Until the End (9 page)

Taylor groans. “It’s not volunteering if I’m the only one who ever gets asked to do it.”

“Asked to do what?” Jordan asks.

Taylor points to the zombies at the door and says, “Move the herd.”

“They pile up out there every time someone comes through the front door.” Cal says, appearing suddenly from the dark. “We have to have someone divert them away so they don’t break through. And if you boys are going to work on that door, we need them gone. We might have to open the outer one at some point.”

“How do you divert them away exactly?” I ask.

“Someone runs down to the Safeway at the end of the shopping center, leads them there. Then they walk back here over the rooftops, out of sight of the herd.”

“You have a way inside the Safeway?” I ask, suddenly eager.

“Yeah,” Cal says, eyeing me. “The doors are locked up like in here but we’ve got a way down in through the roof.”

“I’ll go.” I say without hesitation.

“Ali.” Jordan starts to say, his voice disapproving.

I ignore him. “I’d like my knife back.”

Cal nods and grabs a walkie from his hip. I noticed during lessons that Taylor has one too. Occasionally it would go off, someone checking in about their position or sightings of people. No one approached the building though, probably because of the swarm at the door. Cal talks to someone named Mitch and tells him to bring us our gear. I decide to leave my bow behind because apparently I’ll have back up and it’ll be easier to run without it. I have my knife on my leg and ten minutes later I’m at the back door of the building being given the run down.

“It’s easy, don’t worry.” Taylor says, and I have a feeling it’s more for Jordan’s benefit than mine. “I’ve done it several times over the last couple days and I’ve never come close to being caught. There will be shooters on the roof pacing with you, watching your back, so all you have to worry about is leading them to the Safeway. Don’t go for the front doors, they won’t open. Run past them and around the side. There’s a dumpster you have to climb up on and then you’ll be able to reach a rope ladder one of the shooters will drop down to you. Climb up and you’ve done your job.”

“And then I can go down into the building? Take what I want?”

“Yes.” Cal says. “But none of my people are going in with you. You’ll be on your own.”

“Understood.” I say, and I actually prefer it this way. I don’t want to explain why I’m running straight for the pharmacy.

Walkies go off and I hear both Cal and Taylor’s carry a crackly voice.

“Back door is clear. Shooters in place.”

“Roger that.” Cal responds. “Opening the door now.”

Taylor unlocks the back door and I meet Jordan’s worried eyes. I smile reassuringly.

“Be careful.” he says, his voice low.

“You too.”

The door swings open and I dash out into the blinding sunlight. Steam is coming off the ground where last night’s rain puddles are meeting the sun’s heat and vaporizing into the air. I run around the side of the building, being sure to give the side a wide berth. This store sits in a strip mall, so all of the roofs are attached but the downside is that in order to lure the zombies away and to the left, I have to run past them at the front of the building since there’s no alley to cut down. I take it easy on myself until I see them, until they catch a whiff of me on the air, and then I’m sprinting for the other end of the mall. I can hear them behind me but I don’t look. I remember Taylor’s promise that the shooters on the roof have my back, and when I glance up, I can see at least three spaced out down the roofs on the mall, the last one standing near the far edge of the Safeway. I’m assuming he’s my ladder guy and I hope he’s good at his job.

I start to get tired a little over halfway there. I burned most of my energy this morning making my crazy sprint across the parking lot, then being scared for my life for over an hour inside. Not to mention two hours of teaching archery have left my arms a little shaky. This idea, I’m thinking, was stupid. It’s too late now, though, and all of this is worth the chance of getting my hands on more meds, so I tap into whatever reserves I have and tear around the Safeway to the massive blue dumpster. There are metal steps built into the side and I clamber up them and
onto the top. I see the rope ladder dangling down and I leap onto it, pulling myself up with my weakened arms. I can’t hear the zombies and I pause, worrying I lost them at some point and didn’t do my job.

“They’re coming, get up here!” my ladder guy calls, and I scramble up the remaining rungs.

It feels like a long way, but once I’m up and look down to help pull the ladder in, it’s not that high at all. I wouldn’t want to fall, that’s for sure, but my arms feel like I climbed a mountain, not a story and a half.

“Nice work.” he says, smiling at me.

“Thanks. So how do I get inside?”

“Wow, you are eager. Over here.”

He leads me to a hatch that opens up on a stairwell.

A dark stairwell.

“Oh.”

“Here. Don’t lose it.” he says as he hands me a flashlight. “And be quick.”

“I will. Thanks.”

I climb down the dark stairs using the flashlight until I reach a door that opens into a hallway a lot like the one I was led down when first brought into the sporting goods store. I take a wild guess at which direction gets me out and I choose wisely. Once in the main section of the store, I don’t need the flashlight anymore. There are faint lights on and the cooler section is glowing in the distance like a frosty, white mecca. I walk out past the cash registers and turn to look down the length of the front of the store, hoping the pharmacy is up here and not in the back. I spot it to the far left, just past the bank, and I jog down to it with a smile plastered on my face.

After a search that takes far longer than I would have liked, I find it. There aren’t many, maybe enough to last me a month, but that’s a whole lot farther than my two pills would have gotten me. I actually sag against the shelves when I have them in my hands. Maybe I can find more later. This buys me a lot of time and maybe, if I’m very, very lucky, I can have even more. I’m full of hope and happiness as I leave the pharmacy and I swear there is a very real bounce in my step. Luck has certainly been my lady on this adventure, and as I grab myself a new toothbrush, I completely forget the fact that that bitch always runs out.

I’m golden as I walk carelessly through the store. I’m smiling and carefree as I go into the hall to head for the staircase. Trouble is the last thing on my mind when I step onto the first step, then the second, then third. It’s on that fourth step that I’m fucked.

I haven’t turned on the flashlight. I figured I wouldn’t need it. They’re stairs. They’re not hard to figure out. But dark ones make it hard to see what’s ahead of you and what is ahead of me is a zombie. He turns when he smells me and I can hear him sniffing the air. I immediately pocket the pills and the toothbrush, pull my knife out of its sheath and start to step carefully back down the stairs. I’m in a very tight space with this guy and I don’t want to engage him here. I can’t swing my arm wide enough to stab at his temple and I do not want to go for the eyes, they are way too close to the mouth. He lumbers down the steps after me and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s a shambler. If he was a speed demon, I’d be done for. I make it back to level ground and check over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone, and so far we are. He follows me down and into the hall, arms outstretched and reaching for me. This hallway is no wider than the stairwell and I curse the walls boxing me in and pray I get a chance to hear Jordan say he told me so.

“We should head for the desert.” I mumble to myself, my voice trembling.

The zombie continues to stalk me backwards down the hall.

“No walls, no doors.”

I’m coming up on closed office doors, and as I try each one, I find them all locked tight.

“We could sleep out under the stars.”

I’m running out of hallway. Running out of options.

I am always running out of time.

I try one last door, one last hope, and thank God it opens. It’s the janitor’s closet and my eyes latch on to a mop standing in the corner with a long wooden handle. I grab it quickly and turn in time to face the infected just steps away. I rear the mop back and then shove it up and forward at an angle into the guys mouth, through the soft palate on the roof and up into his brain. I have a moment of pure relief when his arms drop and his body starts to sag forward, signs that he’s dead and done. I drop to my knees, exhausted. He also begins to drop and his skull must make contact with the mop handle because his body weight comes crashing down on it, the cloth end lodging into the floor between my knees. The wood of the handle is old and weathered and splinters beneath his weight. When it snaps, a large chunk drives into my thigh, piercing it.

I cry out in agony and stare down at the wood still sticking out of my leg. Tears blur my sight and I feel like I might throw up, but I figure that can’t be good for infection, so I do my best to hold it together. I hear the hatch at the top of the stairs fly open and footsteps come thundering down. The guy who led me here, my ladder guy, spots me and comes running down the hall, his gun trained on the motionless zombie.

“Are you hurt?” he asks before seeing my leg, then he swears and holsters his gun. “Never mind. Here, let me help you. We need to get out of here.”

He helps me up and I want to pass out from the pain in my leg. I have to use him as a crutch and keep all weight off of it or I will not make it two steps. I hear his walkie crackling and can make out questions about his position, asking where he went. Others on the roof must have noticed he’s missing. We somehow make it up the stairs and he walkies to the others that we need help, that I can’t walk and he can’t carry me the entire way. He lays me down on the ground and I hear other people running toward us. I close my eyes against the sun, against the pain and then I feel myself starting to slip away. The last thing I hear is Jordan’s voice on the walkie, calling my name, telling me he’s on his way.

“I think she’s coming around.”

“You’re right. You’d better go tell him.”

“He’s busy with Taylor, they’re working on the door.”

“Evey. We promised.”

“It’s not like he can do anything to help.” Evey grumbles.

“She’s hurt and liable to be scared. His simply being here will be helpful.” The woman’s voice hardens. “Go get him.”

I hear Evey’s feet leave the room slowly, she’s obviously in no hurry, and I try to open my eyes. I’m blinded for a second by the overheads, but I blink and look to the side to find an elderly woman, probably in her eighties at least, smiling warmly at me. I smile back not really knowing why.

“There you are.” she says gently, her voice encouraging. “How do you feel? Are you in pain?”

I frown and take stock of myself quickly. I have a headache and my right leg feels tightly compressed. It doesn’t hurt, there’s simply a lot of pressure.

“No, not really.” I mumble, my mouth cotton dry. “May I have…”

The elderly woman nods in understanding and goes to the sink to get me a cup of water. I look around and realize I’m lying on a cot in a kitchen. Or maybe it’s the break room. It looks different now with the chairs and tables stacked and folded up against the far wall. The woman brings me the cup of water with a straw in it and helps me drink slowly. I mutter a thank you and let my head fall heavily back down.

“You’ll be tired for a bit.” she tells me, taking a seat in a chair by my cot and reaching for my wrist.

She takes my pulse and watches the seconds tick by on the clock on the wall. When she’s satisfied, she lets go of my wrist but keeps hold of my hand, pressing it between her own.

“We gave you quite a cocktail. Pain meds and sleeping pills, not a healthy combination but we didn’t have anesthetic and we had to continue flushing the wound out to make sure we purged all of the wood chips. It would have hurt too much to keep you lucid.”

“Thank you.”

“We had to cut your pants off of you. You’re wearing shorts under the blanket, so don’t worry. You’re decent.” she says with a quick smile, but then she looks at me seriously, her face concerned. “Before your friend gets here I want to talk to you about what was in your pockets.”

The blood drains out of my face and I feel caged and scared.

“Why?” I whisper.

“Do you want to tell me what they are?”

I shake my head mutely.

“Probably don’t want to tell me what you’re taking them for either.”

Again, I shake my head.

“Your friend Jordan, he knows about them. He’s the one who found them. He found a toothbrush in your pocket and laughed, but then he found the pills and he looked confused. Worried.”

“He should be afraid.” I moan to myself, and cover my eyes with my free hand.

“Your business is your business. You don’t have to tell anyone any of it. Do you understand?”

I nod my head without uncovering my eyes.

“Do you need them? Not as in ‘do you need them to get high’, but do you need them to survive?”

I take a shallow, shaky breath and look at her with tears streaming down my face. I’m so tired of them. Of needing them, of fearing not having them.

“I think so. I don’t want them, but I need them. They’re important.” I croak, crying in earnest now.

“How often do you need them?”

“Once a day.”

She nods kindly and caresses my hand with her soft, wrinkled one. “Then I’ll see that you get them. Let’s take one now. You’ve been out almost a full day.”

She goes to a drawer and pulls out a bottle, pops one of my familiar pills in her hand, and brings it to me. I’m just swallowing it down when I hear footsteps hurrying down the hall toward us.

“Here he comes.” the woman says with a smile, and exits the seat beside me.

Jordan comes jogging through the doorway and smiles in relief when he sees me. He nods to my elderly caretaker and takes the now vacant seat beside me.

“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly, his voice hushed as though we’re in a library.

“Like an idiot.” I say.

I’m still sobbing a little and I’m trying to get it under control, but seeing his face and how genuinely happy he is that I’m alright cuts me to the core. I feel like I’m lying to him and I hate it, and most of all, I hate myself. For so many reasons.

“Hey.” he says gently as I throw my arm over my eyes again and weep silently. “You’re not an idiot, Ali. Are you in pain? Meredith,” I hear him turn in his chair to address the old woman. “Can we give her anything?”

“I’m not in pain.” I mumble and try to take deep breathes. I feel like such a wimp. I’m tougher than this. At least I thought I was.

“Is it your pills? The ones in your pocket?” Jordan asks and, God bless him, he doesn’t even ask what they are. “Do you need one?”

“She just took one.” Meredith says quietly. “She’ll be alright in a bit. Let her breathe.”

Jordan does as Meredith tells him. He stays silent, waiting for me to calm down, and presses his hand softly on top of mine. I concentrate on breathing, on locking this emotional outburst down. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel raw and like such an unbelievable wreck. Maybe it’s the drugs or the relief of finding my drugs or the aftershock of being cornered in that hallway, but I’m worried it’s because I haven’t taken one in too long and I’m already spiraling. Stress can bring on an episode and maybe my meds aren’t strong enough to combat the stress of the end of the world.

Finally, I take my arm away from my eyes and attempt to smile weakly at Jordan.

“You should go.” I tell him, and I’m proud that my voice is firm. “Evey said you were helping Taylor on the door. That’s more important than watching me cry.”

He grimaces and shifts uncomfortably.

“I probably should get back.” he admits reluctantly. “Evey took my place so I could come here, but she and Taylor… they don’t get along.”

I remember the conversation yesterday about what Taylor had to do to Evey’s brother and I grimace as well.

“Yeah, you need to get back. Now.”

He stands and hesitates, staring down at me. I’m sure I look a mess, but I try to look as solid as I can, my eyes unwaveringly locked on his. I don’t want him worrying.

“You’ll be okay, right?” he asks, and I know from his tone that this is our “talk” about the pills in my pocket.

“Yes.” I say, and I don’t think of it as lying. More like hoping. “I will be okay.”

He watches me for a long moment and I continue to hold his gaze, determined to be strong for him the way he has been for me. I’m surprised when he leans down and swiftly presses his lips against my forehead. Then he’s gone.

***

I’m in the makeshift infirmary for another two days before Meredith says I can walk around without tearing my stiches. Jordan visits me often, pretty much any chance he gets, and he’d sleep in here with me if Meredith would let him. She orders him out at 9pm on the dot each night. I don’t mind her keeping him away at night, not really, because I’m still weak emotionally and Meredith tells me that when I was out that first night I was talking in my sleep. Not the best habit for a secret keeper to have, so I like the solitude in my unguarded hours. I also think Jordan will actually sleep if he’s away from me, if he knows someone else is keeping watch. Someone always is, too. Meredith sleeps in one of the offices just next door to this room and when she’s not near me, Evey is. I’ve gathered that Meredith was a nurse in her youth and then became a doctor late in life, which I can understand because the woman is brilliant. She’s training Evey to be a nurse as well and the girl is smart but she could use some work on her bedside manner. She’s sour and sullen, and I understand because her brother was killed in front of her and if anyone has sympathy for that, it’s me. But she could be a little less of a bitch and I wonder if part of that wasn’t in her before.

“Well look who’s back!” Taylor calls, smiling at me as I hobble onto the sales floor.

The targets are still set up and my five students are waiting for me, bows in hand. Jordan takes my arm and helps me the rest of way where I collapse into a chair they’ve brought over for me. My leg burns a little bit but I try to ignore it, smiling widely at all of them.

“Alright, let’s learn to shoot.” I say happily, and when Taylor hands me my bow, I feel excited and strong.

“You sure you should be the one teaching us?” Evey asks dryly. “You almost got taken down by just one.”

Pulling my bow into position, I reach down and grab an arrow from my quiver at my feet, notch it and sight a mannequin easily over a hundred feet away. I fire and my arrow sinks deep into the face, right between the eyes and snaps the head off.

I smile at her sweetly.

“I didn’t have my bow with me.” I look away to address the rest of the group. “And now we know. Rule One: Always have your bow. Rule Two is shut up and shoot. Who’s first?”

Taylor is first, and by the end of the two hours I relent to his pestering and tell him to try and mimic my shot at the mannequin. One of the other guys in the class, a man in his forties with a beer belly, jogs down the aisles, retrieves my arrow and balances the head back on the body. Taylor hits the thing in the right shoulder, which is actually still a good shot for a beginner. After he’s taken the shot, I notice that Evey has disappeared and I imagine she’s not as impressed with Taylor’s shooting as the rest of us.

Jordan and Taylor continue their task of barricading the open entry way, two stories of all glass, and I wonder if they will ever finish. I wander around the store aimlessly, testing my leg and looking for something to do. I find the camping section and discover an assembled hammock, which I gratefully park in to rest my leg. I don’t mean to fall asleep, but I must have dozed because when I hear my name and open my eyes, it’s getting dark in the building again.

“You missed lunch.” Jordan tells me, standing at the side of the hammock. “It’s dinner time.”

My stomach rumbles but I’m not interested in leaving the comfort of my hammock just yet. My leg is throbbing slightly and I know I overdid it today. I should have gone straight back to my cot after archery lessons. I look at Jordan to tell him I’m not hungry, but frown when our eyes meet. His face is drawn and his eyes are a little red. I can’t believe I didn’t notice this morning.

“Jordan, have you still not been sleeping?”

He looks away and shrugs, evading the question as he always does.

“Answer me.” I tell him, my voice suddenly stern. It surprises him, hell, it surprises me, and his eyes swing back to mine.

“No.” he says. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

I move to get up and give him the hammock. “Here, get in and sleep. You can’t keep going like this.”

“Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.” he protests, pushing gently against my shoulders and keeping me in the hammock.

“Fine.” I say, scooting over. “Then you get in.”

“What?”

“I’m serious, get in. You’re taking a nap. Here, give me my bow.”

Jordan hands it to me and I lay it on my stomach so it runs the length of my body. “Now get in and go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

I know for a fact that he’s exhausted because he doesn’t fight. He climbs in gingerly beside me, careful not to sway us too much or bump me around. Once we’re both settled in and lying on our backs, staring at the ceiling, I turn my face to his. He is so very close, it startles me a little. I can see his profile; his strong jaw, long eye lashes and the dark circles under his eyes. I remind myself that he has secrets too, things that keep him up at night, and I decide to make a trade.

“I’ll show you mine,” I tell him with a wry smile. “If you show me yours.”

He stares at me, his face shocked and very, very interested.

“Okay.” he replies slowly.

I nod and look away. “The pills I take, they’re because of an illness. A m… an emotional illness.”

The words leave my mouth and take all of the air in my body with them. I feel like I’m falling and my heart is thundering in my chest, and if this keeps up, I’ll pass out.

“Like depression?”

“Kind of, yeah.” I whisper.

“Is that why you were crying? Had you run out?”

I’m afraid I’ll cry again right now.

“I was running out.” I admit slowly. “But that’s not why I was crying. I was upset because… because I don’t want to take them anymore, I don’t want to need to take them, I hate depending on them and I hate feeling like I’m not enough, that I’m not strong enough or brave enough to face things on my own, to live my life without them.” The words are spilling out of me and I swallow, trying to stop them, to pull them back inside, but instead they keep coming. “My mother died and I was there and sometimes, if I’m not careful I relive it over and over and she’s with me and it should be wonderful but it’s horrible and a nightmare and I take the pills to keep the nightmare away but I wish I could keep it away on my own but I don’t know how. I don’t know if I can.”

I’m breathless, as though I’ve run a marathon, when in reality what I’ve done is share more honesty with him than I ever shared with my therapist. It’s terrifying and liberating at the same time. Jordan doesn’t respond right away and I wait patiently, letting him decide if he wants to show me his now that I’ve shown him mine.