Undead 02 The Undead Haze (7 page)

One last slam and the rest of the glass shattered. Shards cascaded everywhere, landing with muted thumps on the snow outside. I bent him backwards over the window sill. My juggernaut motivation began to flag. My muscles strained from the exertion of keeping the undead at bay.

“Cyrus!”

Beau’s voice came from outside. The bridge. I looked past the zombie and saw him running toward me. I heard the glass doors downstairs slam shut, and the loud clank of locks sliding home carried over the howls of the stiff.

Why hadn’t he asked me to lock the doors behind him? That would’ve been the smart thing to do. But what was done was done. All I could do was hold Mr. Stomach Wound back until the cavalry arrived.

And it did. Beau rounded the last bend and burst through the access door at a run. Instead of helping me throw the undead out the window, he raised a crowbar above his head and brought it down on the thing’s skull. Each hit brought forth bursts of bright red blood. Three more hits later and the dead was truly dead, body twitching before going still entirely.

Then I noticed the mark on his chest. Bile covered half of it, but I recognized it. Right where my own was. A sword and flames.

I couldn’t keep staring. Beau grabbed its legs and motioned for me to get his arms. Together we rolled him out the window. I leaned out and watched as he fell, listening as his body landed in a snowy bush below.

“Where did he come from?” I asked. I was still winded but tried not to show it. Still thinking about the emblem, but unsure if I should share that with Beau.

“In that building.” He motioned towards Parks. “Didn’t you say you checked that place?”

“Once,” I said. Apparently some Zs had found their way in since my last visit. “Where exactly was he?”

“In a room by the utility closet, where I found this.” He raised the crowbar as proof. “It was close to the bookstore you told me about.”

Unbelievable. There had been people in there the whole time. When I caused a ruckus getting supplies, they must’ve realized someone was around. If they’d made any noise to get my attention when I escaping, I didn’t hear it. My need to get out of dodge superseded anything else. To the average starving survivor, the idea of another average starving survivor to team up with was an appealing thought. Had he been trying to find us and was bit in the process? I voiced my idea to Beau, and he shook his head.

“He wasn’t a zombie. I hit him,” he said. “When I opened the door, he was very much alive and acted like a bat out of hell. What was I supposed to do? Let him keep yelling?”

My mouth dropped. Before I could comment, Beau continued. “I tried to reason with him, but when someone can’t be reasoned with an alternative choice has to be made right away. You know what that choice ends up being. I grabbed the crowbar and hit him in the head. He stopped screaming, but he dodged into a doorway and down some stairs to a library.”

“Why didn’t you finish him off? You know what happens. The last thing anyone needs is a fresh runner attacking them.”

He moved away from the window and back towards the stairs. “This happened hours ago. I’ve been looking for him ever since. I must’ve hit him too hard and he died and turned. Anyway, I’m still surprised he tried to attack me. I didn’t make any move to hurt him and yelled ‘I’m human!’ while he tried to beat on me.”

I guess now was as a good a time as any. “He had a mark on his chest. A brand. I have the same one, given to me by that guy I told you about. Kevin. Him being here could mean they’re still hunting me, and somewhat successfully.”

Beau paused and seemed to be thinking. “No. This guy was skin and bones when I found him. Is it possible he tried to escape Kevin and couldn’t make it on his own? He attacked me because he was probably starving, afraid out of his mind, and didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s possible. I guess there’s no way to know for sure why he was here.”

“Guess it doesn’t matter, anyway. You or a stranger, right?” he shrugged.

The memory hit me hard. I was in the car with Blaze, Gabe, and Frank. Gabe was trying to pick a fight with us after we fled the scene of a massacre. She wanted us to save a bunch of useless survivors. We didn’t. Blaze put her in her place after asking her if she’d die for a stranger.
You don’t seem to value your life…right now, and for the rest of our lives, it’s always going to be you or them
. What Beau said dredged up Blaze’s statement. I was surprised I remembered it word for word.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Yeah. I...I’ve heard someone say that before,” I said. “That’s all.”

Beau tilted his head, remembering something. “My sister used to say it. Started saying it when I was a kid. She lived by it. Now I guess I do, too.”

It was one of those one-sided awkward moments. He was just talking about his sister. So was I. But he didn’t know it. I looked anywhere but at him.

At the doors were numerous bags and buckets he must’ve been collecting during the night, before his mishap with that crazy guy.

“Did you bring the whole store in?”

I received a smirk in response and unexpectedly became nervous.

He was Blaze’s sister. He knew where she was. Nervousness and excitement blended, but there wasn’t much I could do. I already decided not to talk about what I found out about ten minutes ago.

“It’s for the truck. I figured we might as well bring everything we can.” He began rifling through the bags. “Anything could be useful at this point. Before I met you, and even Don, I kept seeing groups of…I don’t know. Raiders, I guess.” He paused. “Have you ever seen that Romero movie? Dawn of the Dead?”

I nodded. Who hadn’t?

“Yeah, like those motorcycle guys in the end. Like that. They were crazy. They had people in the backs of trucks, tied up. I guess this kind of stuff is going to be common nowadays.”

“End of the world as we knew it also means a new world,” I agreed. “Which direction were they going?”

“West.” Buford frowned. “Which isn’t good news because that’s the direction I’m headed. It’s strange, because you wouldn’t think I’d ever see them again, but if they kept popping up on my route before, they could now.”

Seizing the moment, I said, “Speaking of which, I’ll go with you.”

Beau’s frown disappeared and he grinned. “Great. I knew you’d come around.”

“And I’m feeling a lot better, although I don’t look it,” I added, remembering my reflection upstairs. “In a few days we should consider leaving.”

Having found whatever he was looking for, he lifted a bag and straightened up. “We should lay really low for a while. If we’re quiet for a few days, I’m sure our onlookers will disperse.”

I nodded, realizing the ruckus I made earlier was bound to bring the crowd back again. We went upstairs, and as I passed the broken window I noticed a few slows wandering the courtyard to the left of Parks.

“What’s in the bag?” I asked before we separated into our offices.

“Oh. Shaving cream, scissors, stuff like that. I found them in the store and figured cleaning myself up might improve morale.” Then he added, “Plus if we encounter other survivors, looking clean would make me seem more…”

“In control?” I said, in total agreement.

One aspect of the apocalypse that was oh-so-hard to deal with was filth. If you had time to strip down and have a bath, well, fuck you. You’re doing better than everyone else.

In reality, the grime layers on you until your skin is a different color. The skin beneath your clothes is ripe from sweat. Downright putrid in all those creases and pits. Everywhere itches from the buildup, but there isn’t much you can do.

I hadn’t been able to let my guard down enough to bathe in weeks. Every time I considered it, I pictured a zombie shambling in out of nowhere and… Let your imagination take you from there.

“The buckets downstairs are for water. If I fill them up with snow and wait until they melt, there should be enough.” He looked at me. “Did you want some water, also?”

I tried to keep belligerence out of my voice. “Yeah. It’s not like I
enjoy
being a walking trash bag.”

Apparently he didn’t register my comment as a joke or some kind of affront to his intelligence. Instead he just nodded and set the bag in the hallway. “I’m going to get started on the buckets.”

I rubbed my tongue against my teeth and looked around. The end of the hall no longer held my unmoving housemate. Beau must’ve moved the body early on while I was delirious. I wasn’t as frightened by that side of the building now I had living company, so I grabbed a flashlight and headed down.

Mortification swelled within me. There were only four offices and a bathroom down that way. What the hell had I been so afraid of? All that was left was a radial stain on the carpet from the body. Pressing the embarrassment to the back of my mind, I began trying doors. The first three were locked. Naturally, the bathroom wasn’t.

Then I came upon the last door. Unlike the others, a thin blade of white light shone under it. I reached out and turned the doorknob. It gave way without difficulty.

The room was covered in a light dusting of snow. The single window stood open. Cold, wintry sunlight blinded me for a second before I acclimated to it. A chilly breeze wafted through.

There was something pristine about the room that relaxed me, sending me into a neutral state of being. The former occupant of the office kept furnishings minimal. I took another step in and a book on the desk caught my eye.

Weather hadn’t been kind to it. The humor in seeing a book called
The Zombie Survival Guide
was almost too much to bear. I wondered if the readers of the book lived, or survived longer than others in the apocalyptic world we existed in.

I picked up the book, dusting away the snow, and flipped through the pages. Most of the author’s commentary seemed to be spot on. I stood there reading until I heard Beau’s voice behind me.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.” I showed him the tome.

His face brightened. “Yeah, I read that before everything happened. Funny thing is, it actually helped me.”

“I’m not surprised. It should be a textbook these days.”

We stood in silence for a moment. Beau leaned in the doorway, looking into the room. After a second, he said, “You probably shouldn’t be in here. It’s cold. Don’t want you to relapse, especially after what just happened.”

I nodded and took the book with me into the hall. As I walked, muscles grew stiff from my fight. They hadn’t been used like that in a while. I settled into my shell of blankets and tried to ignore the weariness. Beau walked by my office door and I called after him.

“Hmm?” He took a few steps backward so he could see me.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just to take another sweep of downstairs before I clean up. There was a loading dock door I want to try and open.”

“Loading dock?” Buford Wright seemed to notice a hell of a lot more than I did. I hoped it was because I was sick and not old or inept.

“Outside there were big garage doors, like the loading docks trucks go up, you know? If we can get the truck into the building instead of running everything out to it, it would save us a lot of time.”

“Of course,” I muttered. “Get to it, Beau.”

His brows knitted and he studied me. “Why did you call me that?”

“What?”

“Beau. I never told you my nickname. You just called me that.”

I had? It stuck with me when I’d read it on the back of that photo. I’d been thinking of him as Beau since. The slipup was fatal. “I grew up in the south. Knew a few guys named Buford. They always went by Beau for short.”

It was half a lie. I had known a Buford once, but no one ever called him Beau. The concerned look on his face faded and he chuckled. I heard his footsteps fade away until I was left in silence. I leaned over to my door and shut it, blocking out the elements.

I needed to be careful. The barrier between what I knew and what I said in front of him was weak. This time was easy to recover from. Next time? It could be awkward. Yet, why was it so hard?

‘Sociopath’ was what I used to love calling myself, yet the sociopathic traits I used to have were fast disappearing. The persona I presented to the few people I interacted with was a complex lie, but I maintained it with no conscious effort. Perhaps what changed was that I was forced to rely on other people in some capacity. Keeping an image up isn’t hard when you never got personal with anyone.

I thought of the summer and the role Blaze, Frank, and Gabe played. Each had saved me at one point, some more than once. Now Beau was taking care of me in every sense—feeding me, protecting me. Doing all the work.
All
of it.

The apocalypse let what I thought was my true persona take me over. I’d been consumed with apathy. Cruelty. Then, it played a sick joke—I found out that wasn’t who I was. I thought my past personality was complex. But a truly complicated web of personality problems I had now become.

Then the difference between Beau and the rest of my old companions grew clear. No matter how much of an emotional, unstable wreck I was, I let it show in front of them. Now that I knew who Beau was, I was stepping on eggshells, wearing a mask, in an effort to make sure he stayed with me.

In short, I’d forgotten how to keep up an ongoing lie. I’d grown accustomed to, as they say, being myself. I couldn’t do that with Beau.

At least not for now. Maybe once we were on the road, and I knew where to go on my own, things would change.

But for now…let it ride out
, I thought as I opened my book up again.
As long as I get what I want
.

Chapter 6

When I woke up, it was dark out. Not the kind of darkness one experienced at night, but the kind brought on by a storm. The view through the window showed blue clouds mixed with charcoal gray. Rain threatened to pour any second. I heard a loud rumble from far away. Thunder.

The short nap I had made all the difference. My chest felt fine and my throat and nose seemed clear.

Stretching, I examined the room for Pickle and saw her sleeping on the desk chair, a round ball of sleek white fur.