MZS- North East Page 13

  With each step it seems like another undead projectile is launched at us.

  “How many fucking people lived on the top floor!” Cupcake yells as he slams his knife into one clinging to the railing.

  It’s a rhetorical question, but seriously.

  “Let’s go!” Todd yells from below us. He sounds strained.

  I hear the door open and can see the light from outside streaming through. After a few more turns of stairs, I have only one flight left to the ground.

  Or should I call it the bottom? There is no ground to see. Todd is standing on a bloody pile of meat. He slams his tire iron down into the pile and splashes of blood fly up into the air. Another body slams into the pile from above and Todd shifts his blows to the new addition.

  When my foot hits the pile of gore it slides forward, out of control. I hadn’t noticed Jaden’s mass before this, but now it dramatically affects my balance. I’m headed backwards, sliding wildly, and preparing for the impact on my ass.

  A strong hand lands square in my back. It steadies me for a beat and then nearly throws me out the door.

  “Go,” Todd insists.

  In the street, Cupcake is engaged with a zombie off to our right.

  Looking left toward the entrance to my building, I can see the horde still mulling about. If we can get across the street quietly, we may be able to keep it clear.

  My legs are on fire.

  I’m in the lead and running as fast as I can. With each step, I can feel Jaden squeeze harder. He’s not making a sound, but I can imagine that he’s screaming on the inside.

  Rounding the Humvee that’s illegally parked up on the sidewalk brings me steps from safety. “Run through the finish,” I tell myself. One season of track and field taught me the little I know of running, but now is a good time to remember.

  The view to my left is blocked by Jaden’s head, with most of his weight being supported by my left hand. It leaves my right available to pull the door open.

  With a few steps left, I start to slow down. At the pace of a fast walk, I bump into something out of view and bounce off to my right. I’m cross-footed and I slam into the door heavily with my right shoulder.

  The turn allows me to see the massive zombie coming toward me. If I step to get through the door, I’ll be going right into his grasp.

  Patrick and his hockey stick come flying into the picture. The sharp end of the stick hits the zombie in the throat, causing blood to leak out down the front of its shirt. Patrick pulls back and thrusts forward, three, then four times, before finding the eye socket.

  The former mountain of a man falls backward and slams onto the sidewalk.

  Patrick pushes me to the correct side of the door and pulls it open. I walk through and from out of nowhere Todd and Cupcake pile in behind me.

  When Patrick steps into the vestibule and closes the door, the silence overwhelms me. We’re safe.

  And then the buzzing starts again.

  This time it’s the security door. It’s just Terri, buzzing us up.

  Patrick

  Chapter 22

  Holy fuck, that was terrifying. Zombies are frightening enough, but when they fly down at you from above it’s over the top.

  If I was telling myself I wasn’t counting kills before, now it’s definitely true. There is no way I can figure out how many of those things I just killed. Only one of them mattered anyway.

  Thinking of that poor little girl makes me want to vomit. Why don’t I?

  Todd made sure our stairway and hall were clear before we headed up. No sense in all of us expending the energy to go up only to have to race back down.

  We’re only across the street, but it feels like we’re in a different world. There is no buzzing and no moaning. I’ll go so far as to say it feels safe.

  The bloodstains in the hall between McLean and Terri’s apartment remind me that it is not safe. Nothing is.

  We have to wait outside Terri’s door while it is unlocked from the inside. This kind of shit needs to be coordinated better. I’m sure they’re scared, but we are physically and mentally spent. Standing here exposed only adds to the strain.

  “Hey,” Tucker greets us, smiling.

  I want to punch him in the face.

  Todd rakes a hand down his face and draws in a long breath through pursed lips. His eyes squeeze tight as he exhales. “Little dude, you get all-star honors.” He’s talking to Jaden as he slowly removes the bandana he had tied over the boys’ eyes. “Man, there was one time I thought you were going to slip right out of her hands, but you held so tight! You definitely are stronger than any six-year-old I’ve ever heard of.”

  This man is so different than the one I have been watching. It gives me hope but also sustains my fear. How can anyone flip a switch this dramatically? Someday the switch will break, and I’m afraid of which side it will be stuck on.

  Cupcake disappears to the kitchen and returns with four beers. Without asking, he hands one to each of us who had been outside. There are no thank you’s or acknowledgements; we simply crack open our cans and pour the amber liquid into out mouths.

  I can’t speak for the others, but I don’t taste a thing. Stress, adrenaline and fear have overloaded my senses. Collapsing or shaking would be reasonable, but I don’t, I just stand and drink my beer.

  “I’ll get my own. Don’t worry about me,” Tucker jokes as he walks toward the kitchen.

  One of us may kill him if he doesn’t shut the fuck up. He doesn’t know what we just went through.

  But he does. He cleared that area in front of the creperie back in Boston. Based on the number of kills he reported, it had to have been something like one every five minutes, for a couple of hours.

  As the beer takes effect and my heart rate slows, I notice the sound of Terri’s fingers flying across the keyboard. She’s not looking at us or engaging with us, and it seems like a conscious effort. When I pay attention to the others in the room, I can imagine why.

  We are disgusting. Mostly we’re covered in blood, but there is hair and dirt and pieces of flesh stuck randomly over our bodies. My senses are returning and I notice the smell wafting off our bodies.

  Terri would have every right to ask us to change or shower, but she doesn’t. She employs a tact that Tucker could learn from.

  “I’m going to go shower,” McLean says. She squeezes the empty can in her hand and numbly walks toward the door, back toward her room.

  A small bark stops her dead in her tracks.

  “Bark, bark.” The dog’s call floats faintly through the apartment again.

  “Fucking neighbor,” Terri mutters.

  Is it loud enough to attract the undead? If it’s loud enough for us to hear, it may be. McLean better not go into the hall alone.

  “I’ll take a shower with you,” I say without thinking.

  All eyes look at me. That’s not what I meant.

  “I don’t think so,” McLean says flatly.

  Cupcake intercedes on my behalf. “I think what he means is that you shouldn’t go alone. We could all use a shower.”

  “Someone can use my shower,” Terri announces, now that we are all past the awkward stage.

  “I’m first down here,” Todd declares and doesn’t hesitate to listen for an objection. He heads to the bathroom and disappears.

  “Cupcake, why don’t you come to my place? You can shower when I’m done,“ McLean says, taking care of dividing the group.

  Always the gentleman, Cupcake brushes past McLean and grasps the door handle. He pokes his head into the hallway and then steps out. McLean follows close behind and the door closes silently.

  We’ve split up, and again it feels like a mistake.

  “Are you interested in what I’ve learned?” Terri asks me from her comfy-looking workstation.

  I forgot that we have problems in our future. My brain is so focused on the right now I can’t even think ten minutes into the future and relaxing in the shower.

  “Is it good news?�
�� I ask.

  “Well, it’s news.”

  “Let’s hear it. I guess.”

  “They think they found the president. There was an order to nuke the major cities, but he revoked it. In forty-eight hours, they are going to quarantine the every large metropolitan area. No one will be allowed in or out once this is done.”

  “Well, that’s good news. The president is alive and making rational decisions, like to not destroy major population centers.”

  “No one I trust can authenticate the message. It may not be the president or they may still be planning the nukes and just want people to stay calm,” Terri says.

  “That’s not a message to stay calm,” I point out. “If anything, it gets a whole bunch of survivors moving. Maybe we can find a caravan and latch on to a bigger group.”

  “I don’t like it. If that was the plan, they should have told us to cluster around survivors. Do you really think there isn’t a hospital, army base or housing complex that locked itself down and is shielding a sizable number of people?”

  “This is going to sound judgey, but I don’t really know you,” I say. “How would you know someone that is qualified to authenticate a message from the president?”

  “Asking questions: congratulations, you’ve picked up a new skill,” Terri says sarcastically. “You’re going to have to start asking more questions, and they need to get harder.”

  “Yes, sensei. Are you like a White House correspondent?” I ask.

  “Actually, I’m a professional forum moderator.”

  “Like online shit? This gives you the contacts to judge presidential communiqués?”

  “My specialty is the prepper community, and you might be surprised at how many government staffers are serious preppers,” Terri says.

  “So, you’re a prepper? Do you have, like, a go bag and a bug-out plan?” It would really help if someone here were prepared.

  “I’m not a prepper,” Terri says. “I’m the room mother for their online forums. I do have a go bag, but I kind of made a joke of it and stuffed it with chargers and USB memory sticks. Look, to use Tucker’s words, you guys seem solid. What you did for that kid was great. I have a few options for safe harbor and you’re all welcome to join me. Assuming I’m welcome to join you in the Humvee.”

  From next door: “Yip, yip. BARK!” the cries of a little dog punctuate the air.

  “Stupid Pebbles. Tucker, my keys are on the hook by the door. The one with the red cover is for the place next door. Will you go get Pebbles and bring him back here?”

  “Sure.” Tucker is playing house again, happily running errands for the missus.

  I turn back to the task at hand. “Where are these choices?” I ask.

  “The two worth considering are in Mexico and New Mexico, but those seem unreasonably far. There’s a sketch one in Oklahoma and another potential one that is also in the south. I think we should make a plan for Mexico, and if we hit something good before that, we can choose to stay,” Terri says, leaning back from her computer.

  “The one in Mexico is reliable and safe?”

  “I think so. It’s a newer group to my forums, but I haven’t caught them in anything shady. Like I said, I have several government contacts and I do a fair bit of digging on people who show up new and start building a name for themselves.”

  The idea that we have to be afraid of living humans bothers me, a lot. I get the idea of looters and rabble-rousers: mostly selfish man-children bent on taking regardless of what it is. What flies over my head are the groups who would jump on this to impose their vision of what the country should be.

  Todd comes out of the bathroom with wet hair but the same disgusting clothes he’s been wearing.

  When I left my apartment yesterday, I thought about a rack of beers and getting to Tucker’s. I never thought about clothes or what I would wear after a day on the run. Looks like Todd didn’t, either.

  In the tight space of the bathroom, I can smell myself in contrast to the floral scents of soap and shampoo that fill the humid air. Aches and pains are more pronounced than even a few minutes ago.

  Picking at the duct tape covering the armor on my arms reveals my latest hurdle. I throw my head back in frustration. I can damage the armor or take forever getting it off.

  In most cases, I would just tear it off, but I’ve grown fond of it. There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s saved me at least twice. I don’t want to struggle with it, but I just want to get in the shower.

  Right on top of the sink is a steak knife. Has to be from Todd.

  I use the knife to cut the armor off my arms and then reach down to my legs. The right side armor comes off easily, but I have to search for the seam on the left side.

  A tiny bloody fingerprint catches my eye. Between teardrops, I slide the tip of the knife into the seam and slice carefully. I start to sob silently and the tears just won’t stop.

  Maya, her name was Maya.

  McLean

  Chapter 23

  After what I’ve seen today, I needed to walk in on this: Jaden, sound asleep in a pile of pillows, with a tiny dog curled up against his chest. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

  Todd is sitting at the table, nursing a beer. Patrick is not in the room and I can only assume he’s taking his turn in the shower. Terri is glued to a screen, typing furiously.

  Behind me, Cupcake is carrying a tray of food and drinks from my apartment. Personally I’m starving, but I just don’t feel like eating.

  Part of me feels like we should analyze what went down with Isaiah and Maya. The other part of me does not want to ever think about what happened today.

  “We need to stay here tonight. Any word on the nukes?” I ask the room.

  “The nuke plan was supposedly canceled. They’re putting a quarantine line across the northeast from D.C. through Pittsburg, and ending in Cleveland at the lake. Pittsburg and Cleveland are in the zone, while D.C. is technically out of it. My contacts think it’s mostly symbolic, but there is a rumor of a bunch of survivors holed up in the Capitol building.”

  “Holy shit.” Tucker adds softly.

  “Well, it seems unrealistic,” Todd says. “What are they going to do, put up a fence? Anyone want to sign up for that job?” He is not just going with the flow.

  “Maybe some politician figured out a way to make nuke-and-quarantine synonyms,” Cupcake says. “They’re saying ‘quarantine,’ but they mean ‘destroy with nuclear weapons.’” He also doesn’t believe we’re safe for now.

  Terri is just hoovering up information. The guys knee-jerk to almost everything they hear. Going across the street kind of messed up my planning, but the end goal still feels sound: head south.

  “We should be able to get south of D. C. in an average day’s drive,” I say. Time to start nudging them toward my plan.

  “Yeah, lets hop in the funnel and see where it spits us out. Blindly following directions is the perfect way to get through this,” Todd says, critical and sarcastic.

  I should have known better. The knee-jerk reaction to heading south is “stay put,” or worse, “head north.”

  Looking around, the room feels comfortable and safe. I remember back to last summer when a few of us rented a cabin on the lake. It rained hard for two days and we were stuck inside. Those days were more fun than the ones filled with sun, swimming and canoeing. Right now, it feels like we’re waiting out the rain.

  “You’re right. Let’s walk through what it would be like to stay put. Starting tomorrow, we can organize supply runs. Teams of three will head to the closest bodega and gather canned and dry food. We can probably wait a week before we need water,” I suggest, but I don’t really mean it. Maybe I can get them to disagree, to react into leaving with me.

  “Yeah. This floor is secured. The stairwell is basically safe and I could use to lose a few pounds,” Cupcake says. “Maybe we go on rations, skip showers and mellow yellow. I can see us lasting weeks.” He has made the “huge” leap of looking ahead w
eeks.

  “I am not going on any kind of runs,” Terri says flatly. “If you are seriously willing to consider rolling the dice on getting nuked, you can get the fuck out of my apartment. I’ll find another group of survivors to team up with.” She clearly is not the political type.

  “I say we do the opposite of what they want,” Todd says. “Let’s head north, maybe the zombies can’t live in the cold.” He thinks he’s throwing a curveball, but I know he didn’t think it through; it’s just contrary thinking.

  “That’s brilliant. Not only would we need to scrounge for food, we’d also have to find heat,” I say. “Stop being an asshole.”

  Patrick comes out of the bathroom with his hair dripping, holding onto the wine boxes he was wearing earlier. Rather than say anything, he just listens. I like that.

  Cupcake interjects: “Let’s stay civil. If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can come up with something reasonable for all of us.” He’s looking for balance.

  “Just use your head for something other than feeding a zombie,” Terri snaps. “We’re heading south. The question is what route and what destination.” She has a lovable way of making you feel like a fool.

  “Have you found any survivor groups north of D.C.?” I ask her. “I think there’s safety in numbers.” I hope she answers yes.

  The only route south that I know well is through the cities. From New York to Philly, and then down to D.C. I’ve actually made that drive several times to see different pieces of art. If nukes are still a possibility, maybe we should look for a more rural route.

  Patrick has a look of confusion on his face. I get the impression that he knows something we don’t, but I’m not sure why he would keep a secret.

  “There was some Philly chatter last night, but it was pretty disorganized. They’ve been quiet for almost sixteen hours. Other than that, the only consistent messages have been from D.C. itself,” Terri says.

  “No fucking way am I going into the lion’s den,” Todd says. “When this is all over, I bet you a million dollars the government did something to start it.” God, Todd doesn’t know what he wants, but he’ll disagree with anything.