Wasting Away (22 page)

“I
can’t leave them like this,” I muttered, my voice constricting in my throat.

“What
are you saying?” she asked.

I
stammered and swallowed hard. I took the pistol from the small of my back and
Mary turned and walked out of the room with her hands draped across her eyes.

As
my finger tensed on the trigger, all I could manage was sickness and hate.

My
eyes were fixed on the floor as I walked out of the room and along the hallway
to the church. I couldn’t get myself to look up at Mary. I turned and stared at
the cross above the pulpit instead. I wondered what the symbol meant now. I
tried to remember what it was about that cross that gave people hope even
though everything in the real world turned a blind eye to its message.

Finally,
I turned and looked at Mary. Her head was resting in her hands and she was
sitting at one of the pews. I let out a deep breath and sat down next to her.

“We’ll
get away from here and we won’t look back,” I said.

She
nodded her head slowly and wiped the tears from her eyes. “This is the way it
is out here now, isn’t it?”

“Yes,”
I replied.

“And
everything that was good in the world before is dead?” she questioned.

“
We’re
still here,” I answered.

“But
how long before we start to fall in line behind the others? How long before we
start using the dead as a reason to do whatever we want and blame it on
survival?”

I
couldn’t answer her. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t come up with anything that
would make the pain subside. I couldn’t give her peace. It was because I didn’t
know. But after a while, the answer dawned on me. “Good people are good and bad
people are bad. No matter what the world looks like or how tough it gets, that
will never change. If we set our minds to who we really are, we’ll never be
able to justify doing something evil. It’s not in our nature.”

She
rested her head on my shoulder. “Do you honestly believe that?”

“Of
course I do,” I replied. “We are who we are. You can’t fight integrity.”

“Is
that what it comes down to; integrity?” she asked, offhandedly.

“It
plays a bigger part than we know. We were raised by good people to be good.
They handed down the torch and it’s our duty to keep it burning. It would be
ignorant to think that just because you’re raised right, you’ll turn out to be
a good person, but I think it helps.

There
used to be a debate between nature and nurture. People divided along one line
or the other and took sides. But I think both play a role in what we grow up to
be. It takes a lot of work to make the right decisions at the right times. And,
really, there doesn’t seem to be a payoff. I’ve seen some really good people
struggle every day of their lives, just trying to keep on living. But, for me,
it’s bigger than some silly reward. It’s a matter of feeling as though you’ve
done something worthwhile at the end of the day.

In
a way, it’s the same reason an artist continues making art without any hope of
making a living from it. Do you think Van Gogh painted for the money or
notoriety? I think he painted because it was inside him, it was his nature and
he kept fighting for all he was worth.”

“Van
Gogh also killed himself,” she replied. “He shot himself in the chest out in a
wheat field.”

“Maybe
he had painted his last canvas,” I replied. “But it’s not how we die that makes
us great, it’s how we lived. Think of all the people who have been inspired by
Van Gogh. Think of what type of world he set into motion, and not of the
sadness he suffered throughout his entire life. He was a great man for sharing
his talents with an unsuspecting world.”

We
sat there quietly for some time. I could feel Mary’s every breath, every
expansion of her chest, every beat of her heart. And these were the moments I
lived for. Finding common ground, being together with people we care about, living
to see tomorrow; that was why I fought so hard to stay alive.

She
adjusted herself and looked at me. “If I had been quicker, I could have warned
you,” she said suddenly.

 “I
think you did pretty well in there,” I replied. You stayed smart and did what
you thought was right.” I thought for a moment and asked, “Do you know how he
got in?”

“He
came through the back door on the other side of the stage,” she replied. “I
didn’t see him until it was too late. He had a gun on me before I even knew he
was there.”

“That
was pretty close,” I said with a sigh. “I should have checked the church
better.”

“I’ve
never understood men like that,” she said. “There were some things from the
world before that I wish hadn’t survived.”

“He’ll
never get a chance to do it again,” I said.

“You
have to promise me something,” she said, looking into my eyes.

I
tilted my head and returned her gaze.

She
continued, “You have to promise to never leave me. You have to promise to never
leave me on my own.”

“I’ll
do my best,” I replied.

“Promise
me,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I
promise.”

There
was a crash from behind us and glass blew in from around the front door. I
bolted to my feet and turned. Hands wound through the shards, blood gathering
in thick clots along the stained glass.

Another
crash and the window in the hallway by the office broke out. A knot of arms
reached through, slicing grey flesh and exposing bone.

Thunderous
pounding came from the other side of the baptismal where the man had come for
us. My tongue swelled in my mouth, and the tingle of fear took away my taste.
The door behind us rattled and heaved as bodies threw themselves against the
obstruction.

“Come
on,” I said, grabbing my pack from the pew as I led the way back down into the
basement.

Mary
followed me down the stairs. Through the window of the door I could see
movement outside. A twisting row of shadow crossed the parking lot, nearing the
back of the church.

“We’re
going to have to be quick,” I said, waiting at the door until the last of the
bodies shuffled away. “Ready?”

Mary
gave a quick nod as she peered over my shoulder.

I
pulled and the door swung inward, knocking against the wall with a deep thud.
We were through, taking the steps up to the landing as I pulled the pistol.
Bodies were everywhere, packed tightly against the side of the building. There
was a growl from my right and I swung the pistol around as a corpse came into
view from behind the alcove to the side of the steps. I fired a single shot and
a small dot appeared above the cadaver’s right eye. A look of astonishment
crossed the creature’s face, a simple understanding that played there as the
moon filtered through the clouds, gracing an outline of the body’s withered
profile. Its legs buckled and it fell to the ground. I turned as three more
came from the back of the building.

Mary
shouted behind me, and as I glanced around, my eyes lowered to the ground. A
corpse had taken her down, straddling her, snapping, inches from her face. I
reared back and sent my foot into the side of the ghoul’s head. A slick pop and
the body slammed against the ground. I aimed the gun and fired two shots, one
glancing from its cranium, the other ripped through at an angle at the bridge
of its nose, splattering the grass behind its head in brown sludge.

I
helped Mary to her feet and she screamed. A mob of creatures poured out from
the rear of the building, drawn by the gunshots. I pushed Mary to my side and
aimed into the crowd, over my shoulder. There were so many of them that I
couldn’t get a clear shot. I fired two more times and yelled incoherently as
the dead neared.

We
were off through the streets, dodging stragglers that came winding down from a
hillside cemetery. I heard Mary whimper as the dead poured through the gates. I
led the way through a parking lot and behind a strip mall past loading docks
and trash bins as the dead fell behind. I jumped up on an electrical box next
to a block wall that enclosed the property, and helped Mary up alongside me.  I
flashed back at the dead, converging at the approach from the street. I jumped
the wall and landed in dry grass.

We
were in the yard of an apartment building. Long rows of stairs led up to the
second floor, connecting with walkways in front of each apartment. We wound
through the courtyard, past small dead trees, and into a parking area with
overhangs situated above several spaces.

At
the entrance to the complex, iron gates were placed between giant stone pillars
where the block wall ended. I turned in place and peered through the moonlight.
At the other end of the lot was another set of gates, mirroring the first. There
was a pickup truck and a few cars parked in the lot along the wall. Mary was frantic,
turning in place, looking for somewhere to run. I looked around, my eyes
flashing from the front gate to the rear and along the walls that surrounded
us. As I looked through the parking spots, I realized we were safe. Only a
couple of cars remained, most of the spaces were empty.

I
held my hand up. “Calm down,” I said, lowering my voice.

“What’s
wrong with you?” Mary asked. “We have to keep running!”

“Look
around,” I replied.

“What
are you talking about?!” she asked, her voice cracking.

I
held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Mary, look around.” I
smiled and turned her in place. “We’re safe.”

She
slowly scanned our surroundings, still trembling.

“We’re
in a complex,” I said, lowering my tone even further. “There are walls all
around us. Nothing dead is going to get through those gates. We’re safe.”

I
could see her breath ease, her chest rising slowly as she took it all in.

“We
can stop running,” I added.

“We
can stop running,” she repeated.

I
held her for a while beneath a tree in the darkness. Her breathing had slowed
and she was finally beginning to relax.

“Where
were you before you found me?” she asked.

“I’ve
already told you,” I replied.

“No,”
she said. “When I asked you if you had ever found your wife, you said, ‘No, not
then.’ So you must have found her eventually.”

I
looked off through the small trees up toward the driveway and the memories
came.

I
had thought about staying there in my old home. I thought about waiting for the
dead to come and finish me off. Through my life, I have loved and been loved.
I’ve had amazing friends and a wonderful family. And as I sat there on the porch,
I thought about them and the fact they were all gone. It’s a sickening feeling
when you realize that everyone you’ve loved has died.

But
in that same breath, I remembered those who had done me harm.

I
was an inquisitive kid, always asking questions, always looking for answers.
When I was five, my mother started dating this man. He paid attention to me and
actually seemed like a nice guy. I was young and easy to impress.

After
a few months, my mother decided to give it a shot with him. We packed up our
car and moved to Illinois, driving most of the way during the night.

I
remember waking up and looking out the back window of the car. Huge buildings
surrounded us. I was in awe. It was one of the most amazing things I had ever
seen. I couldn’t believe that buildings could be built that tall.

“When
you’re young, everything is amazing,” I said.

Mary
nodded and pressed her head against my chest.

As
I grew up, we drifted from place to place within the city. My stepfather worked
in construction and we tended to move a lot for his work. It was hard for me
back then. As soon as I got used to a school and started making friends, we
would move and I would have to start all over again.

Naturally,
I clung to my mother. I hungered for her attention and did whatever I could to
get her to notice me. I think it’s like that with most boys.

Mary
nodded again. “My brothers were the same way.”

“So
I’m not weird,” I replied.

“I
wouldn’t go that far,” she said, looking up at me with a smile.

I
laughed. “Thanks.”

As
time went on, it was almost like I was competing with my stepfather for my
mom’s attention. We butted heads at every turn. At the time, I thought he
changed, but maybe he was always spiteful. I’m not sure. But eventually, he
became mean. He did whatever he could to put me at odds with my mother.

“I
thought about my childhood when you talked about your husband coming home drunk
all the time,” I said.