt
foreign.

I heard a loud splash, and jumped to my feet,
crouching like a sprinter ready to spring at the starting bell of a
race. Before I could move, the laughter began again. Male voices
whooped and hollered, and I smiled at the tinkling sound of Meg
giggling. The rigidity left my muscles, and I slid on a pair of
shorts before joining them on the upper deck just in time to see
Peter disappearing off the back of the boat.

"Good morning sleepy head," Jake greeted me,
wrapping his arms around me in a playful hug and lifting me from my
feet.

"Oof," I groaned, "too tight. Can't.
Breathe." He put me down before I could complain about my shirt
getting wet from his hug.

Jake was like an energized child. He wore a
huge goofy grin on his face. The sight of my husband so happy
filled me with joy; the excitement was contagious, and I had no
idea why we were all so chipper.

Meg joined us, clad in wet clothes that clung
to her petite frame and formed a puddle around her feet when she
stood still.

"Someone," she said, drawing out the word
like an accusation while she tilted her neck toward Vinny, "got up
early and planned some fun for us all."

Curious, I let out a, "Hmm," and looked
around for the 'fun' like I was hunting Easter eggs. The hot tub
was full of sea water.

Vinny climbed the ladder from the lower deck,
water pouring off him, and gave me a full-toothed smile. Kinda
creepy, actually.

"But wait; there's more!" His voice reminded
me of a late night infomercial announcer, and I had to laugh.
"Jake, show the lady what's behind door number two."

"With pleasure!" Jake walked to the back of
the boat. Following him, I heard the sound of trickling water and
cocked my head to the side in confusion.

Then I saw what all the hoopla was about. The
sunlight danced off a small stream of water on the slide. My smile
broadened. Vinny had figured out how to turn on the water-slide. A
long time ago, I'd attempted to go down a slide at a friend's house
without the water feature turned on. I don't recommend doing this.
My ass made a screeching sound on the plastic as I propelled down,
screaming the entire way in pain rather than excitement. Ass burn,
people, enough said. I never made that mistake again, and I walked
funny for days after.