Undead 02 The Undead Haze (21 page)

My bare skin erupted in painful goose bumps as I shimmied my pants down over the bloody wound. Similar to the bayonet disaster in Monroe, it went through the meat of my thigh. It hurt, but wasn’t fatal. A deep scratch more than anything. I tried to fight it, but my whole body began shaking.

Get through this. You have to.

I lined up my items in the order I’d use them. First I unscrewed the alcohol and soaked a washcloth, then pressed it to the hole. It hurt, sure, but
every
part of me did, too. I clenched my jaw, closed my eyes, and kept on pushing. Alcohol seeped into the wound, stinging my insides. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I tossed the rag aside and took a fresh one, cleaning the general area around the injury, also.

I arranged gauze and bandages atop the gash and taped them down. Instead of redressing, I peeled the rest of my dirty clothes off. When I put them on at
Sports Authority
they were spotless, but now they were disgusting. The med kit had a package of sanitary wipes, which I scrubbed my entire body with, from my face to between my toes. My shaking intensified, but it felt wrong to tend to one wound and leave the rest of my body filthy.

The brand was scabbed over. Soon I wouldn’t need to bandage it, but since the alternative meant seeing it I covered it up anyway.

I slipped a dusty bathrobe from its hook on the back of the bathroom door, shook it out, then put it on. My hand went to the doorknob, but I didn’t turn it. One minute. I just wanted one minute to stop. I set my other hand against the door and leaned on it. My shoulders sank, my chest heaved. I screwed my eyes shut and let the waves of pent up fear and anxiety exit by body in long, bone-rattling shudders.

Right then I needed Pickle. I needed that look in her eyes, that callous indifference, that made my problems feel insignificant.
Get it together
, I imagined her saying.
Oh, and feed me.
My next breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t think about her. Not now. If any thought could stop me from going on, it was of her.

The world was small, but never quite in my favor. I could run into Blaze’s brother. No problem. I could stumble upon Gabe leading crazies. No surprise. But finding the one person I wanted? Why couldn’t that be easier?

I choked back a whimper and gritted my teeth. A moment to breathe wasn’t good. It allowed me too much time to dwell.

Find clothes, find food. Those are your top priorities. What are you waiting for, Cyrus?

I hit my fist against the door and exited the room.

The man in the pictures was of average build, so his clothes would probably fit. The carpet scratched my bare feet as I padded over to a large dresser. The first three drawers held women’s summer wear. Definitely not what I was looking for. As I pulled out the bottom drawer, I was glad to see muted, darker colors. When I pulled some items out, they were durable instead of lacy. Cotton instead of satin.

My grandma called sweatpants and shirts “lazy clothes,” and discouraged my sister and I from wearing them unless we were sick. I felt sicker than I’d ever been before. Lazy clothes sounded just right. I chose two pairs of worn gray sweatpants and layered on two purple school sweatshirts with the familiar
University of Washington
emblems on their fronts. My body protested with each movement, but I bit my tongue and fought through.

Any amount of adrenaline left in my system trickled away. With every passing minute, I grew more and more tired. I knew I needed to eat and create an exit plan. But when I turned away from the dresser and my flashlight illuminated the king size bed, everything I
knew
I needed to do didn’t matter. Sleep became priority one.

I locked the bedroom door, though it wouldn’t do much good if a crazy wanted in, and retrieved my gun, laying it on the right side of the bed. The inkling of anxiety telling me to stay up and do other things couldn’t beat the natural force of my body wanting to sleep.

I pulled back a blanket, down comforter, and sheet then slid underneath them all. I barely had a chance to appreciate the softness of the pillow and mattress before I succumbed to sleep.

* * *

Warmth. My whole body was enveloped in warmth. Not the humid, feverish heat of sickness. This was genuine, good old fashioned
warm
. If I kept my eyes closed, ignored the dull throb in my leg, I could pretend I was in my apartment in Seattle, waking up from a particularly good sleep.

When the end of days happened, I didn’t mourn the loss of modern conveniences. At first I was wrapped up in the excitement of it all, then the survival aspect, once I joined Gabe, Frank, and Blaze. The time of year had something to do with it, too. Spring, summer, and even early fall were forgiving seasons where one could forget the need for such items. When I was at Frank’s cabin, I
had
conveniences. Safety, a place to sleep, food, and any supplies I needed.

But now? Winter came blundering in. On occasion, Washington suffered from hard winters. Lots of snow, ice storms, and wind. Last year was mild, but this year was making up for it. Since I began my insane mission to find Blaze, I found myself truly missing the basics. That’s why I let my eyes stay shut while I visualized my routine pre-zombie era. My warm apartment with my scalding hot showers. The grapefruit juice in the fridge. Miscellaneous research on the internet followed by a five minute walk, zombie-free, to work.

“
That’s
enough,” I said aloud.

My eyelashes were crusty. It took a moment to open them, in which I cringed as the delicate hairs pulled apart. An off-white, vaulted ceiling greeted me. No smoke, no screaming. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was grateful.

The night passed by without incident. Either the crazies didn’t want to track me down or they had bigger problems to deal with. Whatever the reason, I was happy and ready to start the day. It was amazing what a solid night’s rest could do. I’d been learning to stave off morning blues, too.

But there was one thing. Gabe. Last night I wanted to go back. I wanted to talk to her and find out why she left me, or better yet why she was being protected by redneck cannibals.

I laughed. What the hell was I thinking? Did it matter why Gabe left me? She didn’t fit into my grand plan then. She didn’t now. If I backtracked to find her, I’d be no different than Beau risking his life to save Don. Twice. That wasn’t me.

Whatever curiosity I felt didn’t compare to my desire to find Blaze, stay alive, and
not
be subjected to any more cannibals. If Gabe had survived this long, I suspected I’d run into her again eventually.

Outside the blankets, bitter cold waited. I sat up, and that cold air attacked my back. As quick as I could, I tugged the sheet and comforter from under the mattress, twisting it around until it wrapped me like a shawl. I’d take this heat with me as I foraged for food.

I moved slowly, so my stiff muscles would warm up without getting too strained as I searched the chest of drawers again for socks. Last night was dark, and I hoped my efforts, with morning light, would yield better results.

All that I could find were the blonde’s gym socks, a collection of small, ankle-less ultra stretchy slips. I layered three pairs on, but the fourth one kept slipping off. It was better than nothing. Compromising was a part of life and I couldn’t complain, especially after the success of finding the house.

Each part of the cabin felt and looked different in the morning. I had a full view of the front yard through the giant windows. Golden light glistened off every fleck of snow. There were still no sounds of wildlife, undead, or other humans. Blissful silence reigned, other than my own breathing.

I tightened the blanket around me and went to the downstairs bathroom. Despite having drunk next to no liquids recently, my bladder was full. I relieved myself in the dried out, empty toilet. After I shut the bathroom door, I shuffled to the kitchen.

Opening a refrigerator was a no-no. Perhaps, after six or seven months, the food had rotted beyond the point of being smelly, but there wasn’t any point in taking the risk. Nothing in there would be edible anyway. I returned to the cupboards I looked through last night and found dry goods. There were edible items that weren’t high priority because they’d taste the worst, such as old cereal or crackers. What I looked forward to the most were canned goods. I found corn, French cut green beans, cream of chicken, and chunky beef stews. The hip, modern couple had some trendy flavored and normal bottled water.

After everything I’d been through, I wanted to reward myself with hot food. Last night I’d noticed a large fireplace in the living room. I went through the house looking for stuff to burn. I didn’t want to go outside unless I had to. Fortunately there were two Presto logs stacked on the washing machine. I retrieved a butane lighter from the kitchen and started my fire. Since they self-maintained after being lit, I went back to the kitchen.

No, starting a fire wasn’t the
best
idea, but I didn’t give a damn. The smoke could draw unwanted attention, but I forced myself not to care. Right then, if I wanted to start a fire, I sure as fuck was going to. Lately I’d been putting myself second or third to other people’s needs. That wasn’t my usual approach, and I was beginning to remember why. When I started putting myself first, starting after my parents died, life got easier. Concerning yourself with the wellbeing of others only resulted in sacrificing what you needed. What you wanted.

Even before the apocalypse, I stood firm on my belief that what I wanted was priority one. That belief had faltered more than a handful of times recently, much to my chagrin.

I poured one can of beef stew into a heavy saucepan, grabbed a spoon, and returned to the fire, sitting cross legged in front of it. It crackled nicely and gave off a small wave of warmth, combating the coldness of the living room. I didn’t want to wait for it to break down so I could set my pan on the embers. Instead, I held it patiently over the flames. Eventually the congealed mass thinned out and simmered.

Once I started eating I couldn’t stop. Sometimes, after going hungry for a while, I’d get sick from eating anything. Now my body called for a gorging, and gorge I did. When I was finished with that can, I picked through the water, settling on lime flavor. Next I prepared a mixture of corn and cream of chicken soup. This time I crumbled a stale package of crackers into the heated mixture and ate it straight from the pan.

I’ll leave tomorrow morning
, I decided.
But for now, it’s all about me
.

* * *

After my breakfast, I found a clean mop bucket. I used this to haul snow into the kitchen sink. I packed the snow tightly in, then heated up a smaller pot over the fire. I dropped this into the snow so it would melt quickly, and repeated the process until I had enough water. I then used the water to wash my clothes. The coat was bulky, but after much struggle it was sopping wet and relatively clean.

When I emptied my pockets, I found the photo—the one I’d worked so hard to steal from Beau—folded in half, damp, and ripped an inch down the middle. I finished the job, tearing brother and sister apart, and placed the side with Blaze in one of my vest pockets after it dried.

While I was outside, I found a mound leaning against the patio. It ended up being a stack of logs covered by a tarp. They were ice cold, but dry. I turned my measly Presto log fire into a house-warming, lively blaze. I laid my wet clothes over the backs of chairs to dry.

Hours passed. I did nothing but lay around in front of the fireplace, eat, doze, and think.

* * *

Happy birthday, Cyrus.

One year older. Ever closer to dying. I stared at the face of the atomic watch. It was December 26th. My birthday. I was twenty-eight years old.

I found the watch while looking through the man’s personal items upstairs. The walk-in closet had a few cardboard boxes. All of its contents seemed to have a story.

The watch was in a small box with a note in it.
Patty, boy, you made the right choice divorcing that no good bitch. Now you have all the
time
in the world to spend with Jeanie!
An illegible signature was scrawled on the bottom and a smiley face. Patty, who had to be the older man in the pictures, didn’t want to keep the watch with him, wherever he was. I wondered if it was because the blonde wasn’t Jeanie, but yet another mistress.

Either way, it was still ticking away and the date and time seemed accurate.

And it was my birthday. Something about it made me feel sad, old, and lost. I’d been thinking about my age and accomplishments a lot, so I just let the feelings overtake me. It took an hour and sixteen minutes, 32 seconds to get over it. Once I did, I ate some crackers, re-cleaned my leg, put more wood on the fire, and went back to investigating Patty’s stuff. But somehow everything I looked at reminded me of my past.

There was a recent copy of Hustler in the same box as the watch. That brought up a memory of some boys in junior high crowding around a playboy. When I went over to see what it was all about, they shunned me.

Oh, and the squeeze bottle of chocolate strawberry body topping? Sorry,
Erotic Body Treats
? I shuddered at the mere
memory
of my one and only ex-girlfriend, Nicky, and not in a good way. That was…well…her favorite.

The sunlight was almost gone. It wasn’t until I picked up a worn journal with Spiderman on the front and tried to read it that I realized night was almost upon me. Where had the day gone?

My gaze fell upon the watch. Beau wore a watch. What was it he said?
“Keeps me sane. It’s the little things that count.”

A wave of guilt hit me. Should he be too out of the way, I wouldn’t go looking for him. And Burlington? I didn’t even know where that was, but it sounded far away. But as things stood, I wouldn’t bother. I’d been telling myself I needed to ditch him anyway. Yet the guilt still permeated my gut, reminding me I was a complete ass for abandoning him.