Stories in a Lost World: Bridget (4 page)

Even when they're not.

Just when we were about to turn back, we saw a sign that 1 mile ahead was another town. We had to check it out. None of us had spent a lot of time off campus, except for Kristy, but she had never been there, either.

It looked completely abandoned. A ghost town, almost. We didn't want to stop because we still only had the one shotgun, but we saw a vending machine outside a gas station.

I dug around in the car until I found a bunch of quarters, then I parked and ran up to the machine real quick and bought as many sodas as I could, which was four.

I ran back to the car just as I heard them: the infected.

I don't know if they're faster after dusk or if they're just creepier, but as soon as I closed the door, there were two banging on the car. Kristy wanted to shoot them, but I told her to watch herself. There was no point in attracting more of them.

The one on her side was a little kid, and Danielle started crying in the back seat. She used to have a little brother, and it reminded her of him, I'm sure. She didn't say anything. She just quietly sobbed while I booked it out of there and hurried back down the road. I made a few turns and took the long way, just to be sure we weren't followed.

As if anyone would want to follow the three of us.

When we got back to the house, it was dark. I shut off the engine and we all went inside to our own bedrooms. Even though it's been more than an hour since I started writing, I can still hear Danielle crying. Fuck.

April 3rd

Danielle has spent the entire day crying. In fact, she's spent the last couple of days crying and both Kristy and I are totally sick of it. Without the air conditioner running or an air purifier or a fan, the house is eerily quiet except for her sobs.

Don't get me wrong: I totally understand what it's like to lose someone.

But sometimes you just have to move on.

I went into her room today and hugged her for awhile. She talked about her little brother and I talked about my mom and dad. We talked about what happened to them and if they're still alive.

I told her, "We're still alive, so there's a chance for them." That's true, right? I don't feel like it is, but it's the only thing I have. I feel like I have to hang onto at least a little bit of hope. Otherwise I'm as good as the zombies that march around: dead.

After we talked, Danielle came out of her room and we walked around outside. We still don't know what we're doing. We're in this place of stagnation. We don't quite feel comfortable enough to settle in, but we don't really know if we should move on.

How do you make a choice like that?

All I have that's mine is my backpack.

All I have are faded pictures and faded memories.

I feel like my entire life before this is just a blur of stupid nonsense. There was so much time spent studying for tests that don't matter, so much time spent hanging out with people who no longer exist.

And now I'm here, in a farmhouse with my friends.

I need to find something to do.

April 4th

I got a hobby! Well, sort of. Kristy and I decided to explore the attic today. We found some batteries in the kitchen, so we aren't worried about using our flashlights too much. I found the entrance to the attic in my closet and we just had to go up. It's about as creepy as you would expect an old, unused attic to be.

The attic looks like it hasn't be entered in years. Seriously. I would guess at least ten years, but it could easily be more. When we got up the tiny little ladder, we both started coughing from the dust. It was everywhere. Once our lungs adjusted, we finished entering the attic and took a look around.

There were a couple of windows that actually gave a pretty good view of the property. I suggested that if we stay here, we consider moving into the attic permanently. That way, if someone broke into the house while we were asleep, we'd be safe. It would be a great place to hide and it would give us a clear view of the property.

Kristy wasn't sure if Danielle would go for it, but we asked her later, and she seemed open to the idea. We'll talk about it some more and then decide.

Anyway, we walked around, looking through old boxes and trunks. Most of the stuff up there was clothes and toys. There were a few things that seemed like rustic family heirlooms. Usual attic stuff, you know?

But then I found a box with yarn. Tons and tons and tons of yarn, and a pair of knitting needles, and a little how-to book.

And I looked at Kristy, and I told her that I'm going to knit her a sweater.

So I am.

She laughed, but I spent all afternoon working on it until it got dark. These days, when it gets dark, we all just go to bed. There's no point in staying up any later. There's nothing to do, anyway.

April 5
th

I worked on my knitting all day, but didn’t manage to make anything of use. Kristy and Danielle both think that I’m wasting my time, but who cares? I try not to let them know that it hurts my feelings because hey, who wants to live with a sissy?

Kristy has taken to running every day. She says it’s to build her endurance. She thinks that Danielle and I should run, too. My asthma is way too bad and I only have one inhaler left. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately because I know I’m going to need to find a new supply of Albuterol.

Either that or figure out a way to naturally deal with asthma.

Danielle joined her today, though, and the two of them were gone for well over an hour. It doesn’t bother me that they’re bonding in this way. We got over the “three is a crowd” thing a long time ago. We had to, if we were going to stay close…if we were going to stay alive.

When the girls got back from their run, we made dinner together. Honestly, there are only so many ways you can eat cold green beans before you want to just kill yourself.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should.

No, I’m not being melodramatic.

I just mean, is this it? Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? Do I
really
want to spend the next 20 years of my life running? Do I really want to be the girl who gets eaten by a zombie when she’s not even 30? Do I really want to spend my years hiding?

It’s hard to wrap my head around the idea that I might not get to do all the normal growing up things. A marriage is basically out of the question, and having kids? In
this
world? It would just be cruel.

Sometimes it breaks my heart to know that I’ll probably never get to fall in love. I’ve never been in love before and now I never will be. Who would be so stupid as to fall in love when the whole world is dying? I know that it’s selfish, which is what makes it harder to cope with my feelings.

I just miss normal.

I miss movies and homemade popcorn and watching YouTube. I miss cell phones and pictures and Internet arguments. I miss my eBooks. I miss being able to talk to anyone, anywhere in the world, and see what they’re doing. I miss being able to talk to my mom.

I miss everything.

I have to try not to focus on these feelings, though. I know that if I do, the only thing that it’s going to do is destroy what little of me is left.

And let’s be honest: it’s not much.

April 6
th

Everything changed today.

Kristy and Danielle were on their run when I heard the noise downstairs. I thought they were back, so I hurried down from my knitting spot upstairs. When I got to the living room, I looked around, but didn’t see the girls.

Then I saw them: two guys.

And I caught my breath, suddenly regretting the fact that I had been hanging out in a t-shirt with no bra and a pair of cutoffs.

They were tall, sweaty, smelly, and sexy as hell. The taller one had long brown hair, almost to his shoulders. The other one was still taller than me (maybe 5’10 or so), but his hair was short and blonde.

The second they saw me, their guns were raised, and my hands were in the air. Then we just sort of stared at each other for the longest time. It felt like hours. Their eyes took in every inch of me, and I wonder what they were thinking.

I haven’t looked in the mirror in days.

My hair was pulled back in a braid to keep the grease and nastiness at bay. I don’t get to bathe much. None of us do.

After the longest time, the tall guy spoke.

“Who are you?” He asked, lowering his weapon. I put my hands on my hips, suddenly pissed. Who am I? Who am
I
? Seriously? He was the one who broke into our house, when my
friends
were gone, no less, and he has the audacity to ask who I am?

Fuck that.

I glared at him, darkening my gaze. I don’t have any notion that I scared him at all, but I hope that I at least made my point. He’s not taking me without a fight.

I didn’t answer him. Then it was
his
turn to glower, and the smaller guy, the blonde one, started laughing.

“She doesn’t like you, man,” he muttered, cracking up. He slapped his knee like this was an ordinary, every-day situation, like this was the kind of thing that happened to them all the time.

“Who are you?” Tall boy repeated.

“Fuck you,” I spat. “Get out of my house.”

He looked surprised at that, given my state of undress and my crazy hair and the fact that I’m not exactly a big girl. In fact, I’m almost tiny. At 5’6, I was slender before the apocalypse. Now I’m basically emaciated.

The shorter guy laughed again, then put his gun down on the floor and held up
his
hands.

“Look, honey,” he said with a smile. “We don’t want any trouble. We didn’t realize anyone living was in the house. We’ll get out of your way.” The taller guy kept glaring at me, but at the other guy’s words, he shot him a look.

“Not a chance,” he muttered. “Finders keepers.”

I yelled at him again.

“Fuck you! Go away!” I had nothing nicer to say to him. What an asshole. Who marches into someone’s home and just tries to take it? While they’re still living there?

Don’t get me wrong: I’ve absolutely robbed houses. If the owners are dead, though, isn’t it just looting? I’ve never taken anything from someone who was still alive. I’ve never threatened the life of another human.

Now, though, I just might change my tune. This kid was ridiculous.

The two guys just stared at me, until finally I just left the room. I went into the kitchen and focused on evening my breathing. I could feel myself getting stressed out and the last thing I wanted to have to do was take my inhaler. Not in front of them. Not now. Not over something so stupid.

The problem with stress-induced asthma in the apocalypse is that everything is a stresser. Everything has the potential to be a life-or-death asthma attack.

Everything threatens to kill me.

The guys followed me into the kitchen, but I couldn’t focus on them. Instead, I closed my eyes and breathe in and out.

“Hey, are you okay?” It was blondie. I could tell just from his voice.

“I think she’s crazy,” the brunette said.

“I’m not,” I said to him. I wanted to snap, but I could feel my lungs tightening.

This was it.

I needed the puffer.

I reached for my pocket and pulled out my inhaler. Bringing it to my lips, I took just one puff. A standard dose is two, separated by a few minutes and ideally, using a spacer. I knew my puffs were getting low, though, so I only took one. Once the inhaler was empty, it was gone forever.

“Shit,” said the brunette. “Are you okay?” Now he was suddenly so caring? “I didn’t know you had asthma.”