Z Children (Book 1): Awakening (5 page)

Marcel came out
of the bathroom then. “Mom, my stomach hurts.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”
I filled a glass with cool tap water and handed it to him. “Drink some water
and if it still hurts later, I’ll give you some of the pink stuff.” I brushed
his hair off his forehead.

Marcel made a
face; he hated the taste of the brightly colored medicine, but Dr. Lynn told me
to keep it around for him since he seemed to have a really sensitive stomach.
Thinking of the doctor, I realized I hadn’t seen what happened to her. She
hadn’t been in the hoard of the infected
coming out of her building. Was
she okay? I doubted it.

I turned to the
kids. “Let’s go put on a movie.”

“Can we watch
the one from the library?”

“We watched that yesterday!”
Sophia complained; Marcel had picked the movie this week.

“Why don’t we
watch
Polar Buddies
instead? You both love that movie.” Both kids agreed
that was a good pick; I knew they would. Even I had to admit that the yellow
lab puppies in it were beyond cute. When the movie was playing and both kids
had drinks and a second snack, my dad and I went into the kitchen.

“Dad, what should
we do? The news said hole up, stay indoors, but…” My voice trailed off,
weakening as I realized that we didn’t have anywhere else to head. My dad lived
in a one bedroom apartment in town. His building housed dozens of families with
children.

“If the news is
right, only the U.S. is being affected. We need to get out of the country.”

“A million other
people are going to have the same idea.”

“A million
people don’t own a boat in Corpus Christi.”

“You’re not
seriously suggesting we load up on your sailboat and drift off to paradise? You
go down once a year, do a little work and never even untie it from the dock. Is
it even seaworthy?”

“She’s in good
shape, Suz. The engine’s reliable. I replaced the sails this summer and she’s
stocked with food.”

The
Nancy-Grace
was my dad’s tribute to my mom, a 1988 Hallberg-Rassy with five berths, a
manual toilet, shower and a decent kitchenette. She’d always wanted to live on
the water and sail to exotic locations. He’d purchased the sailboat when she’d
started chemo, but she’d never gotten to step foot on it, dying before they
could make the short trip to Corpus. The boat was in decent repair now,
according to my dad, but he’d never tested it in the open ocean…which didn’t
give me much confidence.

“I know it’s our
best option, Suz.”

I considered his
words. The
Nancy-Grace
would get us off land, away from the population.
Maybe the food on board would last us or maybe we could find a new home, in
another country. Even if the diesel engine crapped out on us, we’d have the
sails and wind to carry us to safety. Considering the other nonexistent
options…

“Alright.” I
gave a resolute nod. “Time to pack.”

My dad and I
worked for over an hour, stuffing clothing for Sophia and Marcel in their school
backpacks. I didn’t take much for myself and luckily my dad kept a few changes
of clothes and toiletries at our house for when he spent the night. The kids
were always asking Grandpa Carl to sleep over and play board games. It was
especially helpful on school nights when I had papers to grade.

Lastly, we went
through the pantry, putting everything shelf-stable into a box. We took all the
pastas, beans and rice, even though those had to be cooked. My dad had a few
pots and pans and the boat’s gas stove ran off a propane tank. The
Nancy-Grace
was outfitted with a rain reservoir and filtration system too. As long as it
rained, we’d have water. We just had to get to Corpus, get to the boat.

When we were
finished, my dad packed Bessie. His car was a lot newer, but it was also
smaller, so we didn’t even discuss taking it instead. While he loaded the
vehicle, I spoke with my children, telling them where we were going, trying to
make it sound like a vacation. My children were too smart for that though.

“Mom, is this
because of those Z kids? Are they bad? Is that what happened at the doctor’s
office today?” Marcel stared hard at me, his eyes crinkled in thought. “Sophia
said she heard about it when you and Grandpa were watching the news.” His
little hand moved down to his stomach and he rubbed reflexively. The movement
made me think about medicine and how I hadn’t packed any.

“Yes. You’re
right, sweetheart. And we have to leave to stay safe. Do you need some tummy
medicine?”

“No, I’m okay,
Mom.” The hand that had been rubbing his stomach moved toward Sophia, who was
standing stoically beside him. She took it; their fingers grasped each other
tightly. “Mom?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“What about Aunt
Sherry?”

My mouth
dropped. I hadn’t even thought about Sherry. My best friend for more years than
I could count and she hadn’t even crossed my mind. “I’ll give her a call and
make sure she’s okay.”

Marcel nodded
and Sophia pulled him a little closer. My dad came in then. “Dad, get the kids
in the car. I’m going to grab the medicine tote in the kitchen and I’ll be
right out.” I didn’t wait to see my dad hustle the kids to the garage, but went
straight into the kitchen and grabbed the medicine. I had everything in the
tote from aspirin to fiber supplements. My cellphone was on the counter. I
checked it; there were three coverage bars. I’d call Sherry after we were on
the road. Grabbing as many cold sodas as I could carry, I headed to the garage.
Everyone was in the car; it was already started, thrumming loudly and quickly
filling the closed space with carbon monoxide.

I hit the garage
door button as I walked down the stairs, pulling the house door closed behind
me. That was probably silly, considering I may never see the lovely little home
again. I was just stepping off the stairs when I heard a distinct scratching.
The garage door was a foot off the ground and rising slowly. A pair of small
legs crouched next to the door outside, hands clawing at the thick vinyl of the
automatic lift door.

Freezing, I kept
staring at those legs, slowing lengthening into a torso, a neck, a deranged,
blood-splattered face. Oh my God…my mind reeled. Mr. and Mrs. Roseburn’s
grandson, Jackson. I remembered Mrs. Roseburn telling me last week that he’d be
visiting while his parents took a second honeymoon. How could I forget?
How
could I forget?
The cold cans of soda fell from my grasp, clunking down the
stairs.

Behind Jackson,
standing in my yard, stood my elderly neighbors, each in various states of
undress, their faces void of human emotion. They shuffled about the yard,
focusing on nothing in particular. Mr. Mayhew was missing an ear, ebony blood
streaming down his face, soaking the collar of his torn nightshirt. His right
hand still gripped the morning paper he always retrieved at lunchtime—usually
wearing nothing but that same striped button shirt and tatty boxers.

Mrs. Roseburn’s
body was the most disheveled. Her floral, long dress had a jagged rip in the
middle of her chest, where a large chunk of flesh was missing. Her right leg
seemed bent at a wrong angle, but she was walking…walking without purpose,
dragging the damaged limb behind her like so much unwanted baggage.

Jackson, the Z
child, lifted his nose into the air and sniffed deeply. His position and
expression was better suited to a wild dog than a small human; a thick trail of
saliva hung from his lower lip, lolling back and forth like a playground swing.

The screams from
inside Bessie pulled me out of my motionless, come-bite-me-I’m-easy state. I
lunged for the car door, trying not to trip on the soda cans and thanking God
the space was so small. Jackson leapt toward me at the same time. His
undisciplined jump landed him near me, but a large blue tub, filled with
already-wrapped gifts I’d been stockpiling for Christmas in case money became
tight, thwarted his attack. He knocked into the eighteen-gallon storage
container and fell forward. As his body hit the concrete garage floor, I heard
a resounding snap.

The sound of
screaming and the falling storage bin caught the attention of the infected
adults. They broke from their repetitive movements and began to travel in our
direction; their gaits were slower than Jackson’s, but I’d noticed that
before…at the doctor’s office when the Z children had been so much more
determined and focused than the mauled parents.

I was in the car
now, the driver’s door closed. I didn’t bother to buckle, throwing the
gearshift into reverse and hitting the gas. My infected neighbors were directly
behind Bessie now and the old girl did me proud, slamming into their bodies and
tossing them left and right.

Jackson was up
again, his left arm hanging limply. Black-stained, white bone protruded from
his forearm. Again, I was struck by the absence of pain. Like Nurse Kayla, her
body being shoved into sharp glass, he uttered no agony-soaked cry. He was
making his way out of the garage, moving slowly, but gaining momentum. I hit
the automatic door closer and the gears shifted into motion, rolling the vinyl
access downward. It was too slow though; Jackson got outside well before vinyl
touched down on concrete. He was motivated and our flesh his goal. I was
beginning to think that fictional zombie ‘norms’ didn’t apply to Z children.

I screeched out
of the driveway and shifted gears. I tried to accelerate too fast, making Bessie’s
rear end fishtail violently. Lifting my foot just a fraction off the gas pedal,
I controlled the vehicle, easing her forward at a less break-neck speed. When
my infected neighbors were out of sight, I fished my mobile out of my pocket
and called Sherry’s number. The line rang six times before Sherry’s voicemail
message picked up. I waited until the beep.

“Sherry, it’s
Susan. Call me as soon as you get this. Hopefully, you’re okay. I’ve got my dad
and the kids. We’re going to Corpus. We have some place safe there. Mom’s boat,
remember mom’s boat? Call me. Please, please, call me.” When I hung up, I
dropped the phone into my lap. The battery bar at the top of the screen caught
my eyes. Only ten percent life left. And I’d not remembered my car charger.
 

“Want to go by
her store? See if she’s okay.”

I looked at my
dad, his face concerned. Sherry meant a lot to him too, almost like a second
daughter. “I don’t want any detours, Dad. I just want to get out of here.”

He nodded,
understanding, but I could see that his pain matched mine—his pain and his hope
that Sherry was somehow safe and unharmed.

The way out of
town toward Interstate-10 went right by Gregory’s house, the large ‘nearly a
mansion’ that I’d once called home.

Call it poetic
justice, call it whatever you like, but passing that house and seeing my
ex-husband, his wife and their all-American son trolling the yard, drooling and
growling at each other like depraved lunatics, was a medicinal balm to my
frayed nerves and uncertain future.

***

Bessie was down
to a quarter of a tank and we’d only been driving two hours; she’d had half a
tank when we’d fled the house, so I’d known we couldn’t drive forever, but
Corpus was still nearly four hours away. I didn’t want to stop, but what choice
did we have? Dad said he’d take over driving after filling up. That was fine by
me. I wanted to close my eyes, feel the car vibrations beneath my butt and
float to la-la land. Sophia and Marcel were already asleep. The events of the
day had exhausted them, their apparent resilience only surface-deep. Still,
children were amazing creatures.

My children were
amazing anyway, considering the other children I’d encountered recently were
crazed ankle-biters.

Several miles
down the road was a city, only slightly larger than the border town we’d
recently fled from. The welcome sign was brightly painted, as if some municipal
worker had been given the singular job of keeping it fresh and happy, a
wonderful ‘hello’ for all the strangers passing through. Not far past the sign
was a gas station, the kind with older pumps so you could fill up your tank
before paying. I quickly scanned the adjacent buildings and streets; they
seemed deserted, which made me uneasy, but we needed fuel. No way to avoid that
truth.

Wishing I could
idle the engine while filling the tank, I turned Bessie’s key. The quiet that
engulfed us after the sound of the motor died was unsettling; the stomach juices
already wrestling in my belly became more excited, jumping and scorching my
esophagus with their acidity. I sat still for a second, trying to forcefully
calm my nerves and belly, but sitting motionless didn’t help; it made me feel
worse. I threw the driver’s door open, leaning over quickly and finally
vomiting. Yellow foam and bits of breakfast granola splashed on the ground
grossly. As soon as I’d finished, I sat up, feeling instantly relieved, both
emotionally and physically.

My dad patted my
back. Sophia and Marcel still slept. I was glad they hadn’t witnessed that. I
got out of the car, avoiding the barf, and peered at the convenience store. I
turned, hearing the passenger door open and close. My dad was leaning against
Bessie, testing his bad leg before walking. Sometimes, long periods of sitting
made his hip sore and his bad knee too stiff to move immediately.