Sunrise (33 page)

Old, rustic, and used far more than it should have been, her faithful weapon’s last killing hit snapped it in half.

“Fuck,” she breathed. She cast the weapon aside, looked down at the empty pistol in her hand, then cursed herself for using a bullet in such an open area. She should know better. Using a gun was the last resort, but it had snuck up on her, had walked from the alley and touched her back before she even heard it.

It’s dead,
she thought, trembling.
It’s fucking dead.

Reeling back, she hocked a glob of spit in her mouth and shot it directly into the zombie’s face.

Somewhere nearby, a door opened, then closed.

Someone’s alive?

No, it couldn’t be! No one could be alive, not here of all places. It was too quiet, too lonely. No one could possibly be left.

“You heard that?” a man said. “Didn’t you?”

“I heard it,” another man replied.

No. It can’t be! No one’s alive! I’ve walked across this whole country and not a single person has ever revealed themselves.

“You think we should go look?” the man with the deeper voice asked.

“You’re sure it was a gunshot?”

“It had to have been. Nothing around here makes that kind of noise.”

Rose screamed.

*

The noise in his ears was like nails clattering across a hardwood floor. Shrill, harsh, brutal in its rawest of forms and tormented beyond belief, the scream tore through Dakota’s head and triggered a wave of panic that not even the strongest of prescription drugs could have quelled. At first he thought he was hearing things, then Jamie pulled the pistol from his belt and trained it on the field below them.

“That wasn’t it,” Dakota said.

“What?”

“In the field. Whatever’s there isn’t it.”

“Then where?”

“Beyond us. Out front.”

“In the street?”

A hail of footfalls echoed up the stairs, through the open door and out onto the balcony. “Someone’s out front!” Erik called, bursting into the room.

“What?” Jamie asked.

“A woman. She shot the gun.”

“What?”

“There’s someone out front!” Desmond cried. “Hurry! Hurry!”

They ran.

*

Rattlesnakes might have made similar noises had they been alive. Dry, snarling, like cats with parched throats, the faint hiss that emanated from the corpse’s throat pulled Rose’s head out of the gutter completely free of any shit it had previously been covered in. Her first thought drove her to the bat in the road—splintered, but still useable—but the voices started yelling and the corpse turned its head toward the noise.

Taking her chance, Rose lunged forward with her palm flat-out and struck the corpse in the chest. It stumbled back and fell to the ground, completely helpless as she screamed and jumped onto its chest. With her thick boots and its emaciated frame, what was left of its torso caved in with little resistance. Even the bones snapped like twigs as she brought her foot down and crushed its face in.

Think logically. Go. Go!

Could they be trusted? Worchester was her lesson, the error quotient in her trial. Mary had died because she hadn’t been paying attention to the man her friend so desperately claimed was her one true love. He’d shot her dead on sight before she even had the chance to knock the gun out of his hand.

They’re not all like him. They’re not…

Something groaned.

In the near distance, a portion of a giant wall began to move.

*

“She’s armed,” Jamie said, “and possibly unstable.”

“How do you know that?”

“No one uses a gun, Dakota. No one’s stupid enough to.”

“Unless they’re desperate,” Erik said, sliding a clip into the rifle in his hand.

“Either way, we need to be careful.”

“She’s screamed twice now,” Ian said, grunting as he lifted the gate out of place and began to pull it backward. “What if she’s bit?”

“We’ll deal with it then,” Steve said, taking place beside Ian.

“What do I do?” Desmond asked.

“You stay here,” Jamie said, looking up at Erik and Dakota. “Desmond,” he continued, reaching down to his belt and the holster at his side, “you take my pistol and hold the front gate. The three of us will go.”

“What about us?” Steve gasped.

“You two need to shut the gate if something goes wrong.”

“But what about you?”

“Just do as I say!”

“Yes sir!” Steve said, snapping his wrist to his brow in a salute.

Smirking, Jamie slid a cartridge into his rifle and cocked his gun.

“Let’s go,” he said.

*

The broken, bloodied bat in her hand, Rose started down the road with her arm slack and her insides tense with anticipation. Her knuckles felt like they would explode out of their joints from the weight of her grip on the bat, but with her gun gone and new, possibly-dangerous men approaching, there was no shortage of nerves coursing through her veins.

They could kill me,
she thought,
and I’m walking right into a trap.

Would it be so bad though to have it end after so long? Sure, she could be killed, and sure, she could be raped and tortured, but would that really be such a bad thing? At least if she were captured, she would have some security, some
safety
behind the wall.

“They’re not doing anything,” she whispered to herself. “I’ll fucking kill them if they even try.”

Raising her bat, she locked her other fist around its bloodied handle and braced it in front of her like a sword, ready for whatever was to come.

You are strong,
she thought.
You are brave.

“You have survived,” she said.

The tip of a military-grade rifle came into view.

Rose braced herself.

“Come out!” she cried. “I’m not afraid of you!”

*

“She thinks we’re going to do something,” Dakota said. “She thinks we’re going to kill her.”

“No reason for her not to,” Erik said, lowering the tip of his machinegun. “Jamie.”

“We’re not going to hurt you!” Jamie called out, raising a hand before snapping the head of his rifle toward the ground. “My name’s Jamie Marks! I was a corporal in the United States military before—”

A gunshot rang out.

Dakota blinked as smoke drifted before his eyes. He coughed, ears ringing as though his head had just been struck by a church bell.

He caught sight of the smoking barrel of Erik’s machinegun.

“What the fuck are you
doing
!”
Jamie cried.

“Zombie,” Erik replied.

“Where?”

He pointed. A twitching corpse, now relieved of both its legs, lay in the brief space between a house and a garage directly in front of the woman. “It would’ve walked right into her,” Erik said.

“Fucking hell!” the woman cried out.

“She’s English?” Dakota exclaimed.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” she screamed.

“You’re drawing attention to yourself!” Jamie called back.

“And us!” Erik added, taking a few steps forward. “Listen up because I’m only going to say it once. If you want in, you better come now, otherwise we’re going to close the gate.”

“Erik—”

“Shut up, Jamie. Don’t play hero on me.”

“But—”

“Did you hear me?” Erik called, ignoring Jamie.

“I heard you!” the woman said, turning her head to spit. In that brief moment she turned her head, Dakota took notice of a jagged cut running from her hairline to her jaw, fresh with blood and more than likely harboring infection.

There’s no blood on her face other than there.

Save for the blood on her hands and the slight spatter on her shirt, she seemed perfectly clean, albeit covered in dirt.

“I’m not going to say it again!” Erik cried. “Come now or else.”

The woman let the bat fall at her side.

For a brief moment, Dakota thought she wouldn’t do anything. Then she ran forward as though her life depended on it.

“My name’s Rose,” the woman said, raising her head as Erik began to wipe the blood and dirt from her brow. “I’m from England.”

“England?” Desmond frowned. “How did you get here?”

“By boat.” The woman seemed to consider her words before she burst into laughter. It took her a moment to compose herself, but when she finally did and Erik continued to clean her face, she smiled. “Can you believe that? I came by fucking boat.”

“How?” Jamie asked. “I mean, did you pilot it?”

“I didn’t
pilot
it, Corporal; it drifted.”

“What?”

“It drifted?” Dakota asked. “How?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Rose said, raising a hand to stop Erik from messing with her face. “All I know is that after everybody died, I was all by myself.”

“How long were you out there?” Erik asked, lowering the dirtied medical gauze.

“In the boat, or out there?” she gestured outside the window.

“The boat.”

“I have no idea. You tell me.”

“It’s been two months since everything happened,” Jamie said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Two months seems about right,” Rose said, standing. She stripped her torn, bloodied T-shirt over her head and started toward the sink, but stopped before she could make it there. “What’s with the stares? You boys ain’t seen a girl with her shirt off?”

“No,” Jamie said. “It’s not that.”

“Pray tell, officer.”

“Corporal,” Jamie corrected. “And I don’t consider myself to be part of the army anymore.”

“Why’d you introduce yourself as such then?”

“Because I wanted to seem important,” he said. “Because I wanted you to feel safe.”

“I haven’t felt safe since the day Mary’s boyfriend came in and shot her in the face,” Rose said, lifting a bottle of water from the counter. “I’ll get you another one to replace this.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not.” Chuckling, she uncapped the bottle and poured a few drops in her palms before she began to scrub the dirt off her hands. “You got any disinfectant?”

“Soap will work,” Erik said.

“You a doctor?”

“Nurse. Medic.”

“Ah. Another Army boy.”

“You said you didn’t know how long you were at sea,” Jamie said, stepping aside as Erik started into the kitchen. “How long have you been here?”

“I washed up into Long Island, New York a week or so ago.”

“It wouldn’t have been New York.”

“Why not?”

“They blew it up.”

“That’s why they cut the broadcasts from the States,” Rose laughed. “Anyhow, as to how long I’ve been here: a week, I guess. I found a car with the keys inside and took it. There was some sort of broadcast saying there was a safe zone in Rigby, but I couldn’t find it.”

“That must have been the city hall,” Jamie sighed, closing his eyes. “You have any trouble getting here?”

“Your roads are long and covered with junk, the cities are filled with the dead, the convenience stores have no food in them—sure, I can say I had a little trouble.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

Desmond jumped from his place on the couch and scurried into the kitchen. Dakota fell into place at Jamie’s side just as the boy handed the Englishwoman a plate with the scarce remnants of last night’s cake.

“Cake,” she smirked.

“I made it last night,” Desmond said, offering her a spoon.

“Thank you.” She parted the cake’s luscious, vanilla folds with the blade of the utensil and slid it into her mouth, tilting her head back the moment the spoon left her lips. “God,” she moaned. “Who’d have ever known it would taste so good?”

“Guess you take things for granted,” Jamie said. “You’re all right then?”

“Doctor boy fixed me up here.” Rose dropped the spoon onto the plate. “I’m tired and sore as hell though.”

“Can I ask what happened to your car?”

“It broke down up the road. I was just about to break into one of the houses for the night before one of the deadfucks snuck up on me.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re safe, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am. It makes me sound like an old bitch.”

Dakota chuckled. Jamie elbowed him in the side, but that only made it worse, as he only laughed louder than he initially had.