When The Light Goes Out (3 page)

Why hadn't he helped me before? I couldn't help but wonder. He was there the second I stood up, so why didn't he help me with the zombie? Was he too without a weapon? A glance about his person showed at least two heavy possibly sharp objects in his left pocket. Maybe a blade of some kind, I didn't know. But I did know that it had to have been more useful then my chain.

"Regardless," the word broke me out of my thoughts, being spoken when I didn't respond to his question. I could only imagine how frightened I looked, covered in blood, and tears.

If it hadn't all been cleaned away that is. "We need to get you away from here quick. The blood will be drawing attention we don't want, soon. Real soon. I swear they can smell it. The name's Dustin," a hand extended which I promptly took to pull me to my feet. "Who might you be?"

I hadn't the voice to answer him as we started moving though. I just blinked, and opened my mouth for a second. No sound, just a little bit of air, before I closed it again, and averted my eyes. He wanted to know who I was. But why did it matter? Who even cared? I was drawing attention from the man-eaters. He was risking his life to help me. Save me. Protect me. And once more, I felt like that little six and a half year old, wanting to sleep in my big brothers bed lest the monsters eat the pie again.

"It's kind of rude, to consistently call you 'kid', kid. What are you known as? Tell me or I'm going to have to give you a nickname. I'm not good at nicknames!" His eyes sparkled as he tossed the warning back at me. There was no malice, no annoyance in his tone. Just humor. Like he knew I was scared, and was trying to make light of the situation.

Maybe he was.

Maybe my fear was obvious. Maybe he was scared too. "Excel."

"What?" The mans sure steps faltered, when I spoke. Maybe it was the way my voice cracked, or the fact that it was a whisper. Maybe he hadn't even heard me. Maybe he just heard me mumble. It sounded that way even to my ears. "What did you say?"

"Excel. My name is Excel." "Excel?"

"Life savings say my parents named me on a bet." "Or drunk."

"Drunk works too."

He flashed his pearly whites at me, as he glanced back. Perhaps pleased that I was talking. But, then again, he could have just been amused at the way I started joking. My name was always a bit of an icebreaker. Hell, as a person, in general, I was an icebreaker. Whenever my parents took me places, they used me to break the silence. 'Hey, this is our youngest, Excel.' Always worked pretty well.

The thought brought on a whole new wave of pain, as I raised a hand to rub my eyes. Would I ever see my parents again? I was going around with some stranger, joking, while my parents could be dying. The thought was gut wrenching . I didn't want my mom, and dad to die. I hadn't seen them in so long. What if my mom got a new haircut, or my dad got promoted? Would I ever find out? They'd been planning on moving to a quiet little house in the country soon. Would they ever be able to? Would they ever live that life?

Probably not. They were probably dead. My parents didn't fight. Dad didn't own a gun, mom threatened him against bringing one into the house. Guns always scared her having grown up in a bad neighborhood. She was glad to have gotten out, and didn't want any reminders. You didn't need a gun if you were safe, and we the family were safe, she insisted. There was no other answer. You didn't say 'no' to the woman who cooked your meals at night. Not unless you wanted her to spit in the pasta.

"Are you okay, Excel?" Dustin repeated the question a third time. I hadn't notice him halt his movements. When had we stopped moving? Where had he led me? Why? I looked around, and took a moment to realize where we were.

The shopping district. Food stores.

Shoe stores.

My favorite "acquired taste" shop. Why here?

"You were slowing down. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I whispered. "Just fine." But the look in his eyes revealed me to be a liar. He knew. He even started to open his mouth to protest, one assumes, but paused. He shook his head, turning back around to continue leading me. He hadn't let go of my hand, I realized. Jeeze, things were breaking through that thick skull of mine extra slow. Everything, even those things amazingly simple, were coming in small, sporadic bursts. "Where are we going?"

"The school."

"The.. school?" I stared at him. "The college?" "Yeah, you know the place, right?"

"I attend classes there!" The exclamation seemed to startle him, but he continued walking past the stumble. He just pulled me along behind him in what I saw with a little instruction was the direction of my educational hut. "We can't go there!" Dustin barely glanced back at me, didn't ask me why. I didn't care if he wanted to know why, I was going to tell him anyway. "That's where my brother got it!"

That was when he stopped walking. But he didn't just do that. He let go of my hand, slowly turning toward me, with a strange look in his eyes. He blinked at me, staring, crossing his arms over his chest. Now he was expecting an answer. Now I had is complete and undivided attention.

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful. "You're brother?"

"Yeah, my.. my brother. He" "Attacked you."

"He didn't mean it. He's my brother, he'd never try to hurt me."

Oh what a steaming load that one was. In the back of my head, a little voice was insisting that the thing back in my apartment wasn't my brother. It hadn't been my brother since the moment his heart stopped. Slowly, he'd been losing the title as my brother the moment he got sick. Contracted the disease. However you want to say it. He'd stopped. But I couldn't bring myself to actually say it.

"Yes, Excel, he meant it. Those things don't know anything but food. And it just so happens that the food they know is the likes of you, and me. They're" "Zombies."

"Quite my thought Excel, but they seem a bit odd from the movies I recall." He sighed before shaking his head again, raising a hand to pat my shoulder. "No matter what they are, they want us for supper, and we need to get to that school. It's where I came from, before I got you. Been visiting. Sorry I couldn't have gotten to you just a bit earlier."

"It's all right."

"I guess. You got hurt, but you got off lucky. I was a bit late to save a young lady before. A kid. Saw her get never mind. It's not important, not now. We need to get you to your school." A small, rather weary looking smile rose about Dustin's face as he eased me forward a step. He extended his hand again, which I dually took, and began to walk.

Somehow, in the back of my mind, I wondered if he had children. He was certainly making me feel like one the way he was leading me along. Now, that's not to say I was complaining. I wouldn't have moved on my own, and was well aware of the fact. As childish as it was, holding his hand just took me off my toes a moment. Calmed me just a little. It made me feel like someone was looking out for me.

Technically, someone was. Dustin was. Although all I knew was his name, and the color of his features, he was looking out for me. A complete stranger. Something told me he was a foreigner, more or less new to the country, and cursing coming to us. Figures that the Americans would be the end of him, right? He was too kind to be American. Too kind. And his accent was very apparent. He couldn't have lived here long, if really ever.

"Where are you from Mr. Dustin?"

"Mister?" There was a chuckle in the voice that questioned the title. Did I mistake his age? Was he younger then how I pinned him? Did the title insult him? I hoped not. I doubted it. He wouldn't be laughing, softly from his throat, if it had.

"Would you prefer 'Miss'?" I couldn't help the tiny taunt.

"No one's ever really called me 'Mister' before. Just some of my son's buddies. But even most of them call me Dustin. Just Dustin. Please do the same, Excel. I'm not quite that old yet."

He did have a child then. Again, there was a pang of guilt, a bit of pain. Was his son in the country? Was he safe? Hurt? Dead? Would Dustin ever see him again? I hoped so. It hurt to imagine never seeing my parents, I didn't want to imagine how it would feel to never again see your child.

"If that's what you prefer Dustin, but my parents always taught me" "Dustin!"

I glanced up to see who exactly cut me off. Running toward us was a beautiful woman, with golden hair that fell somewhere about her back. I couldn't tell quite where for sure, with the way it was whipping in the wind. I grew frightened when she drew a pistol, even more so when Dustin rounded on me with a pair of what could only be described as daggers.

Would they kill me?

Was the kind hearted conversation during our trip here all a ruse?

I found no need for fear though, as Dustin practically flung me to the ground behind him, ducking down himself as the sound of a gunshot rang through the air. I glanced up just enough to see the torn of up face a man, skin grayed to death, eyes brown and red, fall to the ground. My heart jumped at those eyes, but the man wasn't my brother. Wrong hair color, I realized after my breath caught in my throat.

"Thank you, Mr. Dustin."

"Are you okay, Excel?" The man responded to my breathless comment with a question. Staring at me before he got to his feet. Lowering his hands to under my arms, he lifted me to my own with barely a breath. Honestly, he looked terrified. But I couldn't blame him, I wasn't anymore fit for calm.

"I'm all right."

"Dustin!" It was the lady again, rushing toward us with the gun still in hand. "Dustin, good, you're okay. I told you not to run off, sir. I told you! You could have gotten hurt, you know. Gotten hurt like nothing else, then where would we be? Where would your son be? Eh?! Who's this?"

I made eye contact with the woman, realizing she couldn't have been much older then myself, maybe twenty five. Probably younger. She had bright blue eyes that seemed to twinkle at me. She was another one that I didn't know. Considering she had an accent even thicker then Dustin's, they had to have come from the same place.

"Excel, this is Catherine. Catherine, Excel. Please try to get along!"

"I resent that implication sir!" Catherine snapped at Dustin, before turning a rather charming smile toward me. "Cathy, please. Don't like my name all that much." "Nice to meet you, Cathy."

"Under better circumstances, kiddo."

She most definitely was older then me. That or she had a set of brass ones like no teenager I'd ever met. We may have been Americans, but in the small community, we knew better then to disrespect people. Especially the people we'd have to be in contact with everyday. I figured a foreigner would have known a bit better too.

But maybe that was just a stereotype.

Perhaps some foreigners didn't give a flaming bowel about respect. Lord knows there's a bad apple in every corner of the world.

But who knew?

Who honestly knew?

"Let's get inside, and clean you up Excel."

"Clean Oh dear! What happened?" Terror took me as Cathy's hand tightened about the handle of the gun. "Has Excel been" "
No
!"

"
No
. Excel hasn't been bitten, Catherine." Dustin spoke my denial, seconds after I did, smiling reassuringly at the girl, pulling me toward the closed doors of the college. "Then where'd those
nasty
wounds come from?
Oh
, why didn't I see them earlier?!"

"Excel was riding a bike, and crashed!" He said, voice brimming with authority, as a means of explanation. "It was rather funny to watch you flailing around like a mad woman when you fell, Sweets. Sorry to say." Dustin grinned at me, winking as we got closer to the doors. Those doors looked so, so terribly inviting, but at the same time I loathed them. We were approaching the beginning of my brothers death. My brother. The only guy I loved anywhere close to the love I held for my father. It was the damned schools fault. Maybe it was the food that stuff always seemed a bit lethal. Or.. I don't know. Something.

He'd still be my brother.

He wouldn't have gotten sick if we didn't go to school, if we just stayed home he would have been okay. If he'd been willing to go to the doctor when I asked, then he would have been okay. He wouldn't have been God knows where, doing God knows what, to God knows who. He wouldn't have had his teeth going through his lip, or flesh hanging off of is face. He would have been fine.

He would have been alive. He'd still be my brother.

He wasn't my brother anymore.

Dammit.

Dammit
!

Again, I had to raise hands to wipe my eyes. I was like a leaky faucet. My eyes kept going, I could feel my nose start to go. I'd the urge to curse as we entered the building, but it was always hard for me to curse around those older then me. Significantly at least. Dustin was decidedly that, if his title as "daddy" somewhere in the world didn't say it clear enough.