Phoenix (21 page)

"If we don’t kill each other first, all stuck
in this house together," Brad added.

Mort agreed.

Laura glared at them. "Okay, so say we do it
your way? Where do we go?" When she didn’t get an immediate answer,
her rant went on. "Huh? Where? There’s nowhere for us to
run
! Nowhere is safe! Why give this up for who the hell
knows what?"

Brad motioned with his hands. "Hey, keep it
down," he said, and moved toward her.

Laura met him halfway. "Tell me where. One of
you must know." She looked at Brad, then Izzy, then back to Brad.
"One of you must have seen where we end up. So where do we go?"

Brad understood Laura was being unreasonable
because she was afraid. They were
all
afraid. But he hadn’t
seen where they would end up, and he was pretty sure Izzy hadn’t
either. He simply didn’t know where to go, only that they needed
to, and soon.

"Do any of you have family away from here?
And preferably not in that direction?" Mort asked and pointed
toward the city.

Laura clenched her jaw and finally shook her
head. "No, I don’t."

Adams shook his head. "No. You don’t want to
go the way I came, anyway. Too damned far. We’d never make it."

Brad remembered something Izzy had said in
the kitchen the day before. "Izzy, didn’t you tell us you still had
family out there?"

She turned away from him and fiddled with the
cell phone in her lap. "Yeah, but I can’t reach him." Her words
were so soft he could barely make them out. "He was supposed to
call…"

Brad frowned. "There has to be somewhere we
can go."

"I can try calling a few of the others in the
book again. Maybe I’ll get through." Mort turned to the china
cabinet behind him and pulled open a drawer. He dug through the
tablecloths stored there until he found it.

"No," Laura said. "You’re assuming we’re
leaving again. We haven’t decided that."

"We have. The question was asked. I answered.
We need to leave," Adams said.

The two fell into another argument. Brad went
to Mort, took the book from his hands, closed it up, and placed it
back in the drawer. "You won’t be needing that."

"And why not?"

"Because I know where to go. Well, I know
which direction to start."

Mort raised both brows. "And that would
be
?"

Brad jabbed a finger in the opposite
direction of town. "That way."

"That would be a hell of a good idea." He
laughed. "Or rather, it’s the best I’ve heard yet."

"Then let’s get it done." Brad left and went
upstairs to the guestroom to pack a few things in his backpack.

Mort clapped his hands to get the group’s
attention again. "Listen up. We’re leaving. Since I can’t force
anyone to go, whoever wants to stay here can stay. Whoever wants to
leave with me, get a few things together now and make sure you pack
light. We might have to abandon the cars and hoof it."

Laura and Adams shut up. They stared after
Mort as he made his way up the stairs.

* * *

"We’re gonna need weapons. You’ve got those
two shotguns. What else do we have?" Brad asked. He helped Mort
pack a bag with enough canned goods for three days, and all the
bottled water they could carry. It wouldn’t do to pack the trunk of
the car full, because as Mort had said, if they ended up walking,
they’d have to leave it all behind.

"I know where we can find another one." Mort
zipped and unzipped the bag twice, then patted it. "That’s good.
Put it with the others."

Brad carried it over and dropped it next to
the pile. Izzy hadn’t been able to bring anything with her, but
when Laura and Adams had initially shown up at Mort’s, they’d
brought at least one overnight bag with them. Now those backpacks
and duffle bags were stacked up in the foyer. Mort decided they’d
take his and Laura’s cars, since those two had the most gas in the
tanks.

The other three trickled into the dining room
after taking turns using the two bathrooms. Laura was still fuming,
but Izzy had talked her out of staying behind. Mort shoved a set of
salt and pepper shakers into a side pocket of his bag and glanced
up when he saw Adams come into the room.

"Hey, I need your help with something."

"What?"

Mort jerked his chin toward the front door.
"I know where there’s another gun, and I want you to go with Brad
and get it."

"Oh," Adams turned and stared out the window.
"That."

"Yeah. Think you can handle it?"

"Yes." Adams waved for Brad to follow.
"C’mon."

Mort opened the junk drawer and pulled out a
hammer. "Here." He handed it to Brad. "Just in case."

Brad hefted it and appreciated the weight.
"Hope like hell I don’t have to use it."

"Come
on
," Adams hissed, leaning
against the back of the couch they’d put there the day before.

"Yeah, yeah."

Brad kicked a bag out of the way and grabbed
one end of it. Adams had the other. Together they lifted and
started moving it away from the door.

"Oh, shit." Brad stopped and glanced over his
shoulder. He hoped Mort couldn’t see what he was seeing. Blood had
seeped underneath the doorway and soaked into the rug. He looked at
Adams, who caught sight of the blood, and together they set the
couch down so it blocked Mort’s view of it.

Brad grabbed the doorknob and gave it a
twist, but before he could open it, Adams’ hand latched onto his
wrist. "There was a, uh…"

Brad gave the man plenty of time to finish
his sentence. He didn’t. Adams’ eyes unfocused, his hand tightened
around Brad’s wrist, and the skin just below his right eye started
twitching.

Brad took his friend’s arm and pulled him
closer. "Hey.
Hey
," he whispered. "Get it together."

"Everything alright in there?" Mort dropped
what he’d been doing in the kitchen and headed toward the
foyer.

"No," Adams answered.

"Yeah!" Brad shouted. "Yeah, we’re good. Just
planning this out."

"Okay…" Mort paused and studied Adams, then
turned back to his preparations.

"Goddammit." Brad jerked his arm free and
smacked Adams’ shoulder.

"What?" Adams shook loose the cobwebs from
his brain and stared at the door. "There was an attack on the
porch."

Brad clenched his jaw. "Wait here." He walked
over to the living room window and pressed his face to it. At this
angle it was hard to see if there was anything still in front of
the door, but he assumed if there had been, they’d have heard it by
now. He went back to Adams. "Do you think they left?"

Adams shrugged. "I think so. It was hard to
make out."

"Shit." Brad bowed his head and held it a
moment. "I’ll rephrase. Did they leave?"

"Yes."

"Okay then, let’s go. No more spacing out
shit either."

Adams nodded and didn’t stop Brad when he
turned the knob again. The door opened an inch. Brad put his
shoulder into it. The door made a wet, grating noise. They looked
down and saw a wide, arcing smear of dark red stuff that Brad
assumed was blood, curdled with brown and green bits of viscera.
The smell surprised them both.

"Oh, Christ." Brad covered his mouth and
turned away. Adams simply stared at it.

"
Oh
!" Mort had snuck up behind
them.

He made a short, sharp, and wordless noise,
his frantic eyes searching the area in and around the doorway. Brad
thought he was looking for zombies.

Then he realized his mentor was staring down
at the rug and porch.

"Don’t worry about this." He took Mort by the
shoulders and guided him backwards into the dining room. "Mort,
don’t worry about this." He deposited his stunned friend in front
of Laura and gave her a look, then patted Mort’s cheek and forced
his eyes up. "Hey, I’ll take care of it. Mort?" He snapped his
fingers. When the older man finally blinked, Brad smiled. "There
you go. It’s okay. I’ll take care of it."

Mort nodded and shuffled back to the kitchen,
where he started opening cupboard doors and rearranging and
counting what was left.

Brad pointed after him. "Watch him."

Laura turned and followed without having to
be told twice.

"Let’s go," Brad said to Adams as he hurried
through the doorway and skipped over the swath of chunky blood.

Adams kicked the door shut behind him and
stopped at the top of the porch steps. "Hold up."

Brad was ahead and halfway down the sidewalk.
He turned to snap back, but saw Adams doing what he
should
have been doing; looking left, then right, making sure they were
clear to move. If he didn’t start looking before leaping, he was
going to end up with a set of teeth in his neck. Finally Adams
nodded and motioned for Brad to keep moving. Brad let out a breath
and slowed his pace, sneaking past the cars parked in the driveway,
remembering to look between each one, and headed off at an angle to
the house across the street. Their target was three down from the
Henderson’s.

Brad stopped at the curb and looked both
ways. He felt like an idiot. After Adams caught up, they started
weaving a path around the pieces of bodies and other things that
were scattered across the road. Brad started to ask about this,
then realized there weren’t any bodies because they had gotten up
and walked away. Adams was a step or two behind him and kept
clearing his throat.

"Don’t puke on me."

"Just keep going."

Brad laughed under his breath and stepped on
a piece of intestine. He hopped a few steps, picked up his foot to
look at the sole of his boot, and cursed.

"
Shit
."

It was Adams’ turn to laugh. "’Don’t puke on
me,’" he mocked and brushed by, stooping to pick up a baseball bat
lying in the middle of the street. The end was slick with blood,
but it was better than nothing.

Brad dragged his boot along the pavement,
trying to clean it off, and then caught up with Adams by the time
he made it to the sidewalk. The wind picked up and carried an odor
past their noses. They turned their heads and looked toward town;
the fire
was
spreading.

"Let’s hurry." Adams jerked his chin and
started jogging toward the house.

The door was hanging open, and the stoop
looked a lot like Mort’s front porch. Brad wasn’t sure what had
happened here and didn’t want to ask Adams. His friend was fraying
around the edges, and it wouldn’t take much at this point to knock
him right into a psychosis.

"Should be just inside." Adams moved forward
to look around the doorframe.

Brad stayed close to the sidewalk and watched
their backs. He was surprised the street was as quiet as it was.
The stink of smoke was getting stronger. Faint wisps of it were
beginning to appear in the breeze. He saw someone watching him
through the curtains over at Mort’s and was about to wave to
whoever it was, when he realized Adams was taking entirely too long
to get that gun.

"Hey, what’s–" Brad spun around and the words
caught in his throat. Adams was bent over at the waist and gripping
the doorframe with both hands.

But he wasn’t moving. Brad could barely see
the man breathing.

He checked his danger radar. A lot of good
that did. There were a few blips, but they jumped around every time
the radar screen glitched. He glanced around one more time to make
sure they were still alone, then crept forward until he was
standing directly behind Adams. He reached out with one hand and
laid it on the small of Adams’ back, hoping like hell it wouldn’t
cause him to scream out. Whatever Adams was seeing inside the house
had frozen him like a deer in headlights. Keeping his hand where it
was, Brad skirted Adams until he could peer around the
doorframe.

About ten feet inside there was a person,
Brad wasn’t sure if it was male or female, hunched over something
on the floor. Its back was to them and it was pulling with its
arms. He couldn’t make out what was lying in front of it, but he
saw jerky movements and heard ripping sounds. Like fabric being
shredded. The shotgun lay on the floor right behind it.

Brad’s fingers curled in the tail of Adams’
shirt and pulled. Adams didn’t move. Brad started tugging and
finally Adams shifted a foot. They kept their eyes on the zombie
inside and backed away from the doorway. It was painstaking, and
Brad was sure the thing would hear or smell them. He didn’t yet
know the limitations of their dead senses, but he was pretty sure
he didn’t want to learn about them equipped with a hammer and
backed up by a guy who might rabbit at any second.

He kept pulling Adams backwards by the shirt.
They made it to the edge of the sidewalk, eyes still glued to the
dark doorway, and Brad heard a rustle behind him. He let go of
Adams’ shirt and swung around, hammer raised, and embedded the claw
end into the forehead of Mort’s mailman. The thing had just started
to moan.

There was movement inside the house.

Brad hunkered down and jerked on the hammer.
It was stuck. He pulled and yanked and Adams backed up into
him.

"Go, go, go," Adams whispered. He pushed on
Brad’s shoulder, back, any body part his hands fell upon, but his
eyes stayed on the doorway. He didn’t even notice the zombie Brad
had just killed until he tripped over it. Adams hit the ground in a
heap.

Brad forgot about the hammer. "Come on." He
grabbed Adams under the armpits and tried to pull him up. Adams
scooted backwards on his ass and hands, his feet kicking, trying to
gain some footing. "Come on, come
on
!" Brad pulled
harder.

The zombie’s head popped into view and it
began to moan. Adams slipped in the fluids leaking from the thing
Brad had killed, and the two men fell over each other trying to get
back into the street. Barely on their feet, one pushing the other,
they hurried and tripped their way back to Mort’s driveway. The
zombie across the street kept coming for them, moving just as
clumsily as they had in their haste to get away. The moaning got
louder and more sustained.