Lost in the Apocalypse (10 page)

He shouldn’t have to do it. Neil sat on a barstool in front of Robert, staring at the now-red cloth wrapped around his arm.

“You promised,” Robert said, but Neil just shook his head.

“I didn’t mean like this,” he protested.

“I don’t care what you meant,” Robert growled. “A promise is a promise.” He looked away, then down at his arm, the finally back to Neil. “Don’t make me beg,” he said. His voice was almost a whisper, and it was almost enough to make Neil burst into tears right then.

The truth was that he hadn’t known Robert that long. Not long enough to feel the deep bond he already did. He’d served with good men and women his entire career, but something about Robert was different.

They had both experienced so much loss before this journey had started that they had instantly bonded. They knew, even without words, that sometimes a man loses so much that it changes him. Sometimes a man loses the things closest to him and it breaks him. Sometimes a man loses something he wanted more than anything else, and it darkens his soul.

Robert had never judged Neil for the smudge on his heart.

“We don’t know if you’re infected,” Neil said. He grabbed a bottle of vodka and opened it. He took a slow sip and passed it to Robert.

“Vanilla vodka?” Robert raised an eyebrow. “Try again, son.”

Neil handed him the rum, and that was met with a smile. He took a long swig, not even flinching as the alcohol made its way down his throat.

He set it back on the counter, careful to avoid the glass, and turned back to Neil.

“We both know there was blood on the glass,” Robert said. Neil felt like he was going to choke. A pit of despair settled in his stomach and he felt physically ill, like he might vomit, like this might be it. Yeah, he had seen the glass, but what were the odds?

What were the chances of surviving the initial outbreak, of traveling across an entire state, of surviving a fucking tornado, and then dying from a shard of broken glass in a tavern?

“Life is a cruel fucking joke,” Neil said. Robert huffed in response.

“You promised,” he said again, and this time Neil nodded.

“I won’t let you down.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each drinking slowly, lost in their own worlds. What was the right thing to say to your friend before you killed him? They didn’t have much time, Neil knew. Maybe it would take ten minutes or twenty, but before the hour was up, Robert would be a Type 2. He’d be a runner. He’d be a sprinter. He’d be the worst fucking kind of zombie and he’d eat them all.

“Are you scared?” Neil asked. His voice was barely a whisper.

Robert, always self-assured and smart-tongued, was silent this time. They could hear Emily complaining outside and chewing out Butter, but they tried to ignore her. This wasn’t about her, or any of them, really. It was about Robert. When he spoke, the man had tears in his eyes, and Neil knew he couldn’t wait much longer or Robert would do it himself.

“I miss them,” he said, and Neil knew he was talking about his wife and daughter. CDC II had been taken so fast, Robert never had a chance to save them. His beautiful wife who was the director would never have left without the children in the daycare. She would have stayed. She wouldn’t have left a single child, especially their toddler. Never their toddler.

Robert looked at his hands, and then he closed his eyes. Neil shot quickly. The sound radiated throughout the restaurant, loud and clear, followed by silence louder than anything he’d ever heard before.

“God bless you, brother,” he whispered, and placed his hand on Robert’s shoulder. He was slumped forward over the bar, and Neil left him there, alone. He turned before he could cry over his friend, his brother, his partner. He turned before he could shoot himself, too, just to dull the pain.

He turned and he walked out of the bar a changed man.

A broken man.

They walked home without speaking. Emily gripped the bottle of whiskey like it was a beacon of hope, when really, it was a symbol of death. They had lost so much. Was this really all there was? Death and emptiness?

They got back to the house and Kari grinned when she saw them.

“Hey! Did you find out where the Z’s were coming from?” Emily pushed past her and walked upstairs to her room. Butter and Neil came in behind her and Emily heard them whispering to Kari.

She couldn’t listen to it.

She went into her room, shut the door, and opened the whiskey. Her first swig burned on the way down. The second one warmed her.

Neil came in and sat beside her so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. She felt the bed dip and then he took the bottle from her hands. She didn’t protest as he drank the whiskey. Obviously, today was going to be harder on him than anyone else.

“We made a pact,” he said finally, as if in explanation.

“I didn’t say anything,” Emily whispered.

“He didn’t want to turn, didn’t even want to risk it. Didn’t want to wait. His wife and kid died, Em. He had nothing left to live for.”

A tear slid down her cheek, but she shook her head, wishing it away.

“I told him,” Neil continued, placing a hand on her knee, “that I would take care of him. If anything happened, I would be the one to do it. He promised the same for me.”

“Was he scared?” She whispered. She should have said goodbye, should have realized what was happening when he gave her the bottle to hold.

“He wasn’t scared,” Neil promised. “Didn’t feel a thing. He was ready, Em. He was done living without his family. He was done.”

They sat there then, silent in the bedroom, staring at the walls and wishing for dreams that could never be.

“I don’t want to be done living,” she whispered, and she placed her hand on top of Neil’s. He looked at it, then back up at her, then back at his hand. They sat in silence for awhile and he took another drink. Then Neil looked at Emily and she met his gaze.

“Me neither.” He kissed her then, smashing the bottle of liquor between their bodies. He tasted like whiskey and she didn’t mind.

For a little while, Neil could make her feel alive. He could make her feel whole.

He could make her forget that everyone she had ever loved was dead.

He could make things okay.

For just a little bit.

***

Kari and Cody were in the kitchen when Neil and Emily came downstairs. They gave Emily knowing looks, but said nothing.

“Are we going to…” She wanted to ask if they were going to bury Robert. He was one of them.

“We’re going to burn the building,” Neil said. “There are enough bodies close to us that I don’t like the idea of them attracting wolves or other do-gooders.”

The concrete that surrounded the tavern would ensure the fire didn’t spread, and there was enough alcohol that it wouldn’t take much to light the building.

“When?” She asked. Darkness was beginning to fall. They wouldn’t want to burn anything in the night.

“Tomorrow,” Neil said. “Best to do it when flames aren’t going to attract a lot of attention.”

“Here,” Kari thrust a bowl of soup in Emily’s hands.

“It’s hot,” she said in surprise, almost flinching at the feeling of warmth in her hands. “The stovetop works?”

“Propane,” Kari said with a smile. “There’s still a half tank out back.” Emily took the soup and grabbed a spoon, then took a seat at the wooden kitchen table.

“This opens up a world of possibilities,” she said. “I wonder if the oven is propane, too.”

“Electric,” Kari frowned. “I checked, but there isn’t much we can’t cook on the stove.”

“We should ration it,” Neil commented, but Kari shook her head.

“Do you know how long propane lasts? Even if we use it every day to cook, we’re going to be good all winter, at least.”

He took the soup Kari offered him and sat down next to Emily.

“Never thought I’d be so happy to have a bowl of chicken noodle,” he said, but Emily was quiet as she ate. She crumpled up some crackers and sprinkled them on the top, then slowly at her soup. She savored it, even though she knew there was plenty of it, because she didn’t want to waste any of the flavorful food.

It had been so long since she’d had anything hot to eat that it felt like a huge treat, and it was nothing. It was just run-of-the-mill, straight-from-the-can, chicken soup.

This was what her life had come down to.

She finished eating and set her dishes beside the sink.

“How are we going to wash them?” She asked Kari. “Water from the sink?”

“No, let’s save it for showers,” she said. “As long as it lasts. We’ll use rain water for the dishes.”

“Good idea.” Emily hadn’t thought of that.

Kari pulled a bucket out from beneath the sink and placed the dirty dishes inside.

“Since it hasn’t rained yet,” she said. “A cloth is going to have to do.” She grabbed a dry washcloth and wiped down each bowl. There was still a thin, grimy film on each bowl.

“No, use water,” Emily said. “Just a little will be fine.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t a good idea at all.” Kari frowned. She wet the cloth and wiped the bowls down again, followed by the pot. She lined them up on the counter to dry and hung the washcloth over the sink.

“No luck finding out if there’s a well?” Emily asked.

“Nah,” Kari shook her head. “I’m pretty sure this baby is hooked up to city water, so once the water in the hot water heater is gone, I think we’re SOL.”

“Maybe we can find a creek,” Emily offered helpfully. “There has to be something around here.”

“I’ll go with you if you want to look,” Neil offered helpfully, but it was already dark and Emily was tired.

“I’m just going to head to bed tonight,” she said. She wondered if she should kiss him or hug him before she went upstairs, but she didn’t want to be awkward in front of Kari, so she just smiled and nodded, then went upstairs feeling like a huge dork.

A huge, broken, sad, lonely dork who just wanted something to live for.
 

Weeks passed and the little ragamuffin group of survivors settled into a comfortable pattern. Neil moved into Emily’s room and no one said anything about it. Butter took Neil’s old room. He said he didn’t feel right staying in Robert’s room, said he didn’t want to be disrespectful.

They boarded up the downstairs windows but left tiny peepholes on each side of the house. Neil and Butter reinforced the front door with extra wooden planks. They moved a dresser downstairs that they could slide behind the door at night. If anyone tried to come in, they’d have a hard time getting past that.

The group left the upstairs windows alone, but Emily packed a backpack for each room with water, food, and a knife. If something happened and they needed to leave quickly in the middle of the night, they’d be prepared.

They would at least have enough food to last them a week.

Emily wrote in her notebook, but soon it was full and she had nothing left to write. She was bored. She found herself wandering around the house, looking for anything else to secure, but it felt safe enough. Butter wanted to build a fence around the property and began making plans for it. He had worked construction before enlisting, so he had some building experience.

One day, he decided to go look for supplies. Emily volunteered to go with him. Kari was coming down with a cold, so she stayed at home while Cody watched over her. Neil wanted to clean his rifle.

They got in the pickup and Butter headed toward town. Though they’d been in the house for a few weeks now, they had only explored other houses: never the nearby village.

“Why town today?” She asked.

Butter shrugged. “Might be a hardware store,” he said gruffly, but she suspected there was a deeper reason than that. Butter had never been much of a risk taker, not that she’d seen. Still, she didn’t press him. He was a good man, as far as she could tell, and he didn’t need her giving him crap today.

He slowed down as they approached the town. A faded wooden sign read GLENOAKS, POPULATION 2,452.

“I doubt there’s a post office,” Emily rolled her eyes. “Much less a hardware store.”

“You’d be surprised,” Butter said as he drove down the deserted main street. “Little towns are resourceful places.” They passed a bank and three different churches. A few houses sat between official town buildings. There was, in fact, a post office. Next to it was another church.

“Only a few Z’s,” Emily commented, staring out the window as they drove by. If the town was this empty, she imagined most of the houses were full of the Infected who had been here. Either that or they had already wandered off. They only saw a dozen or so before they reached a real, honest-to-goodness farm supply store. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, looking at Butter. “How did you know they would have one?”

“Didn’t,” he said, and hopped out of the truck. He slammed the door shut and she cringed, but Butter didn’t seem worried. There were a few Infected wandering around nearby, but none of them were moving quickly .

“Want me to stand guard?” She asked, but he shook his head.

“Let’s get what we need and get out. No point in going on a shooting spree and wasting the ammo.”

The front door was locked, but he tossed a rock through the glass door and reached his hand through to unlatch the deadbolt. Butter pushed the door open and they walked in. It was a supply store, not a hardware store, but there were plenty of things they could use. Emily found rolls of barbed wire and carried it out to the truck. An Infected was only a few yards away and she grabbed the baseball bat from the bed of the truck and swung. The bat connected with its head with a large thud and, to her surprise, the head of the Infected rolled right off.

“Must’ve been an old one,” Butter commented from behind her. He carried a wood pallet and tossed it in the back of the truck before heading back inside. Emily trotted behind him, looking for other things they could use. Most of the items in the dilapidated store were things like feed and range cubes.

She found an area with medical supplies and took some of the heart medication. Then she grabbed some equine antibiotics. Obviously, they’d have to modify the dosage if they wanted to use the penicillin designed to treat horses, but it was the same main ingredient. She carried her find outside and tossed the bottles in the truck.

“About done,” Butter said. He had found more fencing materials, along with gloves and a sun hat.

“Nice hat,” Emily commented.

“Fuck you. I look good,” Butter grunted. Emily laughed and ran back inside. She grabbed a bag of newborn chick feed and brought it back out.

“Chick feed?” Butter glared at the bag.

“I remembered,” she said. “There are antibiotics in baby chick feed. If anyone gets sick,” she shrugged. “It could be an option. Better than crawling around a hospital filled with Infected.”

“I wouldn’t go near a hospital if you paid me,” he slid into the driver’s side. “But I’d definitely pay you to try to get Kari to eat baby chicken feed if she needs drugs.”

Emily rolled her eyes. She got in the car and closed her door.

“Wanna explore before we head back?”

“Why not?” She was surprised at his suggestion, but she was game for anything. They didn’t have anywhere else to be. They had a little under a quarter tank of gas. It was enough to drive around town for a bit before they headed home. Soon they’d need to think about finding other transportation, but for now, it was fine.

He turned down one of the side roads that led to a residential area.

“Surprised there aren’t any survivors here?” She asked, raising an eyebrow as she noticed the sad state of the houses.

“Nope,” he said. “Small town America is resourceful, but no one coulda been ready for all that.”

“You mean everyone accidentally turning into flesh-eating monsters at the same time?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “Places were overrun too fast to do much about it.”

“Is that what happened on base?” Emily asked, raising an eyebrow. None of the airmen had spoken much about that day.

Butter sighed, but kept driving. Emily rolled the window down and let her arm dangle out of it. Careless? Sure. She could die at any time, though, and the air felt great.

“Just a normal day,” he began, and she stared at the houses they passed. A blue one, then a red one. What a strange color for a house, she thought. Most people wanted something neutral, something that allowed them to blend in with the world around them.

“Stop,” she said, and he pulled into the driveway. They sat there for a second, then he killed the engine. “Sorry,” she said. “I just…this house is so weird. Let’s stare at it while you talk.”

He chuckled, but obliged.

“I was at work,” he began again.

“On base?”

“On base. I was working at an office near the back gate when we started hearing reports of a weird-ass virus. Everyone started checking their social media at the same time, but the news was all about it. It didn’t say the dead were walking. It didn’t say ‘zombie.’ We all knew, though. What else could it be?”

“You hadn’t gotten the vaccine?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I was supposed to, but I had a cold. They sent me home. Said it wasn’t safe to give me while was sick. What about you?” He asked. “Why didn’t you go running to get your shot?”

“I’m allergic to eggs,” she shrugged. “I can’t even get the flu shot. Figured I’d take my chances.”

“Guess you got lucky.”

“I guess so. What’d you do when you saw the news?”

“Everyone left to go get their kids,” he said. “I didn’t have any, so I waited around. Then the phone started ringing. I was the only one in the office. I picked up my boss’ phone. They didn’t wait for me to say who I was or anything. They just started talking. Said the front gate had been breached. The phone went dead before they could give orders.”

“You ran,” Emily said, noting the way his shoulders slumped a little bit as he told the story.

“Like a coward,” Butter admitted.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“What’s being alive worth if you didn’t do anything to save anyone?” He got out of the truck and Emily followed suit. “The world is worth what we make of it. If you never save anyone, never risk anything, it’s not a very good world to live in. Come on, now. I know you’re dying to explore.”

The front door was locked, but they hopped the chain link fence in the backyard and found the spare key.

“Fucking small towns,” Butter grumbled, holding the key up. “You people,” he muttered, shaking it at Emily, then he unlocked the door. There was no car in the driveway, so she suspected the house was empty, but it wasn’t.

A little kid, probably five or six, sat on the couch staring at the black television set. He turned to them and growled, then ran toward them. Butter stepped back and closed the door before it could reach them.

“Not gonna do it,” he said, looking at Emily, waiting to see what she would say. Could she do it? Could she kill a little kid? It wasn’t a kid anymore. She thought it over and over again. He’s not alive, not really.

But the truth was that when she saw a little boy, all she thought of was Melanie.

She had already killed her sister. She had already killed enough to last her a lifetime. A cool-looking house wasn’t worth exploring if you had to murder a child to do it.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

They went back to the truck and got inside, but when he started the car and pulled onto the road, he cursed under his breath.

“What?” She asked.

“Fuckin’ trouble is what.”

She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw them. Dozens of them. More than there should have been. More than she could have imagined.

“Punch it, Butter,” Emily complained, her eyes glued to the scene unfolding behind them.

She had lived in the country for years and thought she had seen just about everything she could possibly imagine, but a stampede of infected cows was not one of them. They were big, they were fast, they were sick, and they were barreling toward the car.

Butter drove faster and they both silently prayed it would be enough.